[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Updates[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[b][color=6ecff6]Season:[/color][/b] Late Fall/Early Winter
[b][color=6ecff6]Time Of Day:[/color][/b] Mid-Morning
[b][color=6ecff6]Weather:[/color][/b] Cool air, cloudy. The wind is picking up, promising rain soon.
[b][color=6ecff6]General Ambiance:[/color][/b] Sleepy, but guarded. 
[b][color=6ecff6]Location:[/color][/b] Hamlet of Salarn in the region of Gorlf just south of the Orc Settlement of Yzewz
[b][color=6ecff6]Setting:[/color][/b] Salarn

[hr][hr][h3][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]GM Controlled NPC [/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3]
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Cremwise noted the slow readying of his assembled group of hirelings. He was partly hesitant to get out on the road, partly impatient that they hadn't already. Such was trade during wartime. 

Wagons were slower to start, the more people traveled with them. It was a fact of his profession. This group of individuals didn't exactly know each other well enough to move with military-like organization, at least not yet. The relative safety of the town likely had a few of them feeling complacent. The older merchant had a feeling that, with the security of Salarn removed from the equation, this may change. 

"Ah, good!" he said, sitting atop his wagon, reins in hand. The merchant forced a cheerful smile on his face, surveying his new temporary employees. "Let's not waste daylight!" Cremwise urged his horse forward. It responded, lurching the ware-laden wagon to a steady roll. 

Following Kyra and Ash's trail, the Company departed the sleepy hamlet from the south, turning immediately to follow the makeshift wall around to the barricaded northern road. As the wagon touched proper road again, Cremwise glanced behind him to one of his larger escorts. 

"You said your name was Keystone, correct? I've heard stories about a Monk using that name. Supposedly, he did all manner of unwholesome and heroic things, depending on who's telling the tale. Things with wizards and the undead. [i]...and a dragon...[/i] You him?" 

[i]Those checking the wagon for scent will clearly note the fresher scents of foodstuffs and leather (waterskins, packs, etc.). The bulk of the covered wares are a hodgepodge of herbs, oils, and other strong smells; picking out a single one is a herculean feat at this time.[/i]

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[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Salarn, Exterior[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] The Company, Cremwise [/center][/b]

The large man silently regarded Lob getting a good lungful of the group's scents. He even stood motionless while the Half-Orc turned his olfactory attentions towards him. Keystone had met his half blood kin before; they came with many different attitudes and outlooks. This one was unique, however. Different. More feral. Even less apt to use a spoon. 

[color=b8860b]"Most folk just offer to shake hands."[/color] he intoned, steadfastly [i]not[/i] offering his own for fear of what might be done to it. [color=b8860b]"Name of Keystone."[/color]

That was a very large Half-Orc. At least as strong as himself, possibly moreso. He was glad to have him as an ally for this venture, though unclear as to whether the gargantuan warrior would be an asset or a liability. Time would tell.

Keystone fastened his pack up and strode outside of the Crossed Swords Inn and Tavern. He looked over the assembled group in their traveling and fighting garb, and shrugged just a bit. He'd gone out to almost certain conflict with worse, certainly. Seeing as he had been on the road by himself for quite some time now, he could deal with a little companionship and added security of numbers. 

With the practice of a man accustomed to this kind of work, Keystone hung his pack by the straps on the inside of the wagon. He fell into step alongside, mindful of the treeline and keeping Cremwise in plain view. Their indirect route out of town gave him an opportunity to mentally review his situation and clear his head. He looked for Persephone, figuring if he's going to have a pleasant conversation with anyone, it would likely be someone with which he had a common interest. 

The head-clearing came to a swift and undramatic halt when Cremwise addressed him directly: 

"You said your name was Keystone, correct? I've heard stories about a Monk using that name. Supposedly, he did all manner of unwholesome and heroic things, depending on who's telling the tale. Things with wizards and the undead. [i]...and a dragon...[/i] You him?"

Keystone's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he recovered from the surprise. He knew word about some of his exploits had gotten around locally, but into a border town? Then he recalled that, as a merchant, Cremwise did a lot of traveling. Lots of places he could have heard something. 

It was probably that smart-arsed bard he associated with for a time. It was bad enough he wrote poetry about their exploits, but the bastard had the out and out gall to put it to music and share it with others. Admittedly, most of what he sang about was true. Just not some of the details, and [i]that's[/i] where he got nailed to the wall, the details. 

Curiously, Keystone shifted his eyes to Sona, the Bard, to see if she showed any glimmer of recognition. Returning attention to their benefactor, he answered grimly (if not convincingly).

[color=b8860b]"Dunno what you're on about, Cremmy. Sounds like a proper cobswinger though, that guy."[/color]