Mind if I reword it a bit miotas?

A viel of fog and smoke concealed the street ahead and the pale green light of the street lamps reflected off the cobblestones underfoot. The small, rural village slept lazily under the dark shroud of night, paying no heed to the uncouth farmers stumbling back home from a hard night of drinking at the local tavern. Cackling voices could be heard faintly overhead, as witches flew around in their girocopters, stealing dwarves from unsuspecting townsfolk. The farmers contemplated these apparitions and suspected that they may have had just a few too many real ales. No one paid heed to the hay laden cart making its way through the street torward the city. The driver's heavy purse clouded the vision of the soldiers standing guard at the gate, so that they did not see scoundrel hiding amidst the hay. Darren knew that he would need to exit the cart without being seen before it arrived at the stables outside the Klypsky Mansion.

Darren is the name I have used (with variations of spelling of course) for almost all the protagonist in my stories :P. I do not know why, but I like it. He is an assasin some times, a thief others, a blacksmith once, and even a sheep herder's son captured and raised as a nomad. :P I guess he is back to being a thief. :P