The Lesser Evil is Still Evil

The night was colder than the last. I could feel it in the way the air began to cut through my cloak, in the stiffness of my fingers that struggled to hold my dagger, and generally throughout my entire body that seemed to react much slower than before. Winter was coming, and I really needed new gear. Tomorrow for sure, I had promised myself. 

I moved through the streets in ways that locals could not match. I seemed both intimately familiar with the region, excluding an aura of confidence; yet I might as well have not been there, with few if anyone even noticing my presence. I weaved through alleys and side paths, stepping over drunks too far gone to wake up and corpses too fresh to start stinking. I kept my head down and my hood tight around me. I wasn't some hunter stalking from above this time, I was walking among them, passing through the rot like, well, like a worm. And I supposed I was.