Nicholas stared down at the streets from his perch on top of the house. The snow was coming down hard and made it difficult to see his target. He probably should have worn his white robes, But he'd always had a preference for the dark red robes he wore now. They hid the blood better. His eyes while trained didn't have the advantages others had been born with, but even they didn't know these streets he'd traveled so often.
He had brought many of these families food. He'd always tried to help where he could, always trying to alleviate the pain he saw around him. He followed the creed, but he lived the life in a way no other assassin did. He dived from the chimney to the hay bale below vanishing from the sight of the children who had watched from their windows as he went to kill the man who would take the food from their mouths. Though all they knew was that the man in the red robes had jumped down the chimney. The man in the robes that many had called to be made a saint.
And it would happen.