[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] 5:30 - Orc: Lancer, 5:30 - Horse: Lancer's (Butterstuff), 7 - Orc: Fighter[/center][/b]

The indomitable brawler, Keystone, rose from his less-than-ideal seat atop the head of the Orc he had just concussed into oblivion, and took a second to survey his surroundings. This was a problem. His group was outnumbered, disorganized, and lacking in basic, raw combat ability when compared to their aggressors. Despite this, they were not merely mowed down like grass before an arching scythe, which arguably is what the Orcs had in mind. While their immediate doom was not forthcoming, it would arrive nonetheless unless their tactics altered. Keystone took a breath and tried to organize his thoughts. 

To begin, he decided to order the attackers in a circular pattern (of purely his own devising, of course) resembling the face of a clock. He had just neutralized Six O'Clock and Six Fifteen, as he reckoned it, and set his sights on the object of his employment: Cremwise's Wagon and the Employer Merchant himself. Unfortunately, two others had also taken direct interest in Cremwise and his stuff. Oh yes, Seven and Seven Forty-Five. It's your turn next. 

His plans for the Axe Wielder and the Archer would have to be put on hold, however, as the sound of horse hooves beating rhythmically on the ground came swiftly nearer to the mission-bound Pugilist. Keystone looked to the noise as it was joined by a guttural war cry, screamed with Orcish baritone. Five Thirty, mounted and with sword swinging, closed on his position as he endeavored to move closer to the wagon. 

The blade bore down on Keystone from above, expertly swept at his neck from atop charging horse. He barely had time to raise his arms to deflect Five Thirty's longsword, catching the blade across his bracers. Dwarven masterwork clashed against Orcish steel, ringing loud and flatly in the damp morning air. A chip of metal flaked off of the weapon, glinting dully as it twirled in the air, descending earthward. Though the blade was turned, the force of the blow, bolstered by the pressure of sprinting horseflesh, knocked Keystone to the ground. 

From his back, Keystone looked to wagon. Cremwise was still in trouble. He had to move, fast. 

The Monk-trained fisticuff artisan kicked himself to a standing position. Five Thirty had turned his horse around and kicked it into another short charge, intending to finish what he started. This put Keystone in a bad position - he had to take down a mounted opponent lest said opponent killed him before he could be of any help to his employer. On the other hand, if he didn't do [i]something[/i] about the two marauders approaching Cremwise, and [i]right now[/i], this was going to go very bad, very quickly. 

In two seconds, maybe three, the Cavalorc would be upon him again, with no guarantee that he could block another incoming attack of this nature. He could scarcely reach the rider, unarmed as he was, with a blow powerful enough to unseat or incapacitate, even if he could get close enough without getting a sword inserted into his face. 

Keystone internally sighed, knowing what he must do. 

He assumed a low stance, one fist at his hip and one hand in front, two fingers raised to help judge speed and distance. This was tricky, maybe even cruel, but it had to be done. Keystone exhaled and relaxed his body as best he could, given time limitations, and stood directly in the path of the sword, now barreling toward him point first. 

[color=b8860b]"Sorry 'bout this, Butterstuff."[/color] he whispered, gritting his teeth in preparation for what was to come. 

The instant before his life ended, Keystone cross-stepped to the other side of the approaching animal, spinning his body and planting his feet in such a manner as to imbue a single, devastating hit with as much strength as he could muster. The combined power of the brawler's raw physicality and the charging horse reacted as knuckle met skull. Not his attacker's, but the horse's.  

Somewhere inside the beast's cranial cavity, brain jostled against skull twice; one side and then the other. This manifested externally by he horse giving a cross between a very perplexed look and an eye roll, its jaw skewing in one direction and its tongue lolling outstretched to the other. Were horses capable of speech (or anyone, after taking the hit), it would have given a resounding "Wuzzafuck?" before its inevitable collapse. The poor animal's head tilted listlessly to the side and its body followed, crashing to the ground in a breathy glorping sound, like someone dropped a massive sackful of pork chops onto a marble floor. 

Five Thirty screamed and gurgled in sheer painful confusion while his leg broke the horse's fall onto the packed ground and remained there, mangled and pinned under eighty-five stone of forcibly unconscious riding beast. His sword lay another arm's length out of reach, but that was hardly his biggest concern at the moment.  

Sensing an opening, Keystone looked back to the wagon. They were nearer. He couldn't get to the merchant before the other Orcs did. There was a bit of desperation in his voice as he yelled, [color=b8860b][b]"Cremwise!"[/b][/color], both to indicate to him that he wasn't forgotten, and to draw the attention of any allies to his peril. 

If the Pugilist couldn't get there himself, perhaps something representative of Keystone could. He quickly unsheathed a kunai from his bandoleer and hurled it at Seven, the Orc with the great axe. He seemed the most menacing to the employer at the time, and he wanted to keep his ensorceled, bone-handled seax on him in case the archer next to Seven figured him as a target. The blade sunk into Seven's lower back. Not the lung puncture he was hoping for, but if this didn't distract him, he had a few more that might. 

In the back of his mind, Keystone was still irritated that breakfast was interrupted. He was really looking forward to oat bannocks and black tea.