"Don't let down your guard." mumbled Keystone flatly. If Glith were truly destroyed, as the evidence in his pocket would suggest, then he was never the evil that the old master kept referencing. 

The disguised fighter drank Shein-Fang's potion immediately, and paused for just a moment to let the restorative effects wash over him. He began to feel warmer, his heartbeat more relaxed, as if he had just recovered a quart of the blood he had lost in the fight earlier. Standing a little straighter, he continued to his destination. 

The attention of the guards was not lost on Keystone; he surmised that his monk's attire probably prevented an immediate identification (if they were still looking for him from earlier), but it was still best to get off the streets. 

Pretending not to notice the attention he was getting, he strode purposefully to the door of the workshop, knocked, and announced in a clear voice, "Master Rocksteady, I am [i]Edeknurl[/i], of the Northern Ironfist Temple. I've traveled quite a way, and your town certainly has a violent welcoming committee." 

It was a ploy, obviously, but this smith was the only person in town with which he'd used the Dwarven translation of his name. He continued, this time in Dwarven, "I have a gift and a commission for you, Master Rocksteady, if you'd have me in. It's important." 

While waiting for response, Keystone briefly pondered the events of the last two minutes. Why would the underclass, as exampled by the concerted efforts of the nearby prostitutes, help him? In his own home, he had the proper connections to warrant such cover, but here? It seemed like another player was in on this game, a mysterious benefactor whose interests lay in keeping Keystone alive and free. At least, free from the open ruling body of Telflamm. 

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted this done, and to be on the road, unchallenged, to the next chapter of his life. All things in time, this challenge must be seen to first.