[hr][hr][center][h2][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h2][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Deymins Tower [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] The Group [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	Sometimes, Keystone hated being right. This was undoubtedly one of those times. As the voice radiated from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, followed by the creak of formerly inanimate metal, Keystone reflected on the fact that he mentioned this very thing might happen. While others might have taken the opportunity to look upon what might have been their impending doom with anxiety or fear, the big man had a somewhat different reaction. 

	[color=b8860b]"Wha'did I bloody well say? What did I say? Fongin', Bacon-damned 'ell I called it!"[/color] he seemed wearied at the whole scenario. But he did not long for death, nor was he a mere brawler as his size and demeanor might suggest. His travels had tuned him into a fine, experienced warrior; very likely this was only so because he was fortuitous enough to have survived where others had fallen. He knew a few things [i]not[/i] to do. He also had some experience sizing up a situation like the one they were all in. 

	Now, his [i]first[/i] impulse was to run over immediately to help Sana, but three solid facts stopped him. First, she was a competent brawler in her own right. Second, she already had someone backing her up: the Ranger, Kyra. Plus her wolf. But third and mostly, it was poor strategy. With the others soon to be engaged with their own opponents and backs facing one another across a central table, he had to remain where he was to prevent the two nearest him from flanking his teammates or attacking from behind. It would be two against one, but no one in this pissant border town nor anyone near it had seen Keystone at his unrestrained best. He had a lot of aggression to vent and people he needed to keep safe. His group was [i]not[/i] going to die again, certainly not because he didn't give their enemies every scrap of what he could offer. 

	Keystone had faced similar enemies before, but he could not tell exactly what these things were. In that instant, he wished he was wearing his Black Knuckles still with their uncanny knack for destroying barriers, though his silvered brass ones would suffice for the meantime. He stepped forward a few paces, gathering his inner spiritual energies (the irony was not lost on him) and assuming the stance of a Shou disciple. His hands tightened into iron fists around his knuckle dusters, promising that this would not be an overly sophisticated dance more than an attempt at a utilitarian beat-down. Accepting his role; that of the cocky Pugilist, Keystone craned his neck until it popped loudly - even over the sounds of the drawing melee, and with a smile, chewed through words in his shameless underclass accent: 

	[color=b8860b]"Which one o'you chamberpots am I shitin' in first?"[/color]