Round 4

Under the storm-dark sky, the lone city guard stepped into view, his dented armor and narrowed eyes commanding attention as he raised a hand, palm outward, demanding the party's identity before advancing on them. Jeane Cromwell stepped forward, placing herself between the guard and her companions as naturally as breathing, her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger but kept sheathed for now. The feeling of that thing stirring beneath the streets had her nerves singing a sharp tune.

Silra watched the guard warily, her eyes narrowing as she took in his tattered armor and the way he clutched his sword like it would keep him alive when whatever lurked beneath their feet decided to rise up. She let her hand fall away from the key with deliberate casualness, watching the guard's sword tip waver between her and the road ahead. "Careful there, sir," she said, voice even, as the guard stepped forward, sword drawn, demanding an answer before any further motion was allowed.

Jeane's fingers tightened around her dagger hilt as the city guard stepped forward, his armor old and rusted through in places—this one hadn't seen real action in years, probably just some local thug with a badge to justify his bullying. The feeling of something moving beneath them grew more insistent, like the stirrings of a vast, slumbering thing disturbed by their presence. "Easy now," Jeane said, her voice carrying an aristocratic edge that cut through the rain, as Silra sidestepped towards her companions, adjusting her angle to shield them from the guard's gaze.