It would have been getting dark already, even if it the sky wasn't shrouded in black clouds. With the raging storm, the world was black as pitch. Wind-thrashed and half-drowned in the rain, the group headed straight for the church of Saint Ninians as soon as they saw it. Their mission would have to wait until the storm died down some. Their quarry would be going nowhere tonight.
They crashed into the church and began unceremoniously removing their cloaks and tossing them over the backs of pews to dry.
One lit a torch, lighting a small area of the church towards the back where they had entered.
There were five of them and they were different. Each was an otter, but all somewhat on the small side. And all were the same dark red, darkening abruptly at the back of the head until it turned black at the ears. Their claws, unusually long, were also all the same dark black and their eyes were dark, nearly black.
The largest was nearly the size of an average well-grown otter, the next three were slightly smaller. The smallest figure, when it threw off its cloak, turned out to be young, only a few seasons old. Nonetheless, he was armed with a few daggers and a miniature weapons pack across the back, covered to keep of the rain. The leader appears to be the second largest figure, who began giving orders as soon as the door was shut and the torch lit. His voice echoed strongly against the stone walls, a firm tenor with the sound of authority to it.
"Dryt," he addressed the youngest, "go with Kyr and see if there is anything to eat here. Yokl, quit messing with that torch; get over here and get these things drying out. Brend, you scab, get over her and help Yokl. Tob, let's see that map again. A building this big must be on it."
The tiny young otter and one of the older ones began heading toward the front of the church, while two others began unpacking equipment. The leader grabbed the collections table from by the door, after setting the collections box on the floor, and moved the table under the single lit torch. The largest, Tob, carefully slipped several pieces of parchment from an oiled pouch at his side.
(Yes, I am looking for an interruption. Preferably from a local to Saint Ninians.)