[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern, interior and exterior[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] Cremwise, Fellow Merchant Guard Hires [/center][/b]

The barest hint of cool, grey dawn crested the horizon, filtering in through the trees dotting the hamlet of Salarn. Keystone was already outside the Inn, just a few meters away in a small, unused area whose main feature was a thick oak, its remaining leaves darkened from the season. He had removed his boots and shirt both, the latter folded neatly and placed atop the former. The scars from a hundred (likely more) close-in scuffles of mortal urgency criss-crossed atop his almost grotesquely conditioned physique. 

That, combined with his abyssal social skills was the likely reason he never married. 

Keystone's breath fogged and quickly dissipated as he moved, finishing up a series of exercises designed to hone his unarmed combat techniques and provide resistance of motion - the end result being a quite effective maintenance workout. He flowed from stance to stance, form to form, with effortless practice and a grace that seemed the antithesis to his usual rough demeanor. He was a Pugilist, certainly, but one with uncommon complexity of training from obviously multiple sources. Those who had only witnessed the actions of the brutish man from the previous night were shocked somewhat to see that Keystone, the occidental brawler with the table manners of an orc-raised goat, was an [i]artist[/i] in his chosen profession. 

As his forms drew to a close, Keystone turned to face the Crossed Swords exhaling slowly and deliberately in an effort to slow his breathing and heartbeat. He pressed his knuckles together in front of himself and bowed his head slowly, signaling the end of his morning constitutionals. 

Keystone pulled on his boots, retrieved his dark, woolen shirt, and jogged back into the Inn. 

[color=b8860b]"Mornin' all."[/color] he said (almost) cheerfully, pulling his shirt on over his head. Without further greeting, he jogged upstairs. 

He returned in about two minutes, just the time it took to buckle on his long coat of reinforced hide armor, grab his pack, and sling a bandoleer of kunai daggers about his torso. A quick scan for anything he might have missed drew his attention to the ceramic bottle from last night. Having barely been touched, it was carefully stoppered and placed in his belongings. No sense wasting good booze that can be utilized later.

He plunked the large pack heavily upon a nearby table, and called to Cremwise. [color=b8860b]"Ey, Cremmy!"[/color]

After the older merchant's attention was acquired, he strode purposefully toward the man and continued. [color=b8860b]"Call me Keystone. Miss Persephone went and convinced me to take your offer. Got nothing on my "to-do list", as it were. Long as I've already accepted it, um... what's your offer?"[/color]

Just then, his senses picked up on the possibility of breakfast in his near future. Tea, ham and eggs sounded positively heavenly.