[hr][hr][center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Cave [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With: [/color] Orc Chief [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	They seemed agitated. Upset, even. Not that Keystone didn't have an inkling of understanding as to [i]why[/i] they were upset; there was a war on, and Cremwise's hirelings or not, they represented an enemy that was supposedly throwing animated dead people at them. Keystone would be a little miffed, himself. Hell, from his point of view, this is exactly what was happening to him. Allegedly, anyway. He hadn't actually seen any skeletons or zombies or Wights (oh, my!), nary a single Revenant on a mission, no, nor had he heard the barest rumor of a Lich wandering down from the mountains after decades of purposeful study. If indeed there [i]were[/i] undead on the prowl, they were either very adept at hiding their numbers, or this situation was just beginning. 

	Perhaps this was the opportune moment to flex his nonexistent social skills. Or at least talk straight with the guy that command an army of Orcs surrounding them all. 

	[color=b8860b]"Oy, Guv'nor, if I may? Name of Keystone. Throw m'two coppers in the pot then? Look, Cremmy's a lying wanksplat, no two ways on it. Lied to you, lied to us. I ain't particular loyal to the man; we had us a contract an' the terms've been sodding well met. But that utter cobyankery 'bout undead roamin' the streets o' Salarn? Nah. Didn't see a one. Now, if someone in Salarn's doing you lot dirty, find out who an' do what y've gotta. Only folk I'm givin' a rat's hindparts about're m'self, the two women around me, and that gaggle o' tosspots outside tryin' like hell to keep pushin' air past their pearlies. Y'understand? Promised them a good, hot meal when we're done 'ere, too, whenever we're done jawin' on 'bout it. 

	Not that I'm thinkin' you green folk're tellin' tales, neither. Had me a long and nasty 'istory tearin' down Undead, cross more than one realm, too. Powerful distaste for 'em, y'see. If'n this turns into an opportunity what I can re-dead some nasties, well, that's just gravy on the tubers, Guv. You'll be lettin' ol' Keystone know how we can slap a steak over this bruised-up eye, yeah?"

	"An' if you don't mind the mention, this's a right lovely stone enclosure you lot've got for yourself. 'Preciate the 'ospitality of y'clan, we does. If'n you're feelin' a bit 'venturous, mayhap you'd be one for joining us at suppertime, and a bit of black tea afters? You and your man Brezcar're both welcome 'round my fire."[/color] 

	When Keystone was finally finished with his waxing monologue, he gave an odd look for just a second, and nodded lightly. He had no idea if the Elder Orc could understand Word One through his urban underclass accent, or even his translators, for that matter. It was hoped that, if profound confusion took hold of the hour, Cyneburg would be able to translate [i]Keystone[/i] to [i]Common[/i] to [i]Orcish[/i], at least smoothly enough to let on the gist of his speech. 

	All that aside, he felt he did pretty well, considering he wasn't a man of classically acceptable eloquence. Might even run for public office if he ever got back home. Risking a look over to Kyra, he tried to gauge by her expression whether or not he had just done something truly awful. Fingers crossed!