Dallas sat atop the roof of the local blacksmith. He keenly watched the elite guards marching from a distance. He quietly slipped down the sloped roof and landed heavily on the ground. He cursed silently at the sound. He stood up straight and pulled his hood onto his head with a flick of his wrist. He pulled out one of his knives and examined it carefully. The blade was sufficiently sharp, but he would have stole inside the blacksmith and sharpened it if he had the time. He carefully hid the knife inside his cloak again and began moving.

He sneaked into a nearby alley and peered around the corner of the wall. The elite guard were marching down the very same street. He frowned. Was this a simple patrol, or were they searching for someone? He swept his gaze over the crowd, looking for a possible disturbance. He spotted smoke starting rise up nearby. Possibly a fire had broken out.

He turned away and looked up at one of the rooftops. He jumped and grabbed onto the rim of the flat roofed building. He strained and pulled himself up with some effort. He crouched low on the balls of his feet and his finger tips. He carefully watched the progress of the elite soldiers, and kept an eye out on whoever they might be after.