[hr][hr][center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Road North of Salarn, Midday of Day Three [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] His Former Contractor [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	Keystone had honestly thought that he was going to be running full-tilt for much longer than he actually did. In hindsight, he probably should have left his pan back fireside. The opposing point to that thought was that his pan originally belonged to his mother; it had fed him for the entirety of his life. A large, round, black, covered cast-iron roasting pan, seasoned with decades of care and use. It was his very favorite pan. Losing it to anything other than epic, world changing events would have been unthinkable, let alone the sudden skittish movement of a dishonest trader. 

	And so, with massive irritation, Keystone jogged the rest of the way up to the scene. Cremwise was on the ground. Kyra had an arrow pointed at him in a manner most uncomfortable were she to take tension off of her bowstring. Her dire wolf, Ash, was at the ready (and looked [i]awfully[/i] peeved just then). Cyneburg was a bear. At least, he hoped it was Cyneburg. A few days ago, this would have seemed strange. Such was the spirit of the times. 

	Keystone's superior endurance despite carrying a potentially awkward burden showed; as he approached the scene his breathing slowed to a point that one wouldn't have known that he had just ran a breakneck pace after a horse. His mannerisms shifted as he continued past the destroyed wagon, becoming less like a cook or caravan guard, and more like the irate bouncer from which his career began. One skill he acquired long before his years-long journey training with various masters of the martially percussive arts involved coercion - coercion through fear. Keystone was particularly skilled at being a frightening man, as the occasion called for it. 

	By his present estimation, the occasion called for it. 

	The broad pugilist inhaled slowly, releasing his breath in a quiet, controlled growl. Every movement, every glance hinted at a false calm, the type of barely restrained rage that threatened to bury a city were it released from the eggshell barrier keeping it in check. Slow, heavy footfalls brought Keystone up to the man on the ground. Just inside his own reach but outside of the smaller man's, he squatted down on he balls of his feet to face his former employer. With force, he plunked his roasting pan down beside him, causing the lid to jostle and aromatic steam to escape for a brief second before gravity righted it. 

	Speaking in a low, tense voice, as a man searching for a reason not to bludgeon someone to death, Keystone opened the conversation. [color=b8860b]"Jolly news then, Cremwise. Lunch is ready. Anything you'd like to discuss, 'fore we dig in?"[/color]