[hr][hr][center][h2][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h2][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Deymins Tower (2F) [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] What's all this, then? [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	To say that Keystone despised the Undead was obvious. It wasn't just the fact that they were awful, supposed-to-be-dead mockeries of life, nor that the corporeal ones were oft squishy and smelled like the lower half of a stomach illness. I mean, these things certainly [i]helped[/i] Keystone's personal distaste along, but the fact that he kept being hurled against them was cause for considerable annoyance as well. Over time, he had become quite apt at pummeling them into oblivion about as fast as a Cleric could turn them away, but apparently today was not one of those days. 

	Possibly not the entire day; that had yet to be seen. The fact remained that right at that moment, Keystone could not really get at either of the enemies present. The thought occurred to him that he [i]could[/i] attempt to wrestle away the big, fluffy dire wolf that had been ensorceled by that lugubrious little fartmuffin. He wasn't in a good position to do so right then, but a little edging to the side would be immensely helpful for this course of action. 

	He noticed that the largest single amount of motion came from the Dwarf, Nor. Keystone had a certain amount of respect for Dwarves and their culture. Most of them, anyway. Not all of them were the labor-intense, hard drinking beaters of wholesale ass that best represented their race. Some were... ...a little "off". One in particular came to mind, a socially misplaced fellow who went by the name of Obgyn; one of the rare few that could keep up with his own gaseous expulsions, though with far less control. The words of the bard Virgil flashed through his mind; a very brave soul who happened to be present for one of his more memorable moments in history and committed it to paper, for posterity's sake: 

[hider=Obgyn - Foyer]
Upon stepping into the foyer, Obgyn grins and rubs his stout hands together with something that looked a bit like childish glee. That or gas, one could never tell. The setting seemed perfect. Yes, a large, richly appointed area from which to study, get his name out, and avoid all the hassles of town elders and authority figures that just don't get his dream. Hanging out with adventurers and Guildsmen may be just what his career needs right now, reasoned the less-than-charismatic healer.

His face contorted into worry for a moment, then confusion, then pain. Then without warning, a sputtering baritone erupted from the back of his baggy trousers, stressing the coarse stitching and seeming to grow in intensity and depth with the assistance of the room's broad walls and solid marble base flooring. If elephants were fairies, and the entire continent stood up in unison and screamed, "I do not believe in elephants!", the death rattle of a thousandfold parades of the behemoths would have been dwarfed by the brutal finality of his post-intestinal ham flapping. The sulphurous assault broke through this reality and into the next nearest to reveal a better, more gratifying world had Obgyn never been born, briefly bringing a tear to his eye with its stunning beauty and advanced civilization. The odor began to age any organic matter it caressed as if it were the screeching of a banshee attacking a lovely young maiden out for a walk along the loch at night, peeling paint and ruining the warranties on whatever household knick-knacks it permeated. The affront to she senses was such that Obgyn's eyes watered further, nostril hairs singed short, and every color of the rainbow exploded in front of him in a fractal of death and longing.

All a once, reality snapped back to its original, default settings. The healer (if that term can EVER be used for him anymore) realized that his health may be at risk were he to linger in the area anymore, and hurried off to find the most defendable room he could acquire for himself. Then realizing there was a wetbar in the house, ran back downstairs to help himself and pretend that none of this ever happened.

And if anyone asked him, by Stryfe himself, he would try to blame this on the Paladin. "Hmm... guess it was gas after all. Heh heh."

As he walked into the house's bar, [b]"Yami, was it? HI! Hi. Good to talk to a fellow healer. So, Holy Warrior, huh? Never dated one of those before..."[/b] 
[/hider]

	It could be said that Keystone was surprisingly well read for a big guy. In any case, the difficulty at hand needed some more time to play out before he could get his hands involved, and so, Keystone chose to hold his action, waiting for a clear moment to present itself.