[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1][hr][b][color=b8860b]Location:[/color][/b] Deymin's Tower (3F) [b][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color][/b] Cyneburg (I'm so sorry) [hr][/center] Troglodyte. Troglodyte Zombie, to be precise. Put simply, an undead variation of a shortish, reptilian humanoid that ordinarily dwelt underground when not summoned by some power-drunk necromancer. Also, not ordinarily a zombie. This put Keystone in a foul mood. Not a massive threat for a man like Keystone, who had knuckled [i]back to death[/i] many more powerful things of the undead variety; some of them very recently. A few months ago, he even had the pleasure of ripping the animated bones of a Death Knight out of its armor and crushing them beneath his bootheel in the middle of a bustling, major city. Good times. Perhaps this was why, when something as insignificant as a Troglodyte Zombie sunk its teeth into his arm and refused to let go, it was the last straw. Absolute last. Kyra's extremely likely death, Ash's likewise extremely likely death (he had nothing against the pup), the repeated near demise of Sana, and now the utter indignity of wearing a reptilian dead guy as an arm bangle had turned his foul mood even fouler. From the corner of his vision, he could even see the Hooded Figure that started all of this mess making a dash for the stairs. Something inside of Keystone gave way; a sense of what others had oft described to him as "moral outrage", though morality was rarely a thing that gave him concern. This feeling went well past [i]pride[/i], farther than the reaches of [i]rage[/i]. It demanded action beyond the pull of any king or civil authority; immediate, deliberate, [i]decisive[/i] action. It was the klaxon call of a godly or elemental power, one which Keystone was compelled to answer, nay, filled with an overwhelming [i]potency[/i], fueled by his willingness to waylay this monster of a person, to prevent him from escaping a fate that he so richly deserved. He would not do this to anyone else, ever. Keystone didn't beat a war tribe of Orcs in a farting contest [i]just[/i] to lose here. No sir. It was time for action. The arrow-drilled troglodyte still hanging onto his arm, Keystone turned to face the retreating Hooded Figure. The brightly lit, flaming magician served to mirror the inferno of his soul as the erstwhile tavern brawler with aspirations of Monk-dom felt his Chi, his very spiritual energy flow through him, bidden to his manipulation by sheer force of will and the desperation of necessity. He was going to halt this man's retreat, even if the gods tried to intervene. [color=b8860b]"Not bloody likely..."[/color] he growled, taking one, two, three steps toward the Necromancer. Keystone could not make it over to him in time to prevent his escape, but maybe, just maybe, he could hurl something to intercept the antagonist's retreat, but what? Nothing was big enough. Nothing was heavy enough. Nothing within reach could possibly harm this mad, spiteful man. Unless... Keystone's eyes settled upon the form of a large black bear, poised over her latest kill. His pupils instantaneously dilated with raw happy, coursing in his veins like a drug. [color=b8860b]"Right then. That'll do."[/color] Of course, it was their resident Druid and respected party member, Cyneburg, but those were mere details that might slow down a less decisive man. The Greater Good was at stake here. [u]The Greater Good[/u]. That, and the touch of mild insanity that made him, well, [i]HIM[/i] really wanted to see if he could pull this off. With all the grace of a lightly wounded bar bouncer (which he was) and slightly off-balance by the lizardkin zombie attached to his left arm (which he also was), Keystone bounded toward Cyneburg, who was resplendently making her luxurious coat of black fur and long, hard claws into a statement of function as well as fashion. Keystone didn't even pause as he swept his powerful arm beneath the Druid's forelimb, his other reaching over Cyne's shoulder, holding on to her around his black knuckle dusters with hands strengthened by years of physical conditioning. The invigorated Pugilist whispered a quiet, [color=b8860b]"I'll apologize later, yeah?"[/color], voice strained by effort as he immediately transferred his forward momentum, coupled with his intense brute strength, to lifting the Bear-That-Was-Cyneburg into a modified, terrifying hammer throw, spinning her about once fully and a half turn more to line up his ursine missile before releasing her in the direction of The Hooded Figure. Cyneburg sailed through the air like a huge, shaggy [i]falcon[/i]. Keystone almost wished he could have seen the look on his face - either of their faces - the minuscule instant that the Necromancer realized what was happening. Oh, if he ever met a genie, that's exactly what he would ask for. [color=b8860b]"Worth it."[/color] he exclaimed through clenched teeth. A relatively minor pain issued from his arm, prompting him to raise it and take a look at the source. The Troglodyte Zombie was somehow still attached. [color=b8860b]"You still 'ere?"[/color]