[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Road North of Salarn, Camp[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] The Medieval X-Men, Cyneburg[/center][/b] 

He was asked, though it seemed the decision was already made concerning the presence of the newcomer. Both the merchant, Cremwise, and the person filling the role of Guard Captain, Kyra, had given a their affirmation. Besides, it was made apparent that the silver in his pocket was for his capacity for violence, not his opinions. For this reason, he said nothing. 

Instead, he began cleaning and putting his pans away. He had prepared an adequate meal for those that responded positively to the idea; the arrival of another person meant that someone would have to do without. Not that it was a burden on his part, Keystone had much in the way of provisioning and made it a point to resupply as often as possible. It just meant that, tonight, the gruff Pugilist would be dining on fare more suited to overland travelers. To deny a guest would have been frightfully unethical. Not that he gave a rat's hindquarters about ethics, mind you, but his mother would have slapped him with a wooden spoon if she had witnessed her only boy having a hot meal while a guest did not. 

Keystone carefully put his pans away and started chewing on a bit of hardtack. Washing a bite down with ale, he addressed the party. 

[color=b8860b]"Right then, glad we're all chummy. Whenever you lot're ready to turn in, I'm on watch. Who's got next?"[/color]