Yimadwe had managed to find the street his inn was on but, as he took his bearings, he realized he was still nine blocks from it. Cursing to himself under his breath he began trudging uphill towards The Drunken Mage. A few people in the street spared a curious glance for his bandaged face, but he walked past them with stony indifferance, his eyes fixed on his destination. A low roll of thunder made him pause to look up in time to catch the clouds chasing the last rays of sunlight form the skies. Looking back down the road to the harbour he could see the rain approching across the bay. He turned back to the road and strode up it with renewed vigour, hoping to beat the downpour to the inn.