Keystone awoke with a start, uncurling his fingers from the warmed metal of his preferred, minimalist weaponry. He sprang up, tucking them into his pockets, and reviewed what he had learned that morning with fresher perspective. He closed his eyes, and in his mind's eye went over the words and forms of Grandmaster Shein-Fang. 

The forms in particular held interest to him; similar to many of the things he learned in the slums of his homeland, which struck him as [i]very[/i] odd. The movements were obviously adapted to a more western continental style, but it was similar enough for him to pick up easily. Not a Shou in sight, possibly ever, yet here he stood, a westerner versed in a fighting style related to these monks. Very odd indeed. 

He briefly practiced the changes to his training form, considering every movement individually. The way the Grandmaster practiced it relied much less on strength than he was accustomed. Reserved, yet powerful. He could rather likely overpower the old elf in an arm wrestling contest, out lift him, outrun him... but was with [i]absolute certainty[/i] unable to best him in combat, even if Keystone had one hundred years to practice and the elder elf was on his deathbed. 

He continued his practice as best he could in the small room, the drift of his thoughts focusing him in the present. Questions, rhetorical and academic in nature floated past, as did the answers to most of them. He could never beat Shein-Fang. The old master was smart. He had access to knowledge and power that Keystone simply did not. His superior physical strength and stamina would be useless, or worse turned against him. In his time, the Master must have taken out many younger upstarts, larger and stronger both, by knowing more than they did, keeping a cool head, and demonstrating proper execution of technique. He didn't have to be stronger than his opponent; he only had to be strong enough to follow through with his movements. The realization was like a light beaming into his consciousness. 

Holy crap, Keystone had to go.

He dug into his pack, procuring the magical ring of the Statue Formerly Known As Reverin. The bastard practiced Necromancy, and wore this ring to their first encounter that started this whole mess. Maybe it was for specific purpose, maybe it wasn’t. But now was a time for answers. After horking down a little sustenance, he packed away everything not related to fighting, magic, or per diem expense. Swiftly dressing in darker clothing more suited to a day of fighting, he set out from the Xiang Temple at a run. 

Indecision was his enemy. Knowledge was not. The money, well… the plan to stock up and run was likely going to result in a massive amount of death, one way or the other. “Suck it up, Keystone.” He admonished himself, jogging to the Thayan Enclave. “We all die as one, if this goes sour."

The Enclave, as the plan went, and then to find Raa - the only person of the Guard that would possibly give him a moment of time. He had a trap to plan. "Don’t matter which god you pray to, nor how much blood you’ve got on you. Got a job needs doing.” 

He approached the Enclave with the full intention of doing what he ought have in the first place – selling the scroll and getting answers. Maybe pick up a trick Glith wouldn’t expect of a low-born brawler like himself.