The storm was excellent cover. Rain washed the battlements in a cold, wet drizzle, dropping the morale of the guards on duty. Visibility was low due to the blowing winds, and there was little, if any, reason to be outside on this particular night. Unless, of course, you're a crewman aboard the Tradewind Bandit. In that case, this was a perfect night to be out. The darkened sloop slipped closely into the port of Kingshead, silent in the howl of the storm. Five men got off her deck, leaping to the boards across from them. They padded up to the main door of the fortress quietly, noticing two guards standing duty. The guards looked miserable and wet, most likely not having a good time. One of them men produced a long tube and a handful of darts. He fired the blowgun twice in rapid succession, hitting both men in the neck. Within a second or two, the guards were sleeping soundly on the cold, damp stones under their feet. Being sufficiently gutsy to walk in the front door of an EITC fort, the lead man pries open the door and looks in. There were no sentries, but only a single Marine looking him straight in the face. The Marine opened his mouth as if to scream, but all that came out was a low gurgle. There was a brightly gleaming silver knife in his throat. He collapsed to the ground, dead, and the man walked past him, looking for more danger. They had a way to go before making it to the jail, and he wanted to get there before the reinforcements made their way to the fort.