Round 5

Amidst the tempestuous sky, the lone city guard emerged from the shadows, his battered armor and narrowed eyes commanding attention as he raised a hand, palm outward, demanding the party's identity before advancing on them. The air was heavy with tension as Jeane Cromwell stepped forward, her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger but kept sheathed for now.

The guard's eyes flicked over Silra's gloved hand as she slipped the rusted magistrate key into her cloak; his grip tightened on his own blade, and he stepped forward, sword drawn. The metallic clank echoed from the cracked cobbles as a lone city guard stepped into view, his armor dented and worn.

Silra crouched to retrieve the key, deliberately slow, making sure her movements didn't provoke the guard further. As she reached for the key, the guard's blade grazed her gloved hand, slicing through the cuff and sending it clattering onto the ash-slick road. The guard's steel sang as he lunged forward, the blade flashing in the storm-lit sky; it grazed Silra's gloved hand, leaving a stinging line across her wrist.

Jeane observed coolly, You've dropped something, sir, she said, eyeing the rusted key gleaming on wet ash. Unless you're in the habit of losing your keys, or perhaps you're not quite as concerned about the state of this road as I am. The guard's eyes darted between Jeane and Silra, his grip on his blade tightening.