(Hello! To anyone else in my Dangerous Designs game: this is a little pre-party prequel for Ares’ and Clod’s characters. Reading ahead might spoil a few character surprises, so I’d recommend averting your eyes for the time being.)
The one thing everyone in that alley can surely agree on, right in this moment, is that there have been much better nights.
Of course, there have been much worse nights, too – perhaps for some more than for others. But what is certain is that this night is decidedly not shaping up to plan.
For one: there is an orc, garbed in a Righteous Brand uniform – a captain’s uniform, in fact – who currently has an arrow sticking out of his neck. He seems to still be processing this.
Directly before him is a smaller figure, the front of whose cloak he appears to have been in the midst of grabbing – moments ago, the act had been threatening, though the arrow has distracted from this somewhat. This momentarily forgotten hostility was likely to do with the just-visible outline of the woman’s face beneath her cloak, exposed enough now to the flickering of the nearby torches that it might be estimated to belong to a drow. Perhaps.
These days, “perhaps” is more than enough: everyone is on edge, none more so than the soldiers at the imperial forefront of an all-out war.
Then there is also the matter of the other figure in the shadows, positioned on a low, nearby roof and preparing to fire another shot; it’s as the orc finally locks eyes with her in the darkness that she begins to realize something might be very, very wrong.
His face is wrong. Indeed, as she shifts position, she begins to realize there’s something the with his tusks – or, better described, something entirely too untouched about them. He’s wearing Captain Koduri’s jacket – of that, she’s certain – but Captain Koduri very definitely has one broken tusk.
Which makes the orc turning toward his would-be assassin an absolute – but very furious, and very baffled, and maybe a little bit drunk – stranger. “Coward!” he calls, into the dark, blood pouring from the grievous wound in his neck. “You’ll face your last day today!” With that, he attempts to shove his current victim aside, rushing toward the nearby building in the hopes of leaping onto the roof.
It's cold, unseasonably. Harliblith had been tracked the patrol movements of the two nearest Crownsguard, but knows she has a matter of minutes at most until they're return. For now, the rest of the alleyway is devoid of anyone else, though the sounds of a nearby tavern spill into the night.
The figure the orc pushed stumbles with the force, tripping over her feet as her demure figure lacks the strength to withstand the assault. In the flurry of movement, the hood of her cloak falls down to reveal someone that looks like a drow, or at least of drow lineage. The ashen skin with underlaying purple tones matches the shock of white hair exposed in the lighting. A quick glance reveals her hair is tucked behind ears that are too rounded for a full-blooded elf. Even her height, a meager 4’ 8”, is almost too miniscule for her kin. Looking up, the half-drow searches for whoever shot the arrow with wide eyes colored aqua that stand in complete contrast from her darker skin.
It wasn’t her fault that people disliked half of her, not that they ever really got past the drow parts. Nemira had been minding her own business as instructed, keeping quiet and ducked down as she headed toward a nearby tavern to collect some food and drink to go. She had seen the welcoming glow from the window when she had been roughly grabbed and dragged into the alley.
Violence, or any fighting really, is not her strongpoint even though she is trained and equipped to defend herself. So when the orc turns to scramble after whoever shot him, Nemira opens her mouth to interject and hopefully prevent more bloodshed.
(Initiative: 4 w/ 14 Dex if you need a tiebreaker)
Harliblith stifles a curse. She had been careless. She tries to think back over the past few weeks of frustration, and comes to the conclusion that there were a few too many instances in which she might have been spotted trying to track down Captain Koduri. (She can think of no other reason why someone else would be wearing Captain Koduri's jacket.) And now here she is, having fallen for a decoy, with enemy reinforcements only a few minutes away. And judging from his confusion and drunken state, the orc probably doesn't even know his own role in this overall plot. A waste of time, a waste of effort, a waste of an arrow.
She considers slipping away. He might not have gotten a good look at her yet. What good would it do, to try and finish him off? Her grip on her bow tightens, and she slinks back a little, eyes glittering in the shadows.
The truth is, Harliblith doesn't like her job. She doesn't enjoy killing. But rivaling her dislike for violence is her lack of patience for her own failure. She feels the frustration at yet another set-back boiling up within her. The thought of going back to report her own incompetence stings. No, there has to be something else she can do. Even if the orc is a drunken buffoon playing dress-up, maybe she can...jog his memory. This can't be another lost lead, another dead end. It can't be.
Decision made, Harliblith lets the familiar surging of her magic overtake her. An orc with a broken tusk, garbed in traveller's clothing, since his captain's uniform would presumably be nowhere to be found.
Harliblith steps out into the light, hovering menacingly over the alley from her higher vantage point on the roof. As long as the real Captain Koduri doesn't show up, this just might work.
"Thief!" she thunders. "Do you know what I can do to you for impersonating a captain?!"
If one orc is scary, two of them trapping her in an alley terrifies Nemira. Where had the second ord even come from? Nem watches, frozen in place and with her heartbeat leaping to her throat to stop anything she was about to say. She waits, wasting precious seconds to do something, but only reacts when the second orc yells out. The voice is sudden, loud, and not at all what Nemira thought was coming. She flinches away from the duo, but her body unlocks itself for her to drop into a crouch where she claps her hands over her ears to protect them.
Stuck in this position, Nemira fears that any further movement will draw attention right back to her. She needs to hide, but there isn't much to block the line of sight the orcs have on her. Maybe if they just forget she's there...
Reaching under her cloak, Nem's hand searches for the small pandeiro she keeps strapped to her waist. In the quietest rhythm she can produce, her fingers tap against the stretched leather while drawing a rune in a similar manner that one connects dots to make a picture. Around the half elf appears a worn down box, or at least an illusion of one. If the orcs see the box and think she's left, then they'll leave too and she can make her escape. So Nem hides in the illusion, trying to make the other believe that there really is nothing in the alley except them and a dumb box.
Whatever the orc had been expecting, it clearly is not the figure that emerges from the dark; he cringes backward, his drunken, self-righteous rage transforming on a dime into abject fear. He seems, abruptly, much more sober than he'd been moments ago. "Uh," he says, at first, eloquently. And then: "Um--Captain--sir--n-no, I wasn't trying to--" He stumbles, slightly, in an apparent effort to fade as quickly into the background as possible from the force of Koduri's anger. "I found it. I was just ... on my way to bring it back to you. And here you are. So I'll just--" He makes to begin removing it, apparently intending to hand it over; he seems to have entirely forgotten the trickle of blood running down his neck, never mind the other figure that he'd been threatening in the alley moments before.
(We can go a little freeform here with initiative for now, so for now, feel free to jump in whenever! Neither the orc's nor Harliblith's passive perception is high enough to realize where it is Nemira's apparently disappeared to for the time being.)
"You found it? And where, pray tell, did you just so happen to stumble upon a captain's uniform?" Captain Koduri's voice seems to boom preternaturally through the alleyway. "Speak quickly, now, or I will have to find a way to jog your memory. Forcefully."
Perfect. Maybe she can get some information out of this misadventure, after all.
“Y-yeah,” he says, shifting his weight back and forth, and handing over the jacket, like a peace offering — or like a desperate plea for mercy. “Yeah, your jacket’s just been — well, it was just at the bar — no one’s, uh, no one’s seen you there days, ever since — well, one of the recruits said your evening was interrupted, and everyone knows not to bother you when you're drinking." He pauses, clearing his throat; it's possible he's imagined this meeting, once or twice. It's very likely it didn't follow quite this trajectory. “Or, um, any other time. Sir.” He peers down the alleyway, like he's desperate for some miracle to intervene, for someone to appear to summon the captain away now.
Harliblith jumps down off the roof, landing in a crouch. She doesn't move to take the jacket. She steps closer, however, leaning in to inspect the orc's face, as though committing it to memory. Her voice goes quiet and icy cold. "At the bar," she says. "The bar that I haven't been seen in ever since... what?" Captain Koduri's face twitches up into a smile, one with a faint veneer of sweetness that hardly does anything to cover up the underlying threat. "C'mon. Tell me. What have the recruits been saying about me that they won't say to my ******* face?"
Nem listens to the orcs to back and forth. The Captain is no joke. The yelling was bad enough, but the underlying threat of immediate danger in his voice has goosebumps erupting on her extremities. She prays that he continues to ignore her hiding spot and takes out his frustrations on her bully. Otherwise Nemira isn't sure what she's going to do to get past two large orcs. Still not willing to move, the half drow continues to wait while managing to keep the sound of her breathing down.
"I don't know," the orc says, all in a rush. "Some ... urgent meeting you had, or something? That's only ... that's only what they're saying, I wasn't there. I was out patrolling." He swallows. "I suppose they figured something big had happened, but we haven't heard anything. You know -- you know how they can be," he adds, as if distancing himself from the group, somehow outside this rumor mill in which he's clearly participating. He's still holding the jacket in his hand, dangling it off the end the ends of his fingers like he can't get the thing away from himself fast enough, which is certainly a turn.
(Both of you, go ahead and make a perception check.)
"Of course," Harliblith murmurs. "Of course you heard nothing. A good soldier like yourself would keep your head down when you're told, hmm? Or is it that you're just too stupid to know what's going on around you? If I asked you to point to your ass, would you know where you put it? Or did you forget that, too?"
The orc looks caught halfway between dropping to the floor and making a run for it -- which is exactly when two figures round the corner. Harliblith's too distracted by the role she's occupying, and by the orc she's in the midst of terrorizing, to notice until the Crownsguard have already made it halfway down the alley. "Hey," one of the figures -- a red-headed human, with a scar trailing down the side of her face, and an impressively massive greatsword strapped to her side -- calls out, apparently drawn by the noise; beside her is a half-orc who stands just a step behind her, clad in similar armor -- the dash of red a symbol of the empire as much as the glimpse of the shield they wear on their back -- but whose eyes each part of the scene with what might be interest. "What's going on down here?"
The orc just looks toward Koduri, apparently too nervous to speak first, lest he manage to make his night even worse.
Nem wishes she had stayed with Flint while he ran his errands. The time on her spell is dwindling, and she can feel the threads of magic beginning to loosen on her illusion. Things were going to get weird if a random half elf just suddenly popped into being, so Nemira decides to just lean into the whole situation.
From the last remaining seconds on her fake box, Nemira casts another spell. This time, she disguises herself to look like an ordinary halfling. Pale skin, muddy hair and eyes, and clothes mimicking some of the citizens she had seen walking around. When her illusion does fade, Nem shoots up to her feet and fake yells out to the small gathering of people. "Officers, I saw everything! The Captain here was just retrieving his jacket from this other persons who done take it. The Captain was just layin to this poor soldier on how they messed up." Maybe the accent is a bit too thick, but Nem tries to play off the innocent bystander who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Harliblith fights the urge to jump. She looks at the halfling---not the drow from earlier, she notes---that had not been there before.
There are threats on all sides. Crownsguards. This unknown halfling, who had somehow slipped beneath her notice. And she still hasn't gotten the information she needs from the orc.
Which threat to address first?
Harliblith is careful not to turn her back to the halfling, simply opening her stance so that she can address the Crownsguards. "I'm simply disciplining a soldier," she says. "It's nothing to worry about."
The human Crownsguard takes another step forward, gaze meeting Koduri's, apparent confusion furrowing her brow; she blinks, once, before returning her gaze -- only fleetingly -- to the halfling beside the orcs. Her hand doesn't reach for the hilt of her sword, but she hardly seems relaxed; it's difficult for anyone else in the alley to be sure whether that's her everyday posture, or an approach fitted to this situation in particular. "Right," she says, theoretically an acknowledgement to the halfling, though by then she's already looking away. (Still, she makes absolutely no move to dismiss her, and neither Crownsguard shift to allow anyone to pass.)
"Captain?" she asks, disbelief catching at the edges of each syllable. "What ... what are you doing here?"
Just the smallest quirk of the corner of her mouth gives away Nemira's displeasure at the reactions. Now she was crowded in and within reaching distance to everyone. Not exactly ideal, and there was no way to slip past them. She's confidence nothing in her voice or posture gave away her sudden appearance, but neither has she been cleared as completely innocent. Gulping nervously, she trains her wide eyes on the orc captain to await his response.
This is bad. The more people there are here, the more likely it is Harliblith's ruse will be found out. Judging from the Crownsguard's reactions and questioning, Captain Koduri isn't actually in the city. How did she miss him leaving? And where did they send him? It must be something important, if the Crownsguards knows about it and a lower-tier soldier had heard rumors about it. The only one who doesn't know what's happening is Harliblith. Can she get information out of the Crownsguards? It's four against one, so she has to do it subtly rather than by force. But if it's a mission that's supposed to be secret, there's a possibility that the Crownsguards won't say anything in front of the orc soldier.
Harliblith forces herself to act casual. She snatches the jacket from the orc soldier with a sneer. "You're dismissed," she tells him. Then she turns to the Crownsguards and says, "Just retrieving something," raising the hand now holding the jacket.
The human Crownsguard glances between them — from halfling, to orc, to Koduri — but it’s her half-orc colleague who takes a step forward to whisper something into her ear. After a beat, she says: “Perhaps you’d like to come with us, Captain,” in the face of his … suggestion — her tone polite, her jaw set. “All three of you, actually, if you’d please walk with us.” She gestures back down the alleyway, the half-orc stepping obligingly to the side, though only just.
The cowering orc of the Righteous Brand shifts, apparently recovering enough self-respect to finally stand a little straighter once more — though he seems unwilling to move until Koduri does so.
(Hello! To anyone else in my Dangerous Designs game: this is a little pre-party prequel for Ares’ and Clod’s characters. Reading ahead might spoil a few character surprises, so I’d recommend averting your eyes for the time being.)
The one thing everyone in that alley can surely agree on, right in this moment, is that there have been much better nights.
Of course, there have been much worse nights, too – perhaps for some more than for others. But what is certain is that this night is decidedly not shaping up to plan.
For one: there is an orc, garbed in a Righteous Brand uniform – a captain’s uniform, in fact – who currently has an arrow sticking out of his neck. He seems to still be processing this.
Directly before him is a smaller figure, the front of whose cloak he appears to have been in the midst of grabbing – moments ago, the act had been threatening, though the arrow has distracted from this somewhat. This momentarily forgotten hostility was likely to do with the just-visible outline of the woman’s face beneath her cloak, exposed enough now to the flickering of the nearby torches that it might be estimated to belong to a drow. Perhaps.
These days, “perhaps” is more than enough: everyone is on edge, none more so than the soldiers at the imperial forefront of an all-out war.
Then there is also the matter of the other figure in the shadows, positioned on a low, nearby roof and preparing to fire another shot; it’s as the orc finally locks eyes with her in the darkness that she begins to realize something might be very, very wrong.
His face is wrong. Indeed, as she shifts position, she begins to realize there’s something the with his tusks – or, better described, something entirely too untouched about them. He’s wearing Captain Koduri’s jacket – of that, she’s certain – but Captain Koduri very definitely has one broken tusk.
Which makes the orc turning toward his would-be assassin an absolute – but very furious, and very baffled, and maybe a little bit drunk – stranger. “Coward!” he calls, into the dark, blood pouring from the grievous wound in his neck. “You’ll face your last day today!” With that, he attempts to shove his current victim aside, rushing toward the nearby building in the hopes of leaping onto the roof.
It's cold, unseasonably. Harliblith had been tracked the patrol movements of the two nearest Crownsguard, but knows she has a matter of minutes at most until they're return. For now, the rest of the alleyway is devoid of anyone else, though the sounds of a nearby tavern spill into the night.
(Click for very basic map.
Initiative: 4.)
The figure the orc pushed stumbles with the force, tripping over her feet as her demure figure lacks the strength to withstand the assault. In the flurry of movement, the hood of her cloak falls down to reveal someone that looks like a drow, or at least of drow lineage. The ashen skin with underlaying purple tones matches the shock of white hair exposed in the lighting. A quick glance reveals her hair is tucked behind ears that are too rounded for a full-blooded elf. Even her height, a meager 4’ 8”, is almost too miniscule for her kin. Looking up, the half-drow searches for whoever shot the arrow with wide eyes colored aqua that stand in complete contrast from her darker skin.
It wasn’t her fault that people disliked half of her, not that they ever really got past the drow parts. Nemira had been minding her own business as instructed, keeping quiet and ducked down as she headed toward a nearby tavern to collect some food and drink to go. She had seen the welcoming glow from the window when she had been roughly grabbed and dragged into the alley.
Violence, or any fighting really, is not her strongpoint even though she is trained and equipped to defend herself. So when the orc turns to scramble after whoever shot him, Nemira opens her mouth to interject and hopefully prevent more bloodshed.
(Initiative: 4 w/ 14 Dex if you need a tiebreaker)
Harliblith stifles a curse. She had been careless. She tries to think back over the past few weeks of frustration, and comes to the conclusion that there were a few too many instances in which she might have been spotted trying to track down Captain Koduri. (She can think of no other reason why someone else would be wearing Captain Koduri's jacket.) And now here she is, having fallen for a decoy, with enemy reinforcements only a few minutes away. And judging from his confusion and drunken state, the orc probably doesn't even know his own role in this overall plot. A waste of time, a waste of effort, a waste of an arrow.
She considers slipping away. He might not have gotten a good look at her yet. What good would it do, to try and finish him off? Her grip on her bow tightens, and she slinks back a little, eyes glittering in the shadows.
(Initiative: 6)
The truth is, Harliblith doesn't like her job. She doesn't enjoy killing. But rivaling her dislike for violence is her lack of patience for her own failure. She feels the frustration at yet another set-back boiling up within her. The thought of going back to report her own incompetence stings. No, there has to be something else she can do. Even if the orc is a drunken buffoon playing dress-up, maybe she can...jog his memory. This can't be another lost lead, another dead end. It can't be.
Decision made, Harliblith lets the familiar surging of her magic overtake her. An orc with a broken tusk, garbed in traveller's clothing, since his captain's uniform would presumably be nowhere to be found.
Harliblith steps out into the light, hovering menacingly over the alley from her higher vantage point on the roof. As long as the real Captain Koduri doesn't show up, this just might work.
"Thief!" she thunders. "Do you know what I can do to you for impersonating a captain?!"
(Harliblith casts Disguise Self. Deception check w/advantage: 22)
If one orc is scary, two of them trapping her in an alley terrifies Nemira. Where had the second ord even come from? Nem watches, frozen in place and with her heartbeat leaping to her throat to stop anything she was about to say. She waits, wasting precious seconds to do something, but only reacts when the second orc yells out. The voice is sudden, loud, and not at all what Nemira thought was coming. She flinches away from the duo, but her body unlocks itself for her to drop into a crouch where she claps her hands over her ears to protect them.
Stuck in this position, Nemira fears that any further movement will draw attention right back to her. She needs to hide, but there isn't much to block the line of sight the orcs have on her. Maybe if they just forget she's there...
Reaching under her cloak, Nem's hand searches for the small pandeiro she keeps strapped to her waist. In the quietest rhythm she can produce, her fingers tap against the stretched leather while drawing a rune in a similar manner that one connects dots to make a picture. Around the half elf appears a worn down box, or at least an illusion of one. If the orcs see the box and think she's left, then they'll leave too and she can make her escape. So Nem hides in the illusion, trying to make the other believe that there really is nothing in the alley except them and a dumb box.
Cast: Minor Illusion, 21 Sleight of Hand
Whatever the orc had been expecting, it clearly is not the figure that emerges from the dark; he cringes backward, his drunken, self-righteous rage transforming on a dime into abject fear. He seems, abruptly, much more sober than he'd been moments ago. "Uh," he says, at first, eloquently. And then: "Um--Captain--sir--n-no, I wasn't trying to--" He stumbles, slightly, in an apparent effort to fade as quickly into the background as possible from the force of Koduri's anger. "I found it. I was just ... on my way to bring it back to you. And here you are. So I'll just--" He makes to begin removing it, apparently intending to hand it over; he seems to have entirely forgotten the trickle of blood running down his neck, never mind the other figure that he'd been threatening in the alley moments before.
(We can go a little freeform here with initiative for now, so for now, feel free to jump in whenever!
Neither the orc's nor Harliblith's passive perception is high enough to realize where it is Nemira's apparently disappeared to for the time being.)
Harliblith glares at the orc, nostrils flaring.
"You found it? And where, pray tell, did you just so happen to stumble upon a captain's uniform?" Captain Koduri's voice seems to boom preternaturally through the alleyway. "Speak quickly, now, or I will have to find a way to jog your memory. Forcefully."
Perfect. Maybe she can get some information out of this misadventure, after all.
“Y-yeah,” he says, shifting his weight back and forth, and handing over the jacket, like a peace offering — or like a desperate plea for mercy. “Yeah, your jacket’s just been — well, it was just at the bar — no one’s, uh, no one’s seen you there days, ever since — well, one of the recruits said your evening was interrupted, and everyone knows not to bother you when you're drinking." He pauses, clearing his throat; it's possible he's imagined this meeting, once or twice. It's very likely it didn't follow quite this trajectory. “Or, um, any other time. Sir.” He peers down the alleyway, like he's desperate for some miracle to intervene, for someone to appear to summon the captain away now.
Harliblith jumps down off the roof, landing in a crouch. She doesn't move to take the jacket. She steps closer, however, leaning in to inspect the orc's face, as though committing it to memory. Her voice goes quiet and icy cold. "At the bar," she says. "The bar that I haven't been seen in ever since... what?" Captain Koduri's face twitches up into a smile, one with a faint veneer of sweetness that hardly does anything to cover up the underlying threat. "C'mon. Tell me. What have the recruits been saying about me that they won't say to my ******* face?"
Nem listens to the orcs to back and forth. The Captain is no joke. The yelling was bad enough, but the underlying threat of immediate danger in his voice has goosebumps erupting on her extremities. She prays that he continues to ignore her hiding spot and takes out his frustrations on her bully. Otherwise Nemira isn't sure what she's going to do to get past two large orcs. Still not willing to move, the half drow continues to wait while managing to keep the sound of her breathing down.
"I don't know," the orc says, all in a rush. "Some ... urgent meeting you had, or something? That's only ... that's only what they're saying, I wasn't there. I was out patrolling." He swallows. "I suppose they figured something big had happened, but we haven't heard anything. You know -- you know how they can be," he adds, as if distancing himself from the group, somehow outside this rumor mill in which he's clearly participating. He's still holding the jacket in his hand, dangling it off the end the ends of his fingers like he can't get the thing away from himself fast enough, which is certainly a turn.
(Both of you, go ahead and make a perception check.)
Perception: 19
"Of course," Harliblith murmurs. "Of course you heard nothing. A good soldier like yourself would keep your head down when you're told, hmm? Or is it that you're just too stupid to know what's going on around you? If I asked you to point to your ass, would you know where you put it? Or did you forget that, too?"
(Perception: nat 1)
The orc looks caught halfway between dropping to the floor and making a run for it -- which is exactly when two figures round the corner. Harliblith's too distracted by the role she's occupying, and by the orc she's in the midst of terrorizing, to notice until the Crownsguard have already made it halfway down the alley. "Hey," one of the figures -- a red-headed human, with a scar trailing down the side of her face, and an impressively massive greatsword strapped to her side -- calls out, apparently drawn by the noise; beside her is a half-orc who stands just a step behind her, clad in similar armor -- the dash of red a symbol of the empire as much as the glimpse of the shield they wear on their back -- but whose eyes each part of the scene with what might be interest. "What's going on down here?"
The orc just looks toward Koduri, apparently too nervous to speak first, lest he manage to make his night even worse.
Nem wishes she had stayed with Flint while he ran his errands. The time on her spell is dwindling, and she can feel the threads of magic beginning to loosen on her illusion. Things were going to get weird if a random half elf just suddenly popped into being, so Nemira decides to just lean into the whole situation.
From the last remaining seconds on her fake box, Nemira casts another spell. This time, she disguises herself to look like an ordinary halfling. Pale skin, muddy hair and eyes, and clothes mimicking some of the citizens she had seen walking around. When her illusion does fade, Nem shoots up to her feet and fake yells out to the small gathering of people. "Officers, I saw everything! The Captain here was just retrieving his jacket from this other persons who done take it. The Captain was just layin to this poor soldier on how they messed up." Maybe the accent is a bit too thick, but Nem tries to play off the innocent bystander who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Cast: Disguise Self, Deception 21
Harliblith fights the urge to jump. She looks at the halfling---not the drow from earlier, she notes---that had not been there before.
There are threats on all sides. Crownsguards. This unknown halfling, who had somehow slipped beneath her notice. And she still hasn't gotten the information she needs from the orc.
Which threat to address first?
Harliblith is careful not to turn her back to the halfling, simply opening her stance so that she can address the Crownsguards. "I'm simply disciplining a soldier," she says. "It's nothing to worry about."
The human Crownsguard takes another step forward, gaze meeting Koduri's, apparent confusion furrowing her brow; she blinks, once, before returning her gaze -- only fleetingly -- to the halfling beside the orcs. Her hand doesn't reach for the hilt of her sword, but she hardly seems relaxed; it's difficult for anyone else in the alley to be sure whether that's her everyday posture, or an approach fitted to this situation in particular. "Right," she says, theoretically an acknowledgement to the halfling, though by then she's already looking away. (Still, she makes absolutely no move to dismiss her, and neither Crownsguard shift to allow anyone to pass.)
"Captain?" she asks, disbelief catching at the edges of each syllable. "What ... what are you doing here?"
Just the smallest quirk of the corner of her mouth gives away Nemira's displeasure at the reactions. Now she was crowded in and within reaching distance to everyone. Not exactly ideal, and there was no way to slip past them. She's confidence nothing in her voice or posture gave away her sudden appearance, but neither has she been cleared as completely innocent. Gulping nervously, she trains her wide eyes on the orc captain to await his response.
This is bad. The more people there are here, the more likely it is Harliblith's ruse will be found out. Judging from the Crownsguard's reactions and questioning, Captain Koduri isn't actually in the city. How did she miss him leaving? And where did they send him? It must be something important, if the Crownsguards knows about it and a lower-tier soldier had heard rumors about it. The only one who doesn't know what's happening is Harliblith. Can she get information out of the Crownsguards? It's four against one, so she has to do it subtly rather than by force. But if it's a mission that's supposed to be secret, there's a possibility that the Crownsguards won't say anything in front of the orc soldier.
Harliblith forces herself to act casual. She snatches the jacket from the orc soldier with a sneer. "You're dismissed," she tells him. Then she turns to the Crownsguards and says, "Just retrieving something," raising the hand now holding the jacket.
The human Crownsguard glances between them — from halfling, to orc, to Koduri — but it’s her half-orc colleague who takes a step forward to whisper something into her ear. After a beat, she says: “Perhaps you’d like to come with us, Captain,” in the face of his … suggestion — her tone polite, her jaw set. “All three of you, actually, if you’d please walk with us.” She gestures back down the alleyway, the half-orc stepping obligingly to the side, though only just.
The cowering orc of the Righteous Brand shifts, apparently recovering enough self-respect to finally stand a little straighter once more — though he seems unwilling to move until Koduri does so.