328
You let loose your Arrow and watch as it clips the man’s thigh before arcing away into the night. You hear him yelp with pain, but the wound is superficial and it does not prevent him from making a safe landing on the rooftop opposite.
You dash along the street, your eyes fixed on the limping archer as he makes good his escape from the inn. You are twenty yards ahead of him when the street makes a turn and you find yourself face-to-face with a solid brick wall; you have come to a dead end. You are about to retrace your steps when suddenly you notice a rusty iron staircase away to your right. It is a crude fire-escape ladder and it leads all the way to the roof of a linen warehouse. Quickly you climb the ladder, your weapon drawn in readiness to intercept the wounded assassin the moment he appears.
