[IC] Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

[DMZ]

The guards continued to inspect Keystone for a few more seconds, then the captain huffed and spun around on his heels, barking orders to his men as they moved away into the depths of the city. The working ladies sighed and pouted as they returned to their places, still casting glances towards the monk.

The dwarven bellowing continued for some time and suddenly got louder as the dwarf stepped out of the door to meet Keystone. His hair and beard, having carried the shade of ash earlier, were now pitch black and shiny after a good rinse, and the dwarf wore a shiny leather jerkin emblazoned with the logo of his shop. He inspected the tall monk with a serious gaze, holding a mug of ale in his right hand and a chicken leg in the other.

"Me shop's closed, boy. Commissions an' the like'll have to wait till morn." A glimpse of pity passed the dwarf's eyes as he saw the monk's wounds and his visage softened. "Ye look like a fresh ground meatball, boy. Shouldn't be fightin' so much." With a shrug, he handed Keystone his mug, half filled with a strong dwarven drink that could probably knock out an ox with the smell.

"Oh, invite him in, Avar!" said the husky female voice, turning the dwarf's head, "we have enough food for a guest!" Avar Rocksteady grunted and huffed his way back inside, gesturing for Keystone to follow him.

The room the dwarf vanished into was a wide, but low space, barely high enough to not scrape Keystone's head on the ceiling. A large wooden table took up half of the room. On the table, a large pan with chicken legs, a pot of rice and a plate of steaming vegetables resided next to a cask of ale the size of an average halfling. Tim, the young apprentice Keystone saw before, was similarly cleaner than he had been at the smithy and excitedly waved at Keystone. The last figure in the room was a fair-skinned, raven haired woman of almost equal height to Keystone, radiating a wide smile on her delicate features. Homely according to most royalty standards, she boasted a set of striking black eyes that at the moment, showed an open invitation.

The dwarf sat down on the wooden chair and turned to Keystone:

"Well, ye comin' or not, boy? Grab a chair, have some food. Me gal's an excellent cook! It's either that or ye go find some drab at some inn at three times the price. Be sure to leave me mug if ye're goin to the inns tonight!" he bellowed, turning back to the table and winking to the woman.

In Keystone's mind, Kaylee stirred at the sight of the room, recoiling as if in fear.

[Sigil]

With sincere gratitude, Keystone accepted the old Dwarf's offer. Careful to maintain appearances, he bowed in the manner of a Xiang Monk, twice, and entered the low room. After the door closed behind him, the large man took a tentative sip from the mug handed to him, and forced himself to maintain composure as he swallowed.

Best efforts on his part bore fruit, well enough that he didn't make an ugly face, anyway. He did mutter a quiet, "...bloody 'ell..." as he exhaled, curious as to how the Dwarf had access to the alley-distilled raw liquor (or something similar) of his homeland. The main difference in this instance was, however, that his people cut it into other, more tolerable liquids for actual consumption. To its credit, he next sip was easier. Perhaps it was simply an acquired taste.

He pulled up a chair with as much politeness as he could muster despite his common upbringing, and gave a weary smile toward Tim and the tall woman. He turned his attention to Rocksteady, and thanked him sincerely for allowing him into his abode with the offer of a meal.

The sight of the food displayed openly reminded the burly warrior that he was actually quite hungry, now that adrenaline and threat of immediate dismemberment had passed. Keystone took modest portions for himself, aware of the fact that he was an unexpected guest in the home of a person he'd met only once. This act of kindness earned he and his family(?) the truth, top to bottom. Over supper. And booze.

He started with the first night in Two Stars, accepting the job offer, his change of heart (when he realized he was hired to be a strongarm thief), and everything else leading up to Kaylee taking up residence in his head. Keystone tended to be very technical with descriptions of the fights he had, making mention of attack and parry combinations, counteroffensive strikes, even the street names of improvised maneuvers and proper applications. "Y'ever fishhook somebody? Nasty, that."

He was emphasizing his story using jabs and swipes with a bare chicken leg, until he was offered another. At which time, he took a big bite and continued his tale, this time emphasizing with a partially bare chicken leg. His story curved around the suspicions he had concerning the Thayan Enclave and the residents therein, apparent the corruption of the city officials, and the hospitality, though temporary, of the Xiang Temple.

He finished off by describing (in somewhat less detail) his fight with Glith. While not saying outright what he had to do to subdue the Undead Knight, he did mention that in the end, he had to rely heavily on a connection to Elemental Earth to keep himself alive. When he was finished, he looked to his hosts, and apologized.

"My sincerest, I promised both a gift and a commission. Master Rocksteady, I was going to offer you another flask of my Own home's booze. I can see you've got a far better spirit for drinking, but p'raps I can offer your ladyfriend something for cooking: A bit of Plum Spirits from the Xiang Temple. Ma'am?" Keystone recovered his pack and fished out a flask, setting it on the table in front of him. "Supper was right settling, ma'am. I'm no slouch in the kitchen myself, and I'd appreciate trading some food learning with you, if'n you're for it."

"I also mentioned a commission, Master Smith." continued Keystone in an optimistic tone. The big man set his signature brass knuckles, mottled and engraved with thusfar unidentifiable markings, near Rocksteady on the table. "They've saved my arse more than once, and they're the closest thing to a weapon I regularly use. I'd find use with more contemporary spares. P'raps suitable for some magicking later on. Got confidence that a Dwarf of your experience can improve upon the design of these; they're more street weapon than not. Can talk details later."

Keystone dug out the Time Stop scroll, and handed it directly to Rocksteady. "This was appraised by the Red Wizards at 1,900 gold coins. I've no use for it, and I have a feeling I can't return to the Enclave for some time. Consider it payment."

"Glith's sword is supposed to be a prison, what keeps Kaylee's spirit trapped." He hefted the massive weapon, and thunked it, wrappings and all, onto the table next to the wine. "Two birds, one stone. This is proper steel, not a bit of fleck or brown on it. I want you to take this thing apart, and use it to make the order. We can talk about whatever's left over after."

"Yeah, one more thing - Lots of metal there. I want you to make part of it into a big-arsed Waffle Iron. Plans, I've got. Big, waffley plans."

[DMZ]

The company laughed, wow'd and ouched the entire evening as Keystone told his story. Both the dwarf and Tim gave the monk a questionable look when he told them about a spirit inhabiting his head, one that never quite left their eyes the rest of the evening. To the rest of his story, everyone at the table kept nodding and acknowledging the evil tendencies of Thay wizards and the horrors of fighting the undead. The mention of Glith or fighting a large animated suit didn't appear to be something the dwarf would be surprised at, but Keystone could clearly see Tim's horror at the mention of the fight. The young man beamed newfound respect for the monk, as if Keystone had just slain a dragon in front of his eyes. The raven haired woman, who Keystone came to know as Saran, smiled at the story Keystone told and kept filling his plate until he declined. It was clear that the monk's story brought some welcome amusement to the house of Rocksteady.

As Keystone finished up, the dwarf reached over and patted him on the back with force enough to break the back of an average man, bellowing laughter and respect. "A few more years and we'll be hearin' bard tales of ye slaying dragons across the Realms!" He receded to his seat with Keystone's offered bottle of ale in his hands, inspecting it with the keen eyes of an experienced brewer. "Aye, this'll do."
Saran took the herbs Keystone offered, sniffed them and looked a bit confused as she looked back at the monk, smiling. "I don't know how your people use these herbs, so I'd need some time with you to learn the ways of your cooks, Keystone. Perhaps you could show me when you have time?" she teased with clear interest. Tim blushed with a fiery red as he finished, Avar only laughed harder than he had before. "Lass, ye'll be the death o' me one o' these days with yer appetite!" he said, turning to Keystone as the man continued.

Taking the brass knuckles and inspecting them, Avar grunted and bumbled something to himself. "Good work, these. Nothing me and me kin couldn't make, but good work!" He set the knuckles back on the table, shoving them towards Keystone as his forehead crinkled in deep thought. "A set 'o new knuckles should not take me much longer than a day, and ye'll get true dwarven quality! 'Course, won't be free, and yer scroll won't do. I have no use for it. If the Red Wizards saw it in yer hands and I'd show up to sell it, they'd be mighty suspicious, and I don't want trouble with the red robes if I can avoid it. Ye go sell it yerself and bring back the gold so we can talk."

The last thing the dwarf held in his hands was the sword and as he did, Keystone felt Kaylee's angry flare in his head as he did. The dwarf dropped the blade like it was scalding hot. With a loud clang the sword fell on the floor next to the table. Avar looked at his hands in confusion and a bit of horror, then back to Keystone with an angry look:
"What ye tryin to do boy, handing me such foul magic? Were I not a dwarf I'd have no hands right now, or worse!" he spouted in anger, looking back at the sword on the floor. "That be steel, but steel I ain't touching again. If ye want yer waffle maker, ye go an' get me some proper steel from a merchant I know." With a heavy grunt, the dwarf sat back down on his seat, grasped his empty mug from Keystone and filled it up with the ale the monk provided. When it was gone a gulp later, the dwarf looked at Keystone again, his anger dissipating slightly:
"Consider THAT payment fer painin' me so much." The mood in the room rapidly shifted, as both Saran and Tim now gazed upon the monk with confusion and fear, respectively.

In his mind, Keystone felt Kaylee's anger ebbing away as the dwarf dropped the blade, soon replaced with a sense of apology.
You can't destroy the sword with me still here, Keystone. I would die. I don't want to die, she pleaded with the voice of a child. I need a new home before I can get rid of that awful prison..

Saran's confusion was briefly replaced with a suspicious glance, gone a moment later as the woman picked up the empty plates and vanished into the kitchen. Keystone's instincts told him Tim was slowly reaching for a dagger on his felt, the boy's face full of fear.

[Sigil]

Keystone registered a look of surprise as Avar Rocksteady dropped the blade to the floor. "That... was new. Been carrying the thing all day, sir, never had m'hands near explode. It must be something awful."

His peripheral senses caught the scared boy, Tim, reaching for a blade. Uncertain as to whether the kid would actually make a move, or was doing so merely for the reassurance of being armed with a potentially dangerous stranger in the house, Keystone tried to handle the situation with tact.

Ordinarily, the concept of tact in interactive situations was as out of grasp as the town Cleric's wife during a high holiday for the lumbering man, but this manner of social influence was one in which he had a some background. He was, after all, a former tavern peacekeeper. With eyes focused on Rocksteady still, Keystone raised the volume of his voice so the frightened apprentice would know he was really addressing him as he began,

"If I make you nervous, Tim, I can leave." Keystone slowly turned to face him, moderately satisfied that the youth would not immediately attempt to attack. "Adventuring types pick up lotsa souvenirs, boy. Not all of 'em pleasant, neither. Duty keeps things with you, till you know what needs being done. Where I'm at now, it is."

He returned to Rocksteady's gaze, "My 'pologies again, sir. I must not know what I've got, here. If'n you want my absence, I'd be keen on giving it to you." Keystone began gathering the sword from the floor, re-wrapping it in cloth and securing it behind the shoulder straps of his pack. "Talk to me about your friend, the metal merchant, and I'll make sure we're both happy soon as I unload the scroll. Either way, Master Smith, you've been more than kind to a tired soldier today."

As the opportunity arose, Keystone formed words in the forefront of his mind, "New home? First I've heard of the possibility. What would you need?"

[DMZ]

The dwarven smith's visage softened when he saw the genuine confusion stamped on the monk's features. "Should've told me the durned thing only likes ye afore handin it over, boy." he said, a full mug of ale courtesy of Saran already in his hand. Across the table, Tim was visibly more relaxed, if still eyeing the monk with a healthy dose of fear on his face. Saran seemed unbothered by all the recent events, wearing a slight smile on her face to match black eyes with no pupils to speak of.
Avar drank some more as he continued to watch Keystone pack, nodding at his mention of the metal merchant: "Aye, if ye get me the gold within the day, I can have yer 'nuckles ready on the morn a day from now. Ye can leave me extra gold fer the steel. Methinks all 'o this shouldn't cost ye more than 60 gold, boy. 50 fer the knuckles an' the metal, 10 fer me poor hands." Saran and Tim both chuckled loudly at the last mention, prompting a guilty smile from the dwarf. "I may be a generous dwarf, but I got to get me ale money somewhere, eh? I knocked 10 gold off 'o that fer callin' me Master Smith, hehehehe" he chuckled.

Saran's smile turned into a pout as Keystone mentioned leaving and she cast an angry glare at Tim and then the dwarf. Both men seemed to shrink under the heavy weight of it, looking anywhere but at her. She gazed at Keystone again, and once again he felt Kaylee shrink back into the furthest corner she could find: the sword, leaving the monk with a clear mind. "I would be a bad host to deny a weary traveler, and more than that, a cook, an offered rest after such an obvious...misunderstanding. You are welcome to stay here, Keystone." She turned away from the table, but spun around on her heels, as if forgetting something. "Oh, and you mentioned the Red Wizards, yes? If you wish, I can accompany you to their shop to prevent any...creative dealing on their ends. They should be open still. That is, of course, if you are not too tired this day." She threw a look at Keystone that he couldn't quite place as she vanished in the kitchen, ringing with some plates.

Avar and Tim both excused themselves from the table and walked away into the depths of the hovel, leaving Keystone alone in the dining room with Saran being in the adjacent kitchen. Keystone noticed that the room didn't seem to contain any source of light but a warm hearth with a crackling fire, but was lit up as if a chandelier was present on the low ceiling.

[Sigil]

The battle-torn Keystone smiled and nodded in appreciation at the offers presented. A warm, dry corner for the evening, away from the usual resting places associated with travelers and removed from the Xiang Temple (for their own security, apparently) was precisely what he needed.

Though he kept the sword attached to his pack, he kept it open long enough to retrieve his old woolen coat from within. He changed out of his monk's robe and into more familiar covering as quickly as his injuries would allow. The pretense of disguise was mainly for the purposes of getting out of town as quickly as possible, undetected. Plans had changed. Though Keystone still had plans of leaving town and continuing (what he felt was) his mission, it would be at least another day or so before he could. Showing up where he was sure to be recognized wearing a Shou robe and large, conical hat would render its anonymity moot.

Keystone poked his head into the kitchen and cleared his throat. "Miss Saran, ma'am?" Politeness wasn't his strong suit, and as such he often equated it with formality, especially in speech. "I'd be grateful if you'd give me an assist with the Red Wizards, point of fact. If it's not too much trouble, I'd be obliged were you to accompany me to a market, as well. Would like to handle your cooking tomorrow, if I could."

"I'd be happy to set the lot of us up with warm, fluffy waffles in the morning, but that'll have to wait until Master Rocksteady's done crafting with that iron. I do make a right habit-making waffle with sweet pepper preserve. Before I leave town though, for certain."

[DMZ]

Saran nodded her agreement as she made a few trips back and forth between the kitchen and the, enlisting the monk's help with the large variety of dishes. When they finished, she bade Keystone to wait a bit as she too vanished into the hovel. A few minutes later she walked out. Gone was the simple outfit of a serving girl she wore during the evening, replaced by a bright red robe Keystone was all too familiar with. She graced him with a smile, as if inviting to hear his opinion about her new look, and took to the monk by the arm, practically dragging him out of the hovel with surprising speed. Outside, Keystone noticed that she was half a head taller than him, when in the hovel they were about the same height.

Saran winked to some of the working girls still out on the market, many of them gone off with paying clients for the night.
"A good battle is always good for business," Saran said, looking up at the sky. The day was coming to an end as the moon was halfway up the sky and the streets were mostly empty, save for an unusual amount of patrols for the time of day. Several gave Keystone a suspicious glance as the pair passed, but bowed and scurried away whenever Saran's gaze met theirs.

The Red Wizard Enclave's massive doors were closed and the building was dark, showing no signs of life. Saran approached the door and knocked. A scuffle was heard inside, and a small, so far unseen slit opened up. A pair of eyes that Keystone readily recognized as Meriv's, oogled the outside:
"We're closed, come back tomor-" the words died away in the man's throat as Saran bent down to look at him. There was an audible sign of exasperation as the doors opened up and Saran led Keystone inside. Meriv quickly bolted the door behind them and scurried around the pair to his usual desk.

"So, Master Keystone, how may I help you? You have important business to come at this time of hour, yes?" he purred as sweet as honey. Saran's face was a perpetual smile as she nodded to Keystone and crossed her arms, standing behind the monk. Meriv periodically glanced at the tall woman, trying and failing to hide something akin to...fear?

[Sigil]

Surprise flashed across Keystone's face, honest and obvious, for the second time of the evening. This was an interesting turn of events, no doubt to it. A smile broadened across his features, followed by rich, unfettered laughter.

Having broadcast his opinion of the Red Wizards to all that would hear - and all in the dwelling listened eagerly - he should have been hit with a feeling of embarrassment, fear, or guilt. Strangely, these feelings were brushed aside with a wave of ironic humor. Of course she was a Red Wizard. And why not? Whatever happened concerning Saran, this was out in the open. Keystone was either in good company or he was utterly screwed from this point on.

He offered up his arm when Saran reached for it and stepped out lively with her. There was no doubt in Keystone's mind that he would be quite safe on the streets that evening, at least until business was concluded at the Enclave. At that point, he would be in a position of great disadvantage anyway. Cards on the table, all in. There was a strange feeling of mirthful freedom about the situation.

"You and I've got the same advantage then, don't we?" quipped Keystone in the slightly less restrained underclass accent of his homeland. Polite formality was replaced by open camaraderie, not unlike he would have for a fellow pugilist or drinking companion. "I'm oft underestimated because of how I look 'n outfit myself, and you, well... I wouldn't've been more surprised if the moonlight'd turned you wolfy."

The amused sensation continued as he entered the Enclave and spoke yet again with Meriv.

"Indeed I do, Mr. Meriv, sir. Third time's the charm, or so my own pap would say. Least, I think he used to say, we didn't talk much 'till the day he put a knife in my side. But that's a story for another time, innit? I would very much like to sell you a scroll, got a spell what stops time inked on it. Now, what was your offer on that? Recent events've pushed it from my mind."

[DMZ]

Meriv glanced up at Saran, lowered his gaze to Keystone, and went back to Saran before forcing whatever was left of his bubbly personality to surface:
"I believe our negotiations last time didn't quite settle on a price, Master Keystone. If you hand me the scroll in question, I can finish examining it and give you the final price for it!" he said. When the scroll was in his hands, Meriv inspected it with all seriousness and declared in a grand voice:
"Tis a most pristine example of a scroll such as this! I can definitely say that this particular sample of magic is worth 3,000 gold pieces for one with such esteemed..company." he glanced at Saran again, though what he saw there Keystone couldn't see: she still wore that pristine warm smile and looked at Meriv with the same pupilless eyes Keystone saw. Meriv carefully packaged the scroll and counted off a fair number of platinum pieces, handing Keystone a heavy purse bulging with coins. "300 platinum it is, Master Keystone. Thank you for your business." He purred as he escorted the pair back to the door. "I must ask you to depart now, as we have some immediate business to attend to. I hope you will understand."

The heavy door banged to a close behind them, leaving Keystone and Saran alone with crickets and a full moon. In the short amount of time that they had been inside the Red Wizard Enclave, time outside of it seemed to have passed much faster. The streets were completely empty, as even the patrols diminished to a few men every hour.
Saran, grabbed Keystone by the arm and pulled him back into the street.
"The night is still young, Keystone. Who knows what may yet happen," she chuckled, and for a split second, he could see what appeared to be wolf hair on her head. She let go of the monk in the middle of the street and twirled around in the empty street, dancing a dance that Keystone had never seen before.

Saran stopped in mid-twirl and looked at him. "Well, simple monk, do you have anything to show or am I correctly estimating you as one who has never enjoyed a good night's walk?" She laughed and continued dancing, moving away from Keystone towards the market square, her laughter echoing in the empty street.

The Rocksteady residence was quiet, interrupted only by the loud snoring of a dwarf and the much higher pitch of a boy. The light in the dining room seemed to have gone the moment Saran was, and reappeared as she entered again, shrinking to an appropriate size. She showed Keystone the improvised bathroom(the last room in the hovel, next to the dining room, kitchen, the room Avar and Tim were sleeping in, and what seemed to be an extra room) and and explained where to put his clothing in need of washing, and finally showed him his sleeping place for the night. By the sheer size of it, the monk guessed the bed was originally made for someone much taller and larger than him, as one could probably fit an ogre on it. A snap of Saran's fingers transformed her red robes into a slightly translucent nightrobe, and she laid down on one side of the bed, growing slightly to match the length of the bed.
"We don't have that much space in here, as you can see, so I hope you don't mind sharing a bed with a slightly frisky woman," Saran snickered, watching the monk undress. He noticed that the room got much warmed compared to when they first entered, but that no fire was burning anywhere in the house.

[Sigil]

"Absolutely, Mr. Meriv, sir." initiated Keystone, trying his best to match the faux bubbly personality presented to him. "I appreciate you having us in this late in the evening, of course, and I trust that our old business is done?"

He paused for a second as Meriv counted out the platinum coins, "All of our old business? I'm beginning to like this city. We need to have a solid working relationship if'n I hang out a shingle here, y'understand."

***

"Quite correct, Saran. Where I'm from, a night's walk can get you killed. Telflamm doesn't seem all that different. But you do dance pretty. Perhaps one day I'll take it up."

Keystone played the role of dutiful houseguest, moving as quietly as possible for those sleeping and acquiescing to his hostess's indications concerning laundry. Gods knew he had a bit of personal upkeep concerning his clothing that needed attention recently. Keystone also took the time to wrap a third of his newly-gotten coinage in an unattended sock and push it far down into his pack before returning his attention to his hostess. Upon viewing his sleeping accommodations, he chuckled a bit.

"I'd be just as grateful and comfy in a dry, quiet corner, ma'am. And I've many a question as to the wisdom of such arrangement. I don't know your relation to Avar, firstly. Likewise don't know if this pushes the boundary of custom in the area, sure as hell does back home (openly, anyhow). Thirdly, 'less you've forgotten my story, the Inn-That-Is-My-Brainpot is booked on a double occupancy."

He took in a breath and exhaled slowly, a look of regret beginning to form across his features. "Lastly, you make me a touch twitchy. You're a shape-changer, obviously. I'm guessing your actual form is very tall, looking at the furnishing. A lady's got to sleep comfortable. You're powerful and feared by people that's powerful and feared. Now, I appreciate everything that you've done - everything that you and yours are doing for me, but before I can comfortably share a bunk, I need to know who I'm going to be waking with."

"Gods forbid I should know which side of the spoon I'm going to be on, m'lady."

[DMZ]

Saran's expression changed from predatory to amused as Keystone shared his concerns. She rose up on her elbows, gazing at him with a sly look on her face:
"Dear Keystone, what exactly are you implying? That I am not a grown woman capable of making my own decisions, independent of anyone else? That I would knowingly embarrass you for my own pleasure?" she asked with faux concern in her tone. "I invited you to sleep here as it's customary to offer guests a warm and comfortable bed, so your revelations are complete news to me!" She balanced on one arm, brushing her hair with the other. "I am still a proper lady, if one of some magical power and not living in a mansion of my own, Master Keystone."

Saran rolled over on the bed and rose next to him, shrinking to intently stare at the monk, upset at his remarks. Keystone quickly spotted a barely visible sly smirk that betrayed her true mood, far from actually offende.

"I'll amuse you, Keystone, because I happen to find your rough personality amusing. You make interesting conclusions based on your street life, do you not? I am but a tall girl that has to use magic to fit in some of these rooms. No Red Wizard fears me, nor do they respect me. Call tonight a favour, of which I have many. A favour I used for a newfound friend," she pouted and grabbed Keystone by the arm. Hovering an inch from his face, Saran's expression changed to a more serious one. "I offered my help out of the goodness of my heart, and would never think of using it as leverage. Know this."

The sly smile reappeared as quickly as it vanished and Keystone's arm was free again, but their faces never quite parted ways as Saran eyed him with sultry black eyes. She came closer until their lips met, then pulled back like a flash of light, hands on her hips.

"I'll make it easy for you, Keystone. If you wish to sleep, we sleep. My interests should be obvious, but force isn't my way of doing things." She sat back on the bed and laid with her face to the wall, closing her eyes as her form grew again to match the bed. Keystone realized his hearing was dulled a bit, as the sounds outside of the room seemed to fade away.

[Sigil]

While not quite out of his element, Keystone had to admit that a man with a more developed sense of propriety would be embarrassed by the conversation, as presented in a very matter-of-factly manner by a woman of obvious confidence. His words from moments ago, phrased partially for the purposes of making sure he wasn't stepping on anybody's toes, had failed to take into consideration his own observations of the dynamic of the household.

Also in hindsight, his own concerns were phrased awkwardly. It was a weakness of his, declaring intent without any hope of subtlety. Attempting subtlety only led to confusion.

While most of his concerns were not answered in the reply that followed, enough were that he felt a little stupid. That, and reassured. In the future, Keystone promised himself that he'd be more direct with Saran than he was generally with other ladyfolk; his own upbringing and experience tended to work against him in this regard.

In his mind, Saran seemed to be evading or holding something back. It was her right to do so; Keystone had several things about himself he'd rather not declare to his new friends, at least not right away. Things like, "A former(?) prostitute looks after my home while I'm away!" or "Hey guys, I slammed my father's skull into a bartop until he expired messily!" weren't polite topics of conversation from the get-go. There were odd and dark things in his history. Everyone had secrets, Saran was no exception.

She was also very persuasive. Keystone made sure her needs were well tended to before his own.

***

Keystone awoke early. He was, by nature, an early riser; force of habit after years of irregular guard shifts and punishing training schedules. He detangled from the limbs akimbo position in which he found himself, made ample use of the facilities available to him in the low dwelling, and tiptoed into the dining area to retrieve his belongings.

The sun had not yet crested the horizon, but there was just enough cold morning light for Keystone to see by. It was strange, he recalled that his night vision wasn't always this sharp. Shrugging the thought off as inconsequential, located his money and counted out another hundred platinum coins. He scrounged up a scrap of paper from his pack, penned a hasty note, and left it on the table. As quietly as he could, Keystone set half of his recovered coins upon it like an opulent paperweight. The note read:

Master Rocksteady,

Gone for breakfast for everyone. Thanks for hospitality. Please use money for order, best stuff you can find. If you need more, 50 in top of pack. Trust you, take what you need.

Keystone

As he placed the remaining 50 coins in his traveler's pack, a jolt of pain raced across his back and down his arm. Still not at his best since his fight with Glith, he nonetheless decided to strain himself with last night's more entertaining activities. He gave special consideration to the idea of taking it easy today, limiting himself to light actions and cooking. Maintenance exercise would have to wait for tomorrow. At least he could stand straight and move unaided, a brisk morning walk would have to suffice.

He dressed in monk's clothing and grabbed his gold coins, leaving most all of his personal belongings in the humble home, and exited into the young morning.

In his experience, all city merchant hubs, large and small, had a few things in common. The early morning belonged to street sweepers, particularly inebriated people stumbling home, and Practitioners of the Baking Arts. It was the latter that drew his attention. They weren't difficult to find, the smell of dough rising and sugar caramelizing was distinctive in the relatively still air. His anticipation for breakfast pastry did not overrule his good sense, however. Keystone kept a low profile and stayed out of the way of what little foot traffic the market presented.

In the end, he wound up purchasing more than probably should have. A gold coin's worth of fresh honey-bread and fruit pastry, tarts and the like, followed by another for packaged black tea. It seemed no matter where he went in his travels, everyone drank tea. Little constants like this kept him centered.

Keystone returned to the Rocksteady residence quietly, set out breakfast, and prepared a kettle of strong, black tea.

[DMZ]

Telflamm woke up earlier than most cities Keystone had seen, as the market square was reasonably busy at this early time. A watery sun crested the city walls, bathing the houses in a bleak brown-yellowish hue. Guard patrols were still omnipresent following recent events, but none seemed to pay Keystone any heed and a few even respectfully went out of his way.

A few processions of priests and monks passed him on the streets, praying a long and foreign prayer for the dead, as far as Keystone could tell.

An hour after Keystone returned, he noticed Avar pacing into the hovel with a pack on his back. The dwarf dropped the sack on the floor with a thud loud enough to suggest it weighed about as much as Keystone, and smelled the air. The dwarf's nose soon led him to the various baked goods laid out on the table. He looked around, like a thief about to steal a precious jewel, and half a loaf of bread was gone. Snickering to himself, Avar poured himself a mug of ale from his favourite cask and disappeared in the smithy, dragging the sack of what appeared to be metal in one hand, drinking with the other. Loud clanging soon filled the hovel.

A very sleepy Tim wandered into the dining room and sat down to eat, munching away with all the appreciation a young man presented with a king's feast could muster. He nodded appreciatively at the offer of tea, unable to speak with a full mouth. The fear that was so prominently stamped on his face yesterday was nowhere to be found, replaced by gratefulness and slight unease.

Saran glided into the room without a sound, greeting Tim and Keystone and giving a look of appreciation to the latter as she took part in breakfast. As she was eating, the markings of a spell danced on her fingers. A slightly surprised 'GAH' later, the dwarven hammering outside intensified as if a giant was hammering metal, and then faded to nothingness. Saran smiled and continued with breakfast, giving Tim instructions for supplies he'd have to pick up later.

Finally, she turned to Keystone, eyeing him with the same warm smile he had come to often see.
"I trust you had a good rest, Keystone? Not too tired to teach a curious woman a few recipes from your homeland? You've tasted of our foods, and I would appreciate if I could taste some of yours. Avar will be busy for the day, as will Tim here, so we'll have the kitchen to ourselves." She looked him over, winced and added,"perhaps we should start after you visit a temple. Last night has not been kind to your wounds."

[Sigil]

Keystone nodded to Avar as he wordlessly snagged breakfast and walked out to work, then gave Tim a light smile. He refilled the youth's cup before getting something to eat for himself, cramming a couple of fruit-filled pastries back and sipping a cup of strong, freshly-brewed goodness for himself. When his mouth was clear enough to facilitate speech, he turned his attention to Saran.

"I'd ordinarily tell you all I need's rest and time. Seeing as my work's not done and I've a little pocket-money, yeah. Healer's a good idea."

He took a moment to mentally review the "pocket-money" at his disposal. It was a lot. Keystone had to work and fight for a long time, sacrificing everything but the most basic of comforts to buy the house he was raised in, and bring it up to full repair. The money he had to his name now far overshadowed any amount he had been near in his life. This was more than enough to fund the start of a mundane enterprise and hire an administrator to run it in his absence. Regardless, before this chapter in his life was done, he had the feeling he would need the cushion of fluid currency.

Still, it felt good to be able to spend real money on little luxuries, for himself and his new friends. Also a new sensation: He had plans concerning financial stability for himself and those few close to him.

Keystone took a moment to change into his wool coat and native clothing, outfitting himself for a morning in town. Unsure as to local prices, he kept his gold coins on his person, and shoved 50 platinum wrapped in cloth deep into a pocket and buttoned it closed for good measure. It was much more than he was accustomed to carrying with him, but it was always better to be prepared.

"Tyr's people, or is there a better place in town for a patch job?" Keystone asked Saran, pausing in thought briefly before continuing, "When I'm better patched up, Miss Saran, would you be as kind as to see me through the market? I've got a number of things I'm keen on picking up today, and could use local eyes on it. Really give a broad range of my native cuisine, or something close to it."

He stopped on his way out, noting the old Dwarf's morning labors. "I'm right excited to see what bit of forge art you're going to craft for me, Master Rocksteady. I'll be seeing to my injury, sir. Need anything while I'm out?"

[DMZ]

Avar waved Keystone away, busy hammering away at a thick place of steel, sending sparks everywhere but his pristine beard. "Away with ye, boy, afore ye ruin me concentration!"
Saran had nodded upon his mention of the temple of Tyr, and the priests welcomed the monk carrying a hefty purse. A high ranking priest, marked by the holy symbol of Tyr, clad in the robes of a high priest one would recognize everywhere in the Realms. After a short inspection, he shook his head and put up a price of 100 gold pieces for the healing spells required to heal Keystone's grievous wounds without a scar.

Saran was out and about on the market, wearing robes similar to the working girls Keystone had seen the night before. Finished with her own shopping, she leaned against the wall close to one of the market exits and waited for Keystone.

[Sigil]

The injured, lumbering (yet strangely invigorated, just this morning) man subtly counted out ten platinum coins and pressed them into the priest's hand. Reservation played across Keystone's face for a moment before the ministrations of the Cleric washed over him, a sentiment he expressed. "Maybe not entirely without scars? I earned 'em hard, Sir Cleric. Got stories carved into my skin lotsa places, make a proper Bard have to take notes. Punching out this Glith fellow's a respectable tale to share."

In the end he sighed and allowed divine splendor to erase the rest of his hurt. It may well have been the first time the Tyr's Chosen saw a man depressed because of their healing arts. Keystone thanked him nonetheless and shook the priest's hand firmly. Just as he was about to turn and leave, the again-whole pugilist remembered something. "Hey there, good sir..." he dug in his pocket for a souvenir from his fight with Glith, "I don't suppose you've got any knowledge of something like this, do you?"

Keystone produced what remained of the blood seal and held it out to the senior Cleric. "Questing, you see. Continuing the work Raa an' I started weeks ago. Looking for new things to follow up on."

***

A short time later, Keystone found himself back at the marketplace and in the company of his new friend. Strangely, the thought of what Shein-Fang said, about some manner of evil still around him, briefly darkened his thoughts. Some form of Glith perhaps, or his charge Kaylee? One of his new friends? Red Wizards spying on him, for reasons unknown, or maybe just one wizard - the one who started all of this by offering that reward. Dead, true, or at least turned to stone. He seemed the kind to plan for\little contingencies like getting choked out and turned into a statue.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid. While not allowing himself to drop guard entirely, he did force himself to relax a bit. He survived his last big trial by combat, if barely, met good people, got re-provisioned. He meant to take a breather and plan out his next move - Kaylee was still trapped. Whether that meant setting her soul free to depart our earthly plane or giving her an honest chance at life, he could not say. All he was certain of right now is that he was going to walk the marketplace with Saran and spend the rest of the day cooking.

He toured the foodier areas of the square, asking Saran the occasional question, selecting the right items or the local approximate. It surprised Keystone how many familiar things he could procure from this place; Telflamm lived up to its role as a center of trade. Most of the discussion he initiated with his mysterious companion had to do with epicure. He was asked to teach, but couldn't help asking many of his own questions.

By the time he was satisfied with the ingredients and kitchen staples, Keystone had a stout staff balanced on his shoulders, laden with sacks and baskets. Various packages of seasonings and small goods wrapped in paper were snug in most of his pockets. Whether from pride or obligation, the sizable culinarian declined any help from Saran, instead asking if she would keep an eye out for him in the crowds.

To his credit, he did attempt non-food, non-beast-of-burden conversation: "That is a lovely robe you've got there. Does it mean something? I've seen the like about lately."

***

Upon return, Keystone unloaded and got straight to work. From his traveler's pack, he procured a bundle of canvas and leather that he held reverently, unrolling it on the nearby table. It turned out to be an apron, brimming with various small cooking blades and utensils. He shed his outer clothing and strapped on the apron, changing immediately from a formidable practitioner of the pugilistic arts to a culinary field marshal, inspecting the ingredients and tools before him as one would an army at their command. In polite and direct tones, he half taught, half directed Saran in one task as he busied himself with another.

"Beautiful, that. Make sure you pack the beet sugar around the fatback... excellent. Now, when it's wrapped up in the dough and cooked off, it'll keep for bloody ever. Bacon Scones! I'll check on the Gallantine o' Pheasants and sherry veloute. ...good, slather the rendered fat over the pastry, and.... bake off when the heat gets high... Got this for a moment?"

Uncharacteristic of his normal resting demeanor, Keystone seemed light on his feet and positive of expression. He usually wasn't like this unless he was pummeling someone senseless. He exited the room with a platter, laden with with toasted slabs of bread, layered with chunky red-and-black bean paste liberally topped with a crumbly, marbled local cheese. This and an assortment of stonefruit were left outside, in a then uncluttered area of the smithy proper. He politely rapped the edge of the plate with his knuckles to inform of its presence to Rocksteady and his apprentice, and returned to the confines of the dwelling for more work.

"Now, here's something that's not part of my cuisine, nor yours... been working on it for quite some time, y'see, 'till I got the recipe down right. My gift to travelers and very busy folk." Keystone worked a simple dough on the main table, flour covering the majority of its surface as he labored, cutting and pulling the dough as needed until it formed long, impossibly thin strands. "It's like dumplings, right? But long and thin, you folk call 'em noodles. Noodles where I'm from're shorter, broader affairs, but we'll get back to that."

Keystone gathered up an armful of the lightly floured pasta and deposited it into a pot of boiling, salted water for about a minute. After it was strained out, the massive craftsman formed the noodles into rough nest shapes, densely packed but still separate starchy threads, and flash cooked them in oil for just a few seconds. "Now then, the dumpl.. er, noodles are fully cooked, but the oil's removed all of the wetness from 'em, eh? They will keep like this forever, or until the mice have at 'em."

A smile swept across his face, and the otherwise beater of wholesale posterior began emphasizing his speech with angular hand gestures, "Now, here's the best part: All you need do now is drop them in hot water and cover for a couple of minutes, and they're done. Fully done. Put on a kettle, done. Usually, I like to cook 'em up with bits of meat n' seasonings or desiccated veggies, whatever I can ram in there, y'understand, but it sets alone very well if you just need something to fill your belly."

"It ain't perfect yet. Almost. I think I'm really on to something with this, though."

Keystone wet a towel and cleaned up the main table, paying special attention to the floor around it. The changeover from the penultimate to the last round of items going into and on top of the stove was just about to take place, and cooking with Master Keystone was drawing to a conclusion for the day. From the look of the spread so far, the members of the Rocksteady household had a great feast ahead of them for their next two meals, plus enough preserved and preservables to last them a week or two.

A feeling of tired pride washed over Keystone as he sat down and treated himself to a mug of ale (not Avar's!). Wistfully, he thought aloud, "All those pastry leftovers - might have to make bread pudding for tomorrow's breakfast, eh?"

[DMZ]

The priest obliged and directed his healing magic along the scars that Keystone wanted healed. Skin bubbled up as if made of a strange, viscous syrup, mending the wounds before his eyes. The strange tugging feeling he got when Kaylee had attempted to keep his wounds shut was similar to what he felt now, as his muscles involuntarily shuddered and spasmed as the healing spell surged through his form. The priest finished his work, smiled and bowed to Keystone, taking the platinum with a grateful nod and leaning over to look at the mangled steel collar.

The man's elegant facial expressions underwent a few changes as he twisted and rolled the metal in his hands, grunting several times. He approached the altar of Tyr and pulled forth piece of cloth that rested there, wrapping the metal shard in it as he handed it back to Keystone:

"This is great evil and should be banished as soon as possible. The seal is damaged beyond recognition, but the power of blood magic is clear to see for anyone familiar with the divine or arcane arts. Such magic is forbidden even in Thay and has not been used in centuries. In different times, mages used to have dark rituals that would bind a spirit to an inanimate object, at the cost of their own life. Who would undergo such a horrific ritual I do not know, and this construct you have defeated could very well be several hundred years old. Tis a feat of great skill to have managed such a victory," the priest said, bowing in respect to the monk. "Bury and consecrate this when you can; the holy cloth will protect you from any influences it might have. I wish thee the best of luck, mighty monk."

Kaylee was quiet during most of the priest's speech, but flared up as the holy man suggested burying the metal shard. She quickly subsided and didn't come up in his mind again until he reached the market. The monk got the feeling that she left something unspoken or unshown, but the presence was suppressed the moment Saran saw him and met his gaze. With a clearly involuntary sense of protest, Kaylee fled back into the sword and remained there.

Saran and Keystone spent many hours in the market, purchasing many of the required produce for his cooking, but also for a few meals that the woman insisted on showing Keystone. Most merchants were overly friendly, as merchants are, particularly when Saran leaned over to inspect something they were about to buy. She watched the monk revel in the many stands with a smile often found on the face of a parent watching a child play with its favourite toys, laughing when the monk denied any help in carrying the many bags of produce. The surge of energy that rippled through his muscles, granting him much greater strength and stamina, was accompanied by a coy smile from the she-mage as they walked through the crowds. The woman, towering over most anyone in the busy marketplace, made navigating through the crowds easy. A few times Keystone spotted a thief approaching the pair, dismissing Keystone as a servant and attempting to swipe Saran's purse, only to be shocked by finding his hands empty and the purse merely an illusion. Saran seemed not to notice any of these attempts.

She turned to Keystone as they exited the market and entered a quiet street, heading back to the Rocksteady residence.
"Do you like it?" she asked, gracefully twirling in the middle of the street and nearly tripping over and scaring a gnome peacefully walking on the same street. Giving Saran a terrified look and Keystone a bewildered one, the small man hurried out of the way, chased by Saran's husky laughter. She finished her dance and paced even with Keystone, failing to suppress a chuckle.

"My my, some are so easy to scare!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in mock exasperation and readjusting her bodice. "The robe is but one of my many outfits to wear when shopping. One finds their prices quite a bit lower when one shows a bit of skin, don't you agree?" She leaned over in front of him as she did at the market, showing a little more than was appropriate. "Tis but a scheme to save a poor old lady some money." Saran chuckled and rose back to full height.

Back at the residence and in the kitchen, Saran (who had now shrunk to the size of a half elf, standing at about shoulder height for Keystone) followed the monk's instructions to the letter, darting around the kitchen at speeds that were hard to match for the bigger man. She didn't quite share his trained grace and movement, but did her clumsy best, wasting only a few ingredients on her attempts. She was genuinely amazed at this wonderful new food Keystone demonstrated, growing and grabbing his shoulders to watch every movement over his shoulder. The monk only saw nods as she memorized everything he did, from the creation of noodles to the preparation instructions.

When he was done, Saran, beckoned him to watch as she did some of her own cooking, pulling out some leftover dough and shaping it into rough oval pancakes, each the size of a ogre's thumb. Laid out across the table were about thirty odd dough medallions that Saran filled with a mix of pork and a few choice herbs. When all of the medallions had filling, she showed Keystone how to wrap them up into neat balls and bade him to do the same. When they were done, she dropped the balls into boiling water with what she explained were 'minty herbs'. A few dozen minutes later, with the water drained, a plate full of them drifted into the dining room of its own volution. Saran turned back to Keystone and nodded happily:
"I call these pelmeni. Tis a recipe from the northern barbarians in the Cloudpeaks. All the nourishment one requires in a small convenient package. Fill them with whatever you want, freeze and you have ready made meals for any time of the day. Good recipe for your travels, isn't it?"
Back in the dining room, Avar waltzed in, his muscles slowly receding to their normal form as the strength spell wore off. He grabbed a mug from the ever present cask on the table, heartily clunk it with Keystone's and Tim's, wiped the sweat from his brow and drained it in a single gulp.

"Bah!" With that one word, the dwarf proceeded to devour everything he could reach, chanting praises to Moradin, Saran and Keystone and occasionally throwing a vile look at the sword resting next to Keystone. When he was full(and half the table was empty), Avar gave a loud bellow, drained yet another mug of strong ale and sagged back in his chair.

"That be a fine meal, ye two! A dwarf could get used to such fine eatin'. Oh, and boy, ye're fisticuffs are all done, they just need some coolin' in the night breeze and ye can put em on in the morn. Tis like me father's father was watchin' me create them, mighty quick and fine smithin'" he bellowed once more, gave the whole company at the table a satisfied look and Saran a sly wink before jumping off and heading to bed. Tim soon followed his example, thanking Keystone for the good food and nodding silent thanks to Saran.

The woman, now left alone at the table and having eaten nearly as much as Avar, leaned back in her seat with a glass of what appeared to be the same ale Avar was drinking, and looked at Keystone, expectantly.

[Sigil]

Solemn gratitude assumed itself on Keystone's features. "I appreciate, Sir Cleric." he began, bowing in return. "I'll see to this as I can, but I'll tell ya - I'm not one for consecrating anything. Mostly I just hit things 'til they can't cause hurt n'more. I heard it's connected to a spot called Delhumide, though I've little idea how. Truth told, I'm mostly concerned with a related piece of dark magic. Need to free a soul without harming it, an' then melt the bloody prison into a waffle iron."

"If you can point me to anyone in the Realms, could help me for the sake of doing good, I'd be grateful."

---

Keystone noticed again how Kaylee was pushed aside when Saran came into view. He began to seriously wonder whether she was a guardian spirit or something truly terrifying, to have that kind of ability. He still wasn't 100% on her not being a shapechanger, to use such magic fluidly and constantly as she did. Then again, Keystone knew next to nothing about magic. For all he knew, a facade would slip or an enchantment would break, and he would be known as "He Who Has Lain With An Ogre Magess". Stranger things had happened.

Were he honest with himself, he would say that he found the mystery and potential peril quite alluring.

---

During supper, Keystone discussed with Avar, Tim, and Saran what he had learned from the High Priest of Tyr that morning, and asked of them their opinion. "It's an interesting position I'm finding myself in, y'see. I could try to follow the path that Glith took, but that'd take me into Thay proper, looks like, unless I've missed something. Could learn more. Or, I could try for the help of others with thick walls and powerful magic. The Dwarven kingdoms come to mind. I put off most Elven folk, thinking on it. Big, lumbering Human with two pieces of dark magic'll probably get pincushioned on sight. If there's a closer suggestion, I'm keen on hearing it."

Keystone was a bit anxious on the subject of the old smith's work on his new Bouncer's Helpers. "I'm mighty grateful for your efforts, Master Rocksteady. I would have been satisfied if they were Dwarfcraft and battle worthy, with a good hard surface suitable for bludgeoning those what deserve it. Hearing that they're that, plus something that'd make your forebearers proud... It'd be insulting to glimpse them too early. I'll wait for the big unveiling tomorrow. And I'd appreciate hearing as much as you can say concerning 'em then, as well. I'm also damned near giddy to see what you can do with a cold-wrought waffle iron, good sir. I promise, I will help keep you in good food as long as I'm around."

He glanced over at Glith's sword after noticing Rocksteady's irritated gaze. "That's an ugly thing, to be sure. I'm looking forward to when it can be re-cast as kitchen utensils. Make no worry, it'll be gone as I take my leave. ...you know, the priest did mention burying and consecrating the other item, might could help with this, too..."

Supper otherwise passed with everyone getting their fill. Keystone insisted on clearing the table as Avar and Tim took their leave. With an open surface, the presently stuffed brawler made quick work producing paper and pen from his pack, a peculiar look of near obsession crossing his face.

While he still held the day's labors fresh in his head, Keystone committed it to paper. "Pelmeni... excellent work, that." He had something similar back home, though it was more like a meat pie or loaf of bread with savories precooked and then baked inside. So long as it was cold out, the pelmeni would make for excellent traveling fare. He asked other questions as they cooked, and was quite intent on recording them as well. The thought was to start a diary of sorts - primarily dedicated to his culinary pursuits.

Keystone had a great deal memorized from epicurean pursuits during his adventures, and so much more from home. This little breather in between things trying to kill him gave the hulking culinarian a moment of epiphany. How many people get the opportunity to do this? Sure, he goes on these long journeys, some voluntary (most not), and does some good while he's out, but what did he have to show for it? His scars told the stories of a hundred fights. More would be added before he was done, certainly. Writing down the tales of his second love, cooking, seemed a slightly more cultured use of his time. Something he could be proud of. Something that would bring that culture to, and uplift, the slums of his home.

When he felt it was time to settle down more, he wished to capitalize on his abilities, culinary and martial. Maybe he would actually create the Northern Ironfist Temple, the cover story he said aloud to throw off the soldiers from two days prior. Maybe that Temple would have available lodging. Maybe that lodging would have a well recognized cuisine that would draw many. Just maybe, it would draw students; chefs and fighters alike. Monk-like followers, people like himself of an occidental culture. Humans and Dwarves, those most common from his place of origin, as Western Monks.

The thought of a Dwarven Monk of the Keystone Way amused him, probably more than it should. A second later, the serious concept intrigued him.

Though it seemed like he was lost in his own thoughts for quite some time, it was merely enough to write down a single recipe and annotate it with Saran's input. He'd definitely have to start a book or three. Tomorrow morning, he meant to procure a blank one, along with a couple of things for breakfast. For right now, he had someone to thank.

"Miss Saran, it has been a right lovely day," he began, moving to rub her shoulders, "and I'm thinking you deserve some credit for it. It's the first day in quite a while that no one's tried to kill me, as I'm aware, anyway. Plus, taking the day shopping and cooking, learning a little something about it; without price. And spending time with good people. Depending upon what happens next two days, I might find myself missing this all too soon."

He paused in his efforts to relax his hostess's tension, and poured himself another small ale. "It is a distinct bit of happy gettin' to make your acquaintance, ma'am. Now as I'm healed up proper, to be blunt, I'm positive I can be of more vigorous service to your ladyship this evening, whenever you'd care to turn in. Although, a shared drink is also one of them starlit moments of quiet serendipity."

The last turn of phrase Keystone uttered, while somewhat poetic, seemed out of place with his underclass accent. Almost a point of irony, though one could rarely tell with his sense of humor; ever a half-step off of most of society's. Such was a curse of those born beneath those born beneath privilege.

[DMZ]

The morning started out with a heavy torrential rain uncommon to most of Thay. Long streaks of water swept through the streets, lashing out at anyone still outside. The few patrols still out and ferrying bodies from the earlier attack looked miserable trudging through the streets.
That didn't stop a certain dwarf from being out and about, doing some early shopping for his projects. The shiny beard and bare shoulders quickly turned their usual matte colour as the forges fired up again. Avar was somewhat akin to a ghost, steam rising from his body where the water evaporated, as he hammered away on a new blade.

A few feet away, on the slab of stone used as a counter, laid a pair of thick and heavy knuckles, fashioned from a dark, gleaming metal that seemed to drain the light around it. Each ring was adorned with a small blunt spike facing out and the entire set was supported by a T-shaped brace designed to rest against the wrist, directly transferring the force of a blow from the arm to the bracers, reducing the strain on the fingers and knuckles and allowing much harder blows than other models. The only marks on the smooth metal were the crude initials 'AR' located on the flat back of the T-shaped wrist brace.

Saran wandered out onto the porch sporting the same robe that she always wore at home: A homely apron with matching robes. The woman stretched out and answered the dwarf's snort with a wave of her hands. Avar grunted as his muscles bulged and surged with magical energy and intensified his hammering.
"Was the boy any better than last night?" he said, panting after draining a mug of ale. Saran graced the dwarf with a sly smile and turned away into the kitchen. "If you must know, I can't say. We didn't do anything this night. A man needs his sleep, doesn't he, Master Rocksteady?"

[Sigil]

The rain woke Keystone. For one groggy moment, he didn't remember where he was. The resulting bolt upright motion culminated in a defensive stance, starting his morning with urgent, ragged breaths and a shot of adrenaline more sure and effective than urinating on an electrical ward. Sleep having been made the fool of by irrational defense mechanisms, it was definitely time to begin the day.

After taking care of his more pressing morning constitutionals, Keystone stripped down to his pants and stepped out into the blinding rain. He ignored the presence of anyone else around him, and seemed to have quite forgotten the first half of his commission with Master Rocksteady, laying quietly on the stone counter. Something was bothering the large man, something intangible. Couldn't quite out a finger to it, though. Keystone needed to clear his head and get his bearings.

His lack of shirt displayed an impressive, if somewhat gruesome history. Scars, mostly blade cuts and punctures, crisscrossed his bare form over mountainous expanses of sculpted muscle. If each reminder of wounds long past told a story, it was one to fill several volumes of bardic work. This man had obviously lived a horrifying life, and he was still young. To the trained eye, one may have noted that a few of his scars seemed more methodical - not the crazed slashes of combat, but the slower manipulations of torture.

Slowly at first, he started his forms. To begin, his older training exercises; the more western movements common to the bareknuckle pugilists from which he took his origin. Series upon series of linking jabs, crosses, and uppercuts, interspersed with middle blocks, high redirections, and knee shots. Dancing footwork, the situational type of fighting used over and over by necessity, discarding what doesn't work and reinforcing what does, until a style emerged. Streetfighting and ringfighting blended into something lethal, passed down from many teachers over generations.

The rain continued to hammer down upon him as he switched into a maintenance workout, using his bodyweight to strain targeted muscles in slow, nigh acrobatic movements. By the time Avar returned to his forge, Keystone was balanced on his knuckles, feet straight in the air, slowly pushing himself from the cobblestones beneath his fists and lowering his body back down with determined, arduous repetition. When he seemed to near the limits of human expectation, he kicked himself out of his latest masochistic exercise and onto his feet.

The white noise of water slamming earthward did well to isolate Keystone in his own thoughts. Mulling over the past two weeks (that seemed like months and months), he tried to make sense of everything. There was an angle he was missing. He was like a child wandering into an adult conversation midway; he needed perspective. Keystone drove emotion out of his head and settled into another collection of forms, this one less occidental and more leg-based. His bare feet slapped down into the cold water flooding over the fitted stone as he moved from low to high stance, and back down again. His movements became more fluid, less prone to quick attacks and more toward flowing counterattacks and open hand strikes.

Another round of grueling calisthenics down, and he was quite tired. A sudden flash of inspiration had him, and despite his previous effort he began the forms taught to him by Grandmaster Shein-Fang. Slowly at first, to cement the exact movements, and again at a forceful pace. Keystone meant to incorporate the teachings into his repertoire of fighting skills; possibly the real prize of his adventure along the Golden Way.

Finally, he stopped. Keystone bowed his head and tapped his knuckles together in front of him, a ritualistic gesture if ever there were one, and trudged back to the forge. Saran had come and gone back inside by this time, and Keystone briefly entered the domicile to retrieve his steel mirror and one of his knives. He wandered back outside, careful to stay under what awning there was to afford some protection from the rain, raked his hair back, and raised his blade to his neck.

Keystone tilted his head back, eyes transfixed upon his mirror, as he began to pass the blade across his darker beard stubble. Underneath the disappearing facial hair, there hid more scars. Scars, but a cleaner, more polished brawler. As needed, he stuck his knife out into the rain to rinse it, and in sort order he was fresh-faced, if a bit itchy.

There was a distant look about him, as he looked over to Avar. While he worked, Keystone spoke in low, even tones.

"I'd like to thank you, formally as I can, Master Smith. You've taken me into your home, and let's face it, I'm not exactly the trustworthy-looking type. I'm not sure what's going to happen in the near, but I'd like to count you among my friends. I ain't got a lot of 'em, but what few I count dear. I am at your service, if'n you need it, sir."

Keystone's eyes wandered to the shiny, black metal. His eyes expressed childlike mirth, and a tired smile formed on his freshly shaven face. "Those look right painful, Rocksteady. Love the look, what're they made of? Hell, give me the guided tour, as it were. What're these beauties capable of?"

Handling them reverently, Keystone slid them onto his large hands. He felt the weight of them as he tightened his fingers into fists, and nodded his satisfaction. Marveling at his new acquisition, he wondered aloud again, "What ARE these made of?"