The towers of Dusk and Dawn

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.

 

"There is an inn nearby, master wizard," the girl who accompanied the elf said, "I was escorting this good sir there, if you would care to join us."

"Indeed I would, my dear!" he said, smiling, "But before we go, I must urge you not to call me that while around people. Some words draw too much attention to themselves, and I do not need that kind of attention at the moment."

He suddenly felt something in the air, and turned his head upwards to look at the sky. "Rain" he thought, "Typical."

"We should hurry, though, unless we want to get wet."

 

"I am sorry, sir. I will attempt to be careful."

She felt a few drops of rain and looked at the approaching storm. Oh hell.

"Quickly, before the storm hits!"

She led the way towards the inn at a run, hoping to make it to shelter before the rain really started...