[hr][hr][center][h2][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h2][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With: [/color] The Group [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	The campsite was soon awash with the sights and smells of a proper meal tooled together by expert hands, the light clinking and scraping sounds of utensils on cooking wares accompanying an occasional nod or grunt of affirmation from Keystone. Those few who chipped in (that he didn't object to) were invited to stick around the fire to give the occasional stir or scrap of conversation. The large man's armored leather coat was folded and set atop the section of log he was using as a seat. In its place on Keystone's torso hung a tool-bearing apron of canvas and leather. 

	To better facilitate speed and ease of cooking, Keystone had pushed the sleeves of his long, woolen shirt over his elbows and removed the pair of fingerless gloves that seemed ever-present. A set of richly engraved bracers gleamed dully in the firelight, now fully visible for the first time to the company assembled. Dwarfcraft, for anyone with an eye for it, but obviously sized to fit a Human. While the unburdening of his limbs helped in his endeavors, it had the effect of revealing a roadmap of old, extensive scarring. In places, it was quite disturbing. He didn't seem to mind, though, as his dedicated work to the task before him saw those time-again damaged and healed hands flowing between wooden spoons, a flat spatula, and his favored knife. In short order, a meal came together. 

	He was not in high spirits. Not particularly. He conversed, made tiny cooking requests of those who chose to stick around the fire with him, and answered any mundane questions put to him simply and directly. It seemed as if he were waiting on something, and not just the food to be ready. Sure enough, the inevitable did occur, and their supper was ready. Stewed Rabbit with edible greens and caramelized onion, pan roasted Pheasant (or whatever the hell bird they were, they were at least [i]prepared[/i] as Pheasant) with root vegetables, and a short pan of a strange, white grain that many of occidental origin would have been sadly unaware. It was cooked simply and appeared very fluffy and starchy. Keystone insisted upon it to round out their meal, placing a portion of it into every bowl as he passed them around for his group. 

	Addressing Sana's suggestion to dry meat for the next day, Keystone responded, [color=b8860b]"Weather's against us on that, Miss Sana. 'Sides, it'd take more hours'n we got. I'm Low n' Slow-in' the foxes a while, maybe good by morning, if that helps. It's gettin' cold out o' doors, so we should be tops for the meats to hold through at least tomorrow. Throw more heat under 'em before we set to gnawin' on it, anyhow."[/color] 

	Keystone made sure all parties appropriate got a decent portion of food before acting on his own impulses to gorge himself. Even before that, he recovered his coat and gloves. The weather was getting cold, and he suspected it may be a long night. He got a plate together for himself and set it to the side. There were a few items of cleanup he wished to attend to, not the least of which being his large covered cast-iron pan. With the largest amount of the sanitation done, he finally got around to his own supper. Turns out, he was hungry. 

	Between mouthfuls of neeps and birdie of which he was in mid-attack, he managed to eventually vocalize, [color=b8860b]"So, Chiefy's got some terms..."[/color] He did not expect this to be well received, even as he explained the situation. It was hoped that a full stomach would soften the impact.