City of Corvis, The Longest Night, 593 AR
He knew if he waited long enough for it, the shot would come, but the rapidly diminishing daylight was threatening to make his task ever more difficult.
He could smell the fragrant smoke of the incense burning in the chapel downstairs, as it wafted up to his precarious perch in the belfry of Morrow's cathedral. It reminded him of how much he'd invested in this affair. Gods, how he'd grown to hate that smell! But, alas, the job required it--at least if it were to be done properly.
There it was; the opening he'd been looking for. To most, it looked like a small window in one carriage in a nigh endless procession of carriages that were slowly making their way up Still Street during the inaugural hours of the Longest Night festival. To the marksman, it was a yawning chasm, wide enough to fire a cannonball through, much less a single bullet.