The rogue left the dimly lit corner; black cloak pulled tight over his leather armor below, as he made his way for the door to leave. His hood obscured his face, all but his green eyes, and just before he exited the establishment and found the lingering darkness outside, he turned on his heel and threw a single platinum coin towards the bar. The large coin flew through the air like a disc; missing the shouting man by mere inches before plopping down in a drink at the bar's edge with a splash and impact that shattered the back of the glass. The innkeepers anger would certainly be drawn beyond reason almost instantly, but the rogue knew the platinum would more than pay for all the drink and food the entire place had sold all day. With that in mind, he stepped into the awaiting darkness and quickly vanished from sight.<br/><br/>The shadows were the night thief's friend; an age old and valued ally, and he relied on them with an unwavering trust as he moved from one to another. Further emboldened by the embrace of night, and the already beautiful dark that encompassed all the land, the rogue slipped to the back of the tavern and began scaling the walls. From a loose nail ten feet up, to a single crack in the plaster between boards, his boots found hold almost anywhere, and his hands held firm in each crevice they could reach. He stepped onto the roof with a light sigh; pelted and assaulted by both wind and fading rain that seemed to linger eternally through the night, and yet his approach to one side of the inn and tavern below was quiet and without falter. The loose shingling on the roof was dangerous for even a seasoned craftsman to stand on, and yet the rogue was no more fearful of falling, than he was of being hit by a fireball from the gods. He could climb sheer cliffs if it would net him some coin, and this particular endeavor might earn him far more than one simple token.<br/><br/>Casually the cautious thief made his way to the ledge and sat down with legs falling over the lip. He placed himself directly above where he assumed the new woman had been housed: the thought verified when her scent wafted from the open window below and washed over the rogue in his seated perch. He would wait there; atop the establishment, with a patient optimism unbecoming one of his status and ilk. Ordinarily he would simply have swung into the room and silently stolen what he could before leaving. This night however, he felt a change of pace was in order. A deviation from the norm he clung to every other second of the day.