[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Road North of Salarn, One hour north of Camp[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] Cremwise, Wagon[/center][/b]

	The rain hammered down on the earth and everything upon it, mercilessly and seemingly without end. The white noise sound of the troublesome weather still reminded Keystone of a steak sizzling or bacon frying, reminding him yet again that he had a substandard supper the previous night and no breakfast this morning. It was a matter of creature comfort, anyway; Keystone was accustomed to hardship and missing meals. Didn't mean he was happy about it, though.

	Looking at the situation through the faintest veil of optimism, it could be worse. True, there were Orc corpses back down the way a bit, probably a lot more that would be very unhappy to see a group of non-Orcs traveling down a road they claimed as their own. Also true, Mother Nature was being particularly unkind that morning. But, they all could be dead. Point of fact, a very hostile group tried to make that very thing happen about an hour ago. Plus, Keystone's coat kept the vast majority of the rain off of his body. 

	Sadly, it was far from the first time that someone wanted to kill the stalwart Pugilist. In a way, it was almost comforting. Whenever someone wanted him dead, Keystone took it as a sign that just might be doing something right. Granted, it wasn't a foolproof litmus of his moral choices. Just happened to work out that way. 

	Keystone's optimism took a slight hit when the wagon lurched to a sudden stop. The rain was excellent at washing away tracks. It was also excellent at saturating unpaved roads and turning them hazardous to laden merchant conveyances. Or, to put it in plainer, more Keystonespeak, [color=darkgoldenrod]"Bloody wankmuffin's stuck, it is."[/color]

	Front left wheel, sunk a third of the way to the hub. There must have been a rock or some other obstruction underneath the surface as well, because that horse just couldn't seem to get the proper angle to put one more revolution on the wheel. Indeed, the bloody wankmuffin was quite stuck. 

	[color=darkgoldenrod]"Oi, 'less one o' you lot's got some magic what can un-frig this, better let me on it."[/color] 

	Keystone probed the wetness and silt of the ground around the wheel. Lots of squishy dirt, gravel, and a couple of largeish pieces of flat stone. It could be some time if they stopped to dig out the rock and fill in the hole with gravel and packed dirt (the prescribed but temporary fix of wagoneers everywhere), but time was not their friend. Not with a tribe of Orcs that wanted to use their faces for drum skins. Instead, Keystone ambled up to the cart backwards, grabbed the bottom of the wagon bed in his hands, and did his best to raise that one corner of Cremwise's wagon over the stone that held it fast. For good measure, he planted a bootheel on the offending rock, hoping to use the same effort to push the ornery lump of minerals downward. 

	[color=darkgoldenrod]"Nnneeerrrrrraahhhhh..."[/color] grunted Keystone, straining to get whatever purchase he could from he wagon. [color=darkgoldenrod]"Gravy's Sake, Cremmy, get yer fongin' horse forward, eh?"[/color]