[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Johnathon Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern: Private Rooms (2F)[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] Bathtub, Barmaid[/center][/b]

Ignoring the snowballing abdominal rumble, Keystone set to the daunting task of his personal hygiene. He passed the coarse rag over his powerful form, unconcealed by the civilized trappings of "clothing". For the first time in a long while, he took stock of the disturbing coverage of bodily scarring he had acquired over his lifetime. 

He could recall every injury that led to the Roadmap of Ouch upon his body; a broken bottle here, knife wound there. It was his way of marking the passing of time. Like tree rings, he had said once. As his memory of each scar resurfaced from the shadows of his psyche, the faintest echo of the pain of their creation played in his flesh. 

The highest concentrations of imperfectly healed skin marked his childhood and the beginnings of his career fighting. He had learned much since his younger days - many lessons those he broke and destroyed did not. The scars gradually became fewer and lighter. 

Until the past few years, anyway. 

His present state, something of an Errant, put him out into a wider and more dangerous world. For the longest time, he existed in a realm thick with magic as a wanderer, utilizing neither arms nor arcane knowledge, learning more of his craft and quite inadvertently involving himself with one epic story or another. Almost without exception, they involved battling hordes of the Undead. 

Lucky for him, this was merely a territorial dispute with Orcs.

A knock at the door snapped Keystone from his thoughts. [color=b8860b]"Bintfisting 'ell you want?"[/color] he snapped at whomever was on the other side. Thought-interrupting bastard. A woman's voice, sweet but impatient answered from the hallway. 

"You wanted a bottle of something 'local, floral, and goat-stink-peeling?', sir? Do you want me to leave it out here?" 

[color=b8860b]"Yeah, um... sorry love, door's open. Bring it in, wouldja?"[/color] Keystone called back, anxious to sample the local flavor via flammable liquid but unwilling to exit the hot water of his bath to do so. The brawler in repose leaned just over the rim, grabbing for the his coinpurse. Though an unsociable bastard, Keystone tipped when comfortably able. It ensured vigorous attention in a way that his own misunderstood people skills could not. As it turned out, his last venture was profitable; he could share a little of the spoils with the working class - a state that, long ago, he aspired upward towards. 

The barmaid entered with the solid proficiency of a woman who had done this hundreds of times. Her mood and action was impersonal yet polite, professional yet open. She was a few years older than Keystone, light of hair and pretty, if hardened of feature. She carried a small metal tray, upon which rested a ceramic bottle and a single glass tumbler. Without hesitation, the woman delivered it tubside, and introduced herself as Brighid. 

Keystone nodded and handed her a silver coin. Brighid poured him a healthy dram of the liquid. The smell of the home-brewed liqour cut through the damp, steamy air, heavy and sour-sweet with whatever was used in its distillation and flavoring. The veteran service lady took the opportunity to give her guest a long look, allowing her eyes to go wide at the thought of a man who would let himself go through so much punishment, to allow his body to become thusly marked permanently by other people's aggression. 

Totally mistaking the intent of her gaze, Keystone prompted, [color=b8860b]"Care to join, y'ladyship? Got plenty for two, if you get me..."[/color]

Brighid smiled, took up the glass she had just pored and leaned in close to Keystone's ear. She tilted her head back and drained its contents, allowing the soaking pugilist to catch a peripheral look at her respectable cleavage. With a breathy whisper, she intoned, 

"[i]It will take more than a shot and a silver for that, boy.[/i]" 

She tapped the glass flatly back onto the tray, rose, and strode confidently toward the door. "If there's anything else you need, m'lord, don't hesitate to ask." 

As the door closed behind her, Keystone took a pull straight from the bottle, wondering precisely why he felt like a jackass at that moment. [color=b8860b]"Ey! I said [i]floral[/i], not [i]fruity[/i]! Aw, bloody 'ell... n'mind."[/color]

Brighid was an interesting woman. He might have to meditate on her later.