The knight raised an invisible eyebrow to regard the monk from afar, never stopping the spellcasting. Within his helmet, a blue outline of a mouth appeared in front of his lifeless teeth. He stared at the human with nothing less than a wicked grin as he finished the spell. The inscriptions in his finely crafted armour started glowing, barely masking the many cracks that appeared in it. Keystone could spot the bones inside the armour. Struggling against the force of the magic, Glith took a step forward towards the monk.

The sun was past its zenith, but the street lit up with the flashes of lightning, arcing at the undead from all sides. They impacted and were absorbed by the glowing armour as Glith broke into a full on run, charging Keystone with the sword still on his back. More magic and missiles struck the running form, yet again to no avail. As he approached the enclave, many more red robed wizards appeared behind Keystone, falling into casting as soon as they took note of the threat. The barrage flew towards Glith, striking with audible force his cracked armour no longer absorbing spells. With a grunt, the armoured undead came to a halt halfway to Keystone, standing upright and proud.

"Do you think she's telling you the truth, Keystone?" he yelled. More cracks appeared in the old armour, plates falling apart. The magic that it had absorbed earlier, now exploded out of the inscribed plates and struck back at its original source, striking the many spellshields the casters had set up to protect themselves, but also eliciting the occasional yell as their own magic overwhelmed the defences and struck the wizards down.

Glith scowled at Keystone as he slowly fell apart, more and more spells and magical bolts impacting his immobile form. When a fireball struck the almost completely exposed skeleton, it simply exploded, raining bone fragments on the pavement. A few wizards cheered, but were quickly drowned out by the cries of victory coming from the many soldiers, charging at the horde of zombies that quickly filled the field. Many wizards were low on spells, opting to use their last slots to leave the battle safely.

The only thing remaining of the undead knight, was the large two handed sword lying on the pavement where he had stood. The seemingly endless supply of zombies quickly swarmed the defenders, tying everyone up where they stood. Half a dozen of them shuffled towards the monk. Amongst the forms, he could recognize a tall, hunching form. Erepar shuffled towards him, half his face missing, his skin pale and sliced off in several places.

All around Keystone, the battle exploded anew, the city guard, monks and Red Wizards fighting a stream of zombies that just wouldn't end.

Oftentimes, a stern, all-business set to the jaw could fix one's resolve solidly. At this moment, Keystone was hoping it would merely prevent him from soiling himself. Making a mental note to check his undergarments after the emergency was finished, he pulled his hands from his pockets, metal gleaming dully on his phalanges. Setting a leg back and bending into a front-facing fighter's stance, he braced for impact.

The impact never came.

Arcane blasts destroyed the charging undead juggernaut before it got to him. Part of him was saddened by this; he was hoping to give him a warrior's death. Or undeath. Redeath, possibly. He wasn't positive what the term was for putting down a sentient walking magical corpse, but it still seemed a poor way to go. Again. All Hells, he was sure Glith deserved it. Let's face it, hundreds lost their lives (that he was aware of), their mangled bodies given animation to take more lives. Although slightly conflicted a half-second later, he had quite gotten over it.

The next immediate threat caught his attention. Keystone had no intention of becoming dead guy food. At the same time, two very compelling reasons kept him in the fray:

First, Glith's sword laying cool and unattended on the ground. Loyalty (though not unquestioned loyalty) still with Kaylee's plight, he needed to recover her prison. To let it fall back into undead hands, or possibly the Red Wizards, was not an eventuality that would go unchallenged.

Second, Erepar. Keystone was part of the group originally sent to kill him and recover his shiny magical curiosities. Looking at present events and the actions which led up to them, all starting from that night, the obvious importance of those curiosities was vastly underdescribed. He seemed a decent fellow, as wizards went. Even tried to warn him. He could at least put Erepar's body to rest.

Keystone charged as best he could, straight at he sword by way of Erepar's shambling remains. Prior to slamming into gruesome melee with the walking worm buffet, an odd thought crossed his mind, "Huh, I guess Erepar finally made it into town after all."

Keystone activated the enchantment on his bracers while closing the distance between himself and his attackers. Far from being purely defensive, he could feel magical power coursing through his arms, increasing his speed and reaction.

His decision to go after his acquaintance first, the corpse of the wizard Erepar, was a less effective and slightly more suicidal strategy as it was toward the middle of the group moving to consume him. Best to start on the outside and work his way in. If Keystone could hold out long enough, his wizard buddy would still be there in a few minutes.

He closed in, delivering a telling blow to the head of the nearest. Not quite enough to take it down, but enough to slow down his own momentum for the rest of the small horde to begin circling him. For a half-second, he cursed his own lack of forethought. Keystone couldn’t fight this kind of enemy in the same manner as he would attack living opponents. They would not tire. They would not respond to pain. They could not be knocked unconscious. Distracting moves like feints or deceptive footwork would be wasted effort; wholly ineffective techniques against this kind of foe. He had to keep his fight straightforward. His physical conditioning made his body a fast, living weapon. He meant to see how it responded to several slower, dead ones.

Emboldened by his first successful hit, Keystone grabbed the next nearest, intent on using it to bowl over one or two more closing in on him. His hands closed solidly on his opponent’s elbow and shoulder, gripping tightly and beginning to maneuver him into place… …only to have skin and part of a tricep pull away with a tearing noise accented by wet rot. He suppressed a gag, knowing that to lose his lunch would likely result in also losing his life. He didn’t need the distraction. Gritting his teeth against welling disgust, he threw down the stinking, gelatinous flesh, and mentally hardened himself. Using his revulsion as fuel, he slammed his fist through foul creature’s head, downing it on the spot.

A spinning backfist intercepted the shoulder of another nearby, brass knuckles sinking into flesh until bone halted his progress. “Best to stick to the skull.” He reasoned internally. Not a killing blow, but bone separated from bone and its arm sloughed off, distastefully plopping on the ground like wet fruit. Four and a half left. Well, five, if you count Stumpy. The remaining zombies closed in, hungry to cause damage of their own.

A quick sidestep bought Keystone a second or two of time, and opportunity to lay two more solid jabs onto undead flesh. Widening his stance, he drove his fist into the jaw of one nearby and followed with a countering parry block, simultaneously damaging the corpse and preventing it from landing its own hit. Unfortunately, keeping his attacks focused on one target opened him up to his assailants from other directions. His bracers saved him, at least temporarily, giving Keystone the speed enough to intercept an incoming slash. The sudden rush of movement took him out of reach of another attack; one zombie caught only air. The new position gave another the opportunity to open a ragged slash in his shoulder, however. The one who used to be Erepar. Keystone growled against the pain and batted its clawed hands away, promising the former wizard a quick, merciful destruction the moment it was feasible to do so.

Slow moving or not, he was almost effectively surrounded. Keystone was hurt. While not life-threatening right then, it was painful and bled profusely. Perhaps he should consider himself lucky, the flowing blood would wash out a good bit of the gore pushed into the wound by the filthy creature. Still, a change in tactic was necessary. He assumed a lower stance, hovering on the balls of his feet and began to play defense, striking out only when he knew his attack had situational advantage.

For a large man, Keystone had impressive footwork. He dodged a swipe at his face and blocked two more, landing a single skull-cracking blow. Not much of a dancer when asked to (which is rare, believe you me), he was very much a professional stepper in a brawl. A sidestep, pirouette, and partner switch later, the massive pugilist dodged three more attacks, prevented a third from landing, and found himself back in front of the zombie with the cracked skull.

Hurling true power into the attack, a low originating uppercut tore the already damaged head of the zombie from its fleshy moorings and sent it skyward, spinning slightly in the breeze. Ever the showman, Keystone risked a glance to see if anyone saw what he just accomplished.

The dance continued. He started off this particular waltz of pain and decay with a heavy, but sadly not fatal, blow to the next dead person in line, and immediately regained a defensive posture. Though incapable of processing higher emotion, the remaining zombies seemed quite put off at his attempts, largely successful thusfar, to render them inert. Crowding in closer, they assaulted him with sustained vigor. Keystone’s defense, while effective, was not perfect. Blocked blow after blocked blow rained down on his arms, almost overwhelming his ability to defend. Now somewhat numbed from blunt trauma, the experienced fighter knew he had to withdraw from the situation or be taken down.

He ducked away from the near pile-on, snapping a quick attack at the zombie he had damaged just earlier. Cumulative damage finally took down the stumbling pile of meat and bad smells, and its absence as an attacker gave him the hole he needed to remove himself from his disadvantaged position.

Keystone’s sudden disappearance from the center of the Bukkake of Death saved him from the aggressive attack of the remaining zombies. Rolling around to the side of one of them, he blocks a straight attack and counters with a glancing blow to its temple. To his surprise, his bracers issue a sudden crackle of energy, arcing into the eyes and brain of his target. The zombie seizes, twitches, and falls to the ground, sulphurous smoke whisping from its mouth. Keystone grinned despite the situation, really enjoying his new toy.

Two remaining. He had to end this quickly, before more abominations entered the vicinity and made escape impossible. Two couldn’t swarm, especially considering one was missing an arm. Less of a threat than the other – Erepar.

He felt sorry for the wizard, he seemed like an ok guy. Dropping him was mercy. Ceasing his dancing, he straightened his stance and aimed purely to split open skulls with speed and power. As if noting his hesitation, Erepar’s corpse swung on Keystone, forcing him to raise an arm to block. The gap in his defense is exploited by Stumpy, ripping slashes open across his chest. Keystone growled and opened himself to his building rage.

Hit after hit landed on the two zombies, his fists landing with expert precision and clarity brought about by anger and necessity. Erepar took the brunt of these, his head concaving under the relentless assault of the skilled man. Keystone turned his attention to the one armed corpse. Stumpy grabbed at the large man, who easily pivoted away from the off-balance shambler. Keystone caught its arm with one hand, twisting it up and away in the same motion. He kicked its legs out from under it, and finished it off in a utilitarian fashion, dropping his heel onto its cranium. It split like a ripe melon.

Keystone gave himself a second, to look down at the very recently re-dead Erepar. He permitted a simple farewell before dashing for Glith’s sword, laying on the ground.

“I’m sorry, wizard. I hoped we could have talked more.”

And run.

The battle on the streets ended with a decisive victory for the defenders, but that fact could not hide the terror and disgust upon the faces of the tired warriors and mages. They had watched more than a quarter of their numbers fall this afternoon. Surprising was the complete lack of civilian casualties until the main battle broke out, as the zombies did not attack anyone besides guards and wizards.
With coordinated precision, the monks started organizing the piles of zombies for the priests to sanction, preventing resurrection, as the wizards started on restoring some of the broken houses and pavement stones.

Nobody seemed to notice the sword lying on the pavement. A wizard nearly tripped over it, shrugging and not paying any further attention to the item. Keystone felt a strong mental presence as he approached and grabbed the sword. Kaylee flooded his mind with gratefulness, but Keystone could now also feel that she was much stronger, rivaling even his own mind.

"Thank you, Keystone," a deep, decidedly not female voice echoed in his mind. It quickly changed into a much more feminine "Thank you.". The mental presence rapidly retreated to the back of his mind as Keystone heard footsteps behind him. Shein-Fang paced next to Keystone, gave the monk a curt bow, his face a grim scowl. The Grandmaster picked up a few of the metal fragments that used to be Glith and paced away, tending to the wounded with the rest of the monks.

"You, monk, hold it right there!" came a shout behind Keystone. A trio of Red Wizards floated towards him, accompanied by four half orc guards a foot taller than Keystone and led by a stocky man half his height wearing nobleman's robes. "You are requested at the Merchant's Council for endangering our fair city!" the stocky man yelled with a voice far too big to be his.

Surprise struck Keystone as solidly as a fist might. Whether this new voice was Kaylee's true one, or a separate entity altogether, this issue was obviously not over. Uneasiness washed over any feeling of relief he may have had at Telflamm's victory over the army of the dead, or the defeat of Glith.

His feelings on the matter echoed the expression on his face, one not unlike that of the Xiang Temple Master who very unexpectedly graced his presence shortly thereafter. Keystone returned his bow as best he could, mimicking depth and duration. Obviously the elder Elf had something he wanted to take care of, so he kept social interaction at a quiet "Thank you".

Then came the Merchant's Council Welcome Brigade. Upon hearing that the Council wished to speak with him, "requesting" his presence by way of three Red Wizards and a handful of gargantuan slabs of muscle. And some fat official, obviously very important (if he does say so himself). He leaned onto Glith's sword for support, and started to chuckle.

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem, squire." He laughed a little harder, straining his fresh wounds. He really couldn't help himself, though. This was rich. Leaning forward, he entered into a state of almost uncontrollable guffawing, spilling a bit more of his blood from his chest wounds upon the cobblestones beneath him. Sincere amusement playing across his face, he straightened somewhat and continued, "The Merchant's Council wants to see me NOW? Now that the threat has passed. I have been runnin' myself bloody ragged the past few, trying like mad to get someone to listen or help, and NOW the City Bloody Fathers want to have a chat, eh? Will there be crumpets and tea, then?"

He burst into another laughing fit, but this time tried to force it down. The assembly around him didn't seem to find it quite as humorous as he did, and all this laughing was starting to genuinely hurt. "I have a few things I'd like to say to the Council, myself. I don't think this problem's over. If'n you wouldn't mind, Good Sir Merchant, I've wounds need tending. Doubtful the important people of the Council'd want me bleeding all over their expensive tiles and carpeting. I'd be happy to tag along after."

Theme Music

"There are clerics that can heal you if you are truly hurt. Stop with your tricks and don't attempt any funny business while you are under escort!" the small man bellowed, put off by watching the monk lean on air as he mocked them. The Red Wizards busied themselves with spells, probing the monk for any protective or offensive magic, but finding none. Kaylee eluded their attention with a practiced ease, the sword still invisible and seemingly immaterial as the guards passed right through it.

The burly guards surrounded Keystone, grunting insults or words of gratitude, Keystone couldn't tell. When the monk hesitated, they didn't tarry to nudge him ahead. The procession moved rapidly through the streets, the guards and wizards wasting no words on their prisoner-in-all-but-name, but Keystone did feel the healing glow of a spell wash over him when the battlefield, with the most onlookers, vanished behind them.

A large castle loomed in front of Keystone, a fortress that even the most clever thief would find a challenge to enter. Many flags flew on its towers, and many more guards were standing in front of the building, unblemished by fights or weather.

The group passed a couple of dark alleys on the way to the castle, and Keystone could feel Kaylee goading him to tear away from the escort and bolt into the alleys. Several more such opportunities would present themselves before the group reached the castle.

Many eyes were upon the moving group, but none of them matched the intensity of a pair that seemed to bore right through Keystone to focus on the illusion that only he and the monk could see. The sound of gritting teeth carried far down the alley, but the source was no longer there when the procession passed it.

"If I am truly hurt? Really?" began Keystone, quickly figuring out what was going on. What bothered him was how quickly the welcoming committee arrived following his skirmish, or how they even knew who he was. Suspicion flashed to Meriv, that nervous, twitchy bit of potential fart-kindling.

Glancing down at his injuries, he piped up, "I suppose I had me an accident with a cherry oublie?"

He joined in step with the procession with just a touch of paranoia. Though thankful for the healing spell, he could not discern the source of the blessing. At least he was back to his best condition for whatever was to happen next. Keystone used the time spent walking to review his options. None of them looked particularly inviting.

Option One: Go with these people, Play it straight, tell them exactly what went down and why. Great idea, if he were in an honest, forthright community interested in the public interest AND doing the right thing. If they were not, he was marching into his tomb. Unless he had something to offer them.

Option Two: Go along with Kaylee's idea, and run for it. Maybe he'd get away. Problem was, his pack and most of his money was back at the Xiang Temple. Keystone had no contacts out in this part of the world to assist him. He'd have to circle back and retrieve his belongings before getting out of town, and yes, Keystone would definitely have to get out of town if he chose to run. Almost positive someone was had been following him, the temple would likely be watched. And the Grandmaster didn't seem particularly happy to see him in the street.

Option Three: Fight. Nope, odds were not in his favor. Though he was a little flattered that they sent out such a heavy entourage just to "request" his presence.

Another concern - Glith's sword. The sword that housed two voices now, and was tangible to only himself. Well, himself and one other set of eyes somewhere out in the crowd. Keystone's head was a little too full today; full of voices, full of concerns.

"Okay, Kaylee," Keystone intoned inwardly, "We have a LOT to talk about. For right now, we're going to talk about that other voice, and why you need me to risk dying to run away. We need to be right quick and right honest with each other. I don't know what's going to happen to you if I die. What is going on with you just now?"

The moment Keystone started the internal monologue, the Red Wizard to his right snapped his head towards the monk, studying him with narrow eyes. Kaylee receded into his mind, but seconds passed and the wizard didn't make any attempts to talk to or stop Keystone. But she never left his mind and Keystone soon felt her presence grow again.

"What other voice? I am the only one here, Keystone," the spirit replied with a high pitched voice. "You, me and that filthy cage you carry on you." Kaylee seemed to recede for a bit, and when she came back Keystone's muscles once again became light and fast, his battle weariness gone in an instant. "You must escape, Keystone. To continue will spell doom for us both." As quickly as she came into his mind, Kaylee was gone, his mind completely vacant.

Meanwhile, the procession with the monk in tow had passed two of the three alleys left before the Merchant's Castle gates. The mages surrounding Keystone became increasingly more agitated, glancing every way but to their prisoner. Many eyes were watching the group now, a fair few of them unfriendly. The presence of a foreigner didn't help matters. Guards at the Merchant's Castle were on high alert, driving back the increasing traffic of people.

On a nearby roof, four hooded figures hefted loaded crossbows, waiting for their target to pass the alley.

For just a second, Keystone forced his mind to focus on the image of the Red Wizard to his right stripped naked (except for his very important looking hat), his extremities tied to stout stakes, splaying him out taut over a pit of glowing beechwood coals. From above, an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys lowered an endless procession of feral Gnomes (clad only in bone jewelry, their teeth filed down to grotesque points) down onto the Wizard's face where they took turns attempting copulation with his nostrils. Other gnomes, spent from their nasal debauchery, prodded him with sticks and giggled with a glee associated closely with drunken, demonic toddlers.

If that mindraping piece of sewage still had a fix on what Keystone was thinking, the large man's brutal yet vivid imagination would provide an answer forthwith.

That's when he noticed the glint of steel from atop the building his procession neared. Either this ambush was meant for the people guarding him, or Keystone was being led into a trap. Either way, he was not capable of snatching arrows out of the sky - yet. Not being alive to make it into the fortress where he would likely get killed anyway would net the same result, only sooner. He locked his eyes on the crossbowmen, silently, and waited for the last possible moment before his window of opportunity closed.

As the arms holding the crossbows tensed to make small corrections, necessary to accurately hit their intended targets, Keystone spoke in a clear, urgent voice, "Archers, left high!"

It was unfortunate that Keystone, otherwise a marginally bright guy, occasionally had problems distinguishing right from left in times of stress. At least, that's what he was going to tell anyone who asked. Healed and energized, he took off at a sprint into the alleys of Telflamm.

If they the Red Wizards and Merchant's Council thought they had him, any eyes that may have been on the Xiang Temple may have been recalled. First order of business was to circle around indirectly to discourage pursuit, reclaim his equipment, and get the hell out of lands influenced by the Red Wizards OR the Council. It would be a compelling reason to keep him in town, now that he's a fugitive. Someone else must know how to set this right. If he survived the next couple of days, anyway.

The instant Keystone made a move, the crossbows twanged sending bolts at the monk. None of them hit the large man, the four bolts striking the wizards instead. With horror in their eyes, the Red Wizards watched the bolts go through their magical defenses, leaving holes in their robes as if their bodies were nothing but air. The burly guards reacted quickly for their size, but had no hope of catching the agile monk, opting to try and shield the dead wizards from more attacks. The escaping prisoner was the last of their thoughts as the assailants focused their efforts on the burly guards, more crossbows plunging through the plate armour as if it was made of parchment.

None of the assassins seemed to pay any attention to Keystone, but he could feel the eyes on him as he sped down the alley. A few shadows seemed to move as he ran past them. Soon, all of the alleys sounds were drowned out by the sounds of a fight near the merchant's castle, the ring of swords and crackle of spells carrying far across the city. The guards were clearly too busy to bother chasing their initial target, if any were still standing after the first few salvos.

The city came to life as news spread that the attack was over. Passing some crossing alleys, Keystone could see the street he initially came from: guards were running back and forth, yelling instructions and cleaning up the bodies with some wizards. Nobody seemed to pay the running monk any heed.

Soon, the streets were once again teeming with life, if one didn't pay attention to the occasional procession of monks and guards carrying bodies of fellow combatants, as well as zombies, out of the city for burial. One such group consisted of weary guard veterans, carrying upon their shields a familiar face. Raa, the half orc paladin, had more than a dozen deep cuts and bruises along his chest, neck and legs, but his face was still pristine and bore a slight smile. The paladin was no longer bleeding, his blood spilled on the stones of the same street Keystone had fought. The guards carrying him were grim faced, but stood tall, allowing no-one to touch the body.

Back at the Xiang Temple, GrandMaster Shein-Fang watched the bone fragments he had picked up, turn to dust in front of his eyes.

As the scene in Telflamm began to calm, Keystone decided that continuing to run would make him appear more conspicuous rather than less. He slowed to a determined walk and kept his senses alert for detail of pursuit or surveillance. As he made his way generally back to where he began, Keystone caught view of Raa Tel'Nimras, Paladin of Mielikki, Lion of the Whitehorn, carried away from battle as one of the honored fallen.

"A Knight has died, and I lived." he mumbled to no one in particular. "A righteous man that at least one god smiled on is dead, and a low-born brawler, sack of meat and skin like me survived." he wished he could have been with him. Maybe he would have been the one to keep that last strike from taking him down. Guilt hit him, and hard. Raa was the closest thing to a friend he had for a long while. He and several others had died for Keystone, and the prize he carried in his head. It was a new feeling, whatever is was. Uncomfortable. As if he were now obliged to something greater than himself. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Heroes like Raa fought the good fight. Pugilists like Keystone fought and died for money.

He approached the detail of stalwart guards, keeping pace with their march at respectful distance, and opened with short, direct inquiry: "Raa was a friend, sirs. What's to be done with him?"

...

Some time later, Keystone found himself back at the Xiang Temple. This entire situation had gotten turned around; sailing without map or compass. He felt the overwhelming need to reequip himself, get his bearings, and get back on the path. Especially after seeing Raa. He owed it to everyone who died to finish this, whatever this was now. Time again to seek answers.

The soldiers carrying Raa drews sword the moment they spotted the monk approaching them, greeting Keystone at a swordlength. The eldest and most tired looking of them, a large man with a patchy beard and several scars on his face, took in the monk with a weary gaze before replying:

"Raa of Telflamm fought bravely today and saved several of the men before you. His sacrifice allowed others to live, and according to Telflamm law, he shall be buried with a hero's honours. Civilians can come visit his grave three days hence." he explained, looking around as he did. "I suggest you find a good place to hide, sellsword. The city is fighting itself." Without a word, the soldiers pushed past Keystone, parting the crowd with words or where needed, swords, quickly moving from sight. In Keystone's head, he saw Glith swinging that big sword, and Raa lying dead on the ground, the same position and wounds as the body the monk just saw. The images repeated several times before Kaylee once again retreated to the still invisible sword on his back.

Telflamm's greatest battle seemed to be done by all accounts, but Keystone could hear and sometimes see spells being cast and swords being crossed as he made his way back to the temple. Occasionally, dark hooded figures crossed his path, chased by some wizard's incantation far away. His trip to the temple was without any major interruptions.

At the Xiang temple, monks were streaming back into the building, some wounded from the fights, some carrying the bodies of their dead brethren. When Shein-Fang found Keystone, a young monk approached the Grandmaster and whispered something in his ear, something Keystone could clearly hear:
"Master, the city's assassins are at war with the Red Wizards. No civilians have died so far, but the danger grows with every passing hour. We do not know who is winning." Shein-Fang bowed in recognition and dismissed the apprentice, before turning to Keystone:

"Young Keystone, it is time for you to leave our presence. The danger you will bring to this temple, whether from the inside or outside, may cost many of my young apprentices their lives, and that I cannot allow. You make take any travel supplies from the supply rooms you see fit. Be gone within the hour, before the evils you battle come to us."

Shein-Fang turned on his heels and walked out of the room, pacing to some nearby monks carrying the body of a young monk. He bade them to put down the body on the floor and uncover the young man's chest. Shein-Fang took a few deep breaths, placed his hands on the monk's chest, concentrating on the young monk's life energy. Moments later, the young monk sat up gasping and nodding his thanks. Shein-Fang rose to his impassive state, discussing something with the rest of the monks.

As Shein-Fang spoke, Keystone's face registered with shock for a fraction of a second before it faded into understanding, and resignation. "Thank you, Grandmaster. I 'preciate greatly."

...

The burly fighter made his way back to his pack and inspected his belongings. He could travel well for a few days, but not much longer. He would have to move fast and far. The offer to raid the Monastery's supply rooms was a blessing; one he eagerly accepted.

The first order of business was to alter his look, including personal effects that may be identifiable to people who had seen him around Telflamm. His traveler's pack was replaced with another, larger one, and neatly stuffed most of his undamaged clothes and belongings into the bottom.

His utilitarian clothing, commonly associated with a tradesman or laborer, gave way to more tactical gear suited to unarmed combat - tough, simple, allowing for movement. Darker colors, as well. Though not overly trained in stealth, the white and tan and grey he ordinarily wore certainly wasn't helping matters any. Gloves went next, after cutting short the fingers of a pair that (miraculously) fit. Long strips of black linen wrapped around his wrists and up over his new bracers, almost up to the elbows. Over everything, he layered a sleeveless, mostly black, hooded monk's robe. Finding similar spares for everything, he proceeded elsewhere in stores.

Food and drinkable water were important. He stocked up on enough nutrient-dense items as he could, along with a few items to assist in their preparation. The last bit was a little selfish, but he did have a fondness for cooking; it was a talent he had little opportunity to practice as of late. Waterskins and/or canteens would be important. As would be alcohol, he figured after locating casks labelled "shochu" and "plum wine". Value in trade on the road was immeasurable to find safety in numbers or a warm spot to stay.

Finally, weapons. While Keystone was not an avid user of them, others knew this, too. Having already stashed his personal knives, he sought to replace them on his person. Scanning what they had to offer, he settled on one interesting style of short stabbing implement - a weapon he had heard the monks refer to as "kunai": Triangular bladed, utilitarian knives with large ring pommels. He grabbed two sets of six larger ones, both sets in bandoleers.

Disguising Glith's sword was slightly more interesting. In the end, he fastened it with cloth and strapped it to his back, through his new pack. Confident the weight wouldn't throw off his balance, he rose to leave.

Keystone caught sight of himself in a polished metal mirror on his way out. He walked into this place as a brawler, but in the short time he spent among these people he had come to regard himself differently, if just a bit. He still did not consider himself a Monk, at least not in the way others did, but he certainly looked the part now. One thing bothered him, however; his face was still very western, very non-Shou. He felt rather foolish as he found a possible answer in a wide, conical hat, one of many piled in a corner. Fitting it on, he regarded himself again. He felt a little silly, but had to admit that he looked just as dangerous as before. Possibly moreso. Most importantly: He didn't look like Keystone. If needed, he could always toss the hat as soon as he put distance between himself and this place.

After grabbing a few more odds and ends useful to a man in his position, rope, hook, camping effects, map of the area, he exited the storage areas and returned to the open air. He caught the eyes of Shein-Fang while walking toward the exit. He strode up to the elder monk and adopted a humble stance. "I appreciate everything you have done for me, Grandmaster Shein-Fang of Telflamm. Respectfully sir, where do you think I should travel next?"

If he ever could, Keystone intended to resume his studies with these people.

...

A man exited the Xiang Temple at a run. To look at him, this man was intimidating and single-purposed. He was equipped for either a long journey or a short relocation. He did not look like an Assassin of Telflamm, nor did he look like a Red Wizard. The man also did not look like Johnathon Keystone. One of many Xaing Monks, this one in dark garb, he moved with haste and precision to his next destination.

The elder monk passed Keystone, stopping at the temple doors. "Your road is your own, Keystone. I can offer you no help in choosing it. I can only share my observations. The enemy you seek is closer to you than you think." Shein-Fang offered a bow to Keystone.

Despite the disguise, the moment Keystone left the temple, a pair of magical eyes watched his departure from the temple. Taking advantage of the mounting war between the wizards and whatever pitiful assassin group frequented Telflamm, Glith made his way through the alleys next to the temple, focusing on Kaylee's energy to find the monk. Glith didn't waste any time after the magical trace came flowing out of the temple, walking out into full view of the monk as soon as Keystone was beyond the sight of temple guards.
The undead knight's armour was full of cracks and missing a fair few pieces, equally damaged white bones prominently showing through the holes.

Glith took on a bright smile and broadcast his thoughts to the passing monk:

"So, shall we do this again the right way or will you give her back to someone who can handle her? How many more of these people do you want to kill?"

The chilling feeling that just crawled underneath his skin was either surprise or dread. Or both. Nevertheless, Keystone kept his exterior calm, or at least made a good showing of it. He slid off his pack and let it fall behind him. It connected with the earth with a sense of finality.

“There’s a lot about this I don’t know, Glith. There’s a right and fair statement.” His hat followed suit, on top of the pack. He began to unbutton his robe. His apprehension was quickly replaced with a sense of grim determination.

“It’s also a fair statement that you’ve been busy this week, snuffing out a lot of good men and women. Including a Knight, last of his line. Half-Orc, fought with a scythe. His name was Raa Tel'Nimras.” His robe and kunai were cast aside, also atop his pack behind him.

Rage flickered in his soul. Not enough to overwhelm his judgement, but a controlled burn that sharpened his senses and clarified his intent. He allowed himself to feel it, the warm caress of anger, but set it to the side. It was still there, granted, but it held no control over his actions. Keystone exhaled, purging his mind of thoughts immaterial to the present, and tightened his hands around his signature brass knuckles. His foot slid back, weight shifting as he took a lower stance just as Shein-Fang had demonstrated would properly suit his fighting style.

He nodded to Glith. Maybe the bastard would come back again after this. Maybe not. Didn’t matter, this had to be addressed now. The challenge could not go unanswered forever, and the Red Wizards of all people shouldn’t be fighting his battles for him. Keystone started this journey as a brawler and bouncer turned mercenary. Today, if it was to be his last, he wanted to leave as a Monk. Occidental, eclectically trained, but still quite lethal.

“And you’re damned right I want to do this again. The right way."

Keystone breathed he command word for his bracers, and brought the fight to Glith. Hard.

The restricted space of the alley worked to Keystone’s advantage, keeping movement more or less lateral. Glith would have to get through him to retrieve his precious sword, and he had a clear exit if it was needed. Not that Keystone intended to use an exit without an incredibly pressing reason; he meant to tear the creature apart.

The broad man knew what Glith could do with a sword. He had seen it firsthand. What he hadn’t seen was how well the undead knight could manage with his fists. Keystone had been a brawler, and later a pugilistic artist, since a very young age. It was one of two things he did very, very well. It was his intent to give a crash course in this subject just now.

He began strong, reserving just a little to gauge his opponent. The brass around his fingers glinted coldly in the indirect light of the alleyway as he sunk into one of Shein-Fang’s recently taught attack stances, and pressed into the dark creature.

Keystone came to realize immediately that Glith was no stranger to a fistfight. Faster than he, stronger than he, with the inexhaustible stamina of one without requirements for food or rest, plus more time to practice than his whole lifespan many times over. This was not going to be an easy fight. Keystone could only hope his natural abilities and learned techniques would even out this lopsided fight.

Glith opened, intercepting Keystone’s line of aggression with a telling strike. Unable to sidestep due to forward momentum, the fighter raised his armored forearms to absorb. Metal rang against metal, muffled by the cloth wrappings around his bracers, rattling his bones and numbing his actions; a perilous position to be in at the outset of the scuffle. This one powerful blow was quickly followed up by a series of jabs, coordinated and fluid. Keystone evaded with ease, but had a horrifying feeling that the dead man was merely feeling him out – gauging his reflexes and level of skill before moving in for a swift and undramatic end to the event.

Seizing an opening while Glith recovered from his combination, Keystone managed to slip a solid forefist strike through his defenses. The attack connected solidly, rocking his larger opponent if but for a half second. The thing seemed to smile, if such an expression were possible for the skinless creature. He was toying with the fleshy mortal, and they both knew it.

Leaping on the opportunity, Glith pressed onward. Overconfidence got the better of him, overextending a single, powerful hit. Keystone responded to the sudden opening with a double-fisted downward swipe, striking nothing but air as Glith unbalanced himself evading the blow. Coming back from the disadvantage, the skeletal antagonist stepped into a full swing – cleanly blocked by the talented brawler, but designed to open his center defense. Glith slammed his fist into Keystone’s sternum, causing pain to flash across his chest like spiderwebs of stinging electricity. Keystone grabbed his wrist (wrist armor, at the very least), and threw a wild swing, striking his armor without much physical conviction behind the impact. The numb vibrating sensation in his arms was starting to recede, but the battle was still monstrously uphill.

All the same, Keystone could not run. If this creature lay claim to his sword again, more people would be in danger. More people would die. And this mysterious entity known as Kaylee would again be imprisoned, whatever she really was. He searched for any advantage he could use, in his environment, in himself… and found an answer in both.

Keystone possessed a unique connection to Elemental Earth; it was an ability he hated to use actively, thusly doing so only rarely and out of sight of others. It was no secret that the burly man had a distrust for wizards, spellcasters of any kind, really. While his powers were not true spellcraft, Keystone didn’t see much of a difference in the practical outcome. Feeling very much like a hypocrite, he drew into his connection with the Earth. The worked stone beneath his feet was not a proper conductor of this connection, but the exposed, hard-packed dirt bared beneath unrepaired cobblestone further back in the alley would do just fine. Foregoing any play at a martial art or streetfighting trick, the determined pugilist stepped into Glith’s range of attack voluntarily, and pressed his whole body into shoving the larger combatant back.

The Undead Knight toppled like a house of cards and went rolling far back. Keystone rushed forward, planting his feet firmly onto the exposed earth. He immediately felt stronger, more steady. Reinforced by the solid ground beneath him. He just hoped it would be enough to even things up.

As it turns out, it wasn’t quite. Apparently sensing a change in the human, Glith drew upon power of his own, raising serrated sections all about his armor; making punches (incoming or outgoing) much more hazardous for Keystone. Glith rebounded from the ground effortlessly and struck back, letting his new armament lead the way.

With renewed vigor, Glith and Keystone both exchanged a flurry of attacks, savagely beating and cutting each other. Glith was content to open minor cuts and deeper flesh wounds into the skilled fighter, doing what we could to wear the man down. One disadvantage to the living – they had finite reserves of blood and energy, a weakness the more powerful Glith did not share. Mercilessly, the undead warrior continued his campaign of skin ripping and blood-letting, effectively waylaying Keystone’s sudden advantage of earthen stability.

Keystone revised his tactics to attempt a strategic destruction of the knight’s armor, striking the same spot repeatedly as soon as he could create an opening. He was beginning to feel the effects of blood loss, his liquid life draining away and taking his vigor with it. He had to make a power move, and fast.

A sly feint opened Glith’s defenses, which Keystone exploited with an explosion of pounding fists and brass against steel. His hands, now bloody and battered from repeatedly pounding the serrated armor, finally managed to break off a sizeable section of plating. Foregoing tactical defense, Keystone poured on the damage, trying to ignore the strikes and sharps of Glith’s counterattacks. To an extent, he was successful. Keystone knew that he had to finish this quickly, or he was doomed, and soon. Were he unsuccessful and very lucky, Glith would merely kill him otherwise.

Finally, the armor cracked open wide enough exploit. Keystone warded off a downward strike with a glancing upperblock and punched through; fingers wrapped around bone, his brass knuckles lodging into vertebrae. He planted his other elbow into Glith’s neck and yanked, hard and sharp, at what he gripped inside the steel plating of the formerly living juggernaut.

Glith’s spine came out of the hole with his hand, clean and whole. So did his pelvis, many of his ribs, shoulderblades, and fractured shards of limbs. Were he a creature of flesh, it could be evenly stated that his entrails became his extrails. That which filled his armor was now laid bare upon the ground, for the most part, and the nearly hollow armor bent backwards with graceless pause, unwilling to drop, unable to stand. With grim satisfaction, Keystone sank to one knee, letting his injury and weariness wash over him.

And then the laughter began.

Dark, hollow laughter, birthed of superior knowledge of the situation than the mortal, bleeding man possessed. Keystone raised his eyes just in time to see Glith’s armor straighten, dents popping out one at a time like ants exploding under the scrutiny of sunlight through concave glass.

"…they say there is more to a man than his body..." he chuckled, beginning the intonations of spellwork.

Fear splashed across Keystone’s psyche, the terror of a man facing down an enemy he is almost certain he cannot defeat. He quickly composed himself, realizing that panic would remove the slim chance for survival completely. If he could not take the abomination down in a traditional way, he would simply have to stay alive long enough to batter the thing into scrap and bone meal.

The brawler, coming to a temporary peace with his talents as an earthshaper, dug his hands into two bricks in the wall next to him as if they were potter’s clay, and pulled back crude gloves of raw stone. With an aggressive growl, he launched an attack of desperation at the reformed Glith. He intended to see how well the undead beast could cast spells without a functional skull or mandible.

He either couldn’t, or didn’t, realize that Glith was not casting anything but a lure, designed to get him in closer. The instant Keystone closed the distance, the armor-that-was-Glith dropped the charade and advanced to grapple the stalwart pugilist, wrapping his bladed arms around his torso and pressing him into the sharpest bits of the animated armor’s breastplate. Keystone, arms still free, rained heavy blow after heavy blow onto the previously undamaged helm, shattering bone and staving in the worked steel, seemingly to no useful effect.

All of this destruction of Glith’s physical form seemed useless, serving only to quicken Keystone’s blood and hasten his inevitable unconsciousness. Now he was trapped, pinned against a torturous plate of perforating steel by two more torturous plates of perforating steel. He was not long for this world as a living, breathing entity unless he broke this hold.

Calling upon what reserves of concentration he had to him, Keystone shaped the earth beneath them, rapidly growing a spike of dirt and stone to impale the merciless bastard. His aim fell off the mark by mere inches, instead putting the spike between Glith and himself. The magically sharpened bits of the undead knight’s arms tore deeply into Keystone’s upper back as he was pulled away, spilling a slow red waterfall down his critically damaged form.

Now free to move, the stone shaping brawler put a hand to the mortared wall beside him, and channeled his intentions into it. Stone answered, bowing to his request; bowing so completely as to collapse a part of itself onto the off-balanced animated armor that was Glith. Not the complete pile-on that Keystone had hoped, but enough to injure and buy precious time.

That time was spent wrapping his arms around the rock pillar, enticing the earth again to enter into a partnership with him. The earth responded with due haste, covering Keystone with hard yet mobile stone. It covered and pressed his wounds closed, preventing more loss of his life’s blood, armoring him against all but the heaviest of physical harm. A golem to view, Keystone expended the rest of his waning energy bringing the fight back to Glith, while he could still stand.

Glith began digging himself out from under the collapsed wall, clearly disturbed at the turn of events. How does a mortal, unversed in anything arcane in nature, able to access this level of elemental control? It flies in the face of common and uncommon scholarly magical thought, and yet this uneducated, slum-born brawler knocked an immortal to the ground without actually making contact. Glith did not have much time to continue his speculation as the obstinate human was upon him, hammering down his physical form the moment it tried to rise.

Several times Keystone repeated this action, intent upon disrupting the integrity of the armor in hopes that it would “give up the ghost”, as it were. These efforts were in vain. Jumping from plan to plan, theory to theory as to what may finally end this fight and finally put down this thing like the rabid dog it was, a thought occurred, as if coached – something inside the armor must be anchoring Glith’s spirit within it.

He stepped back, allowing Glith to rise, simultaneously elongating the stone on his hands into crude, slightly curved spikes. The moment the creature’s torso was in sight, Keystone pickaxed three gargantuan holes into it in rapid succession. Glith rose completely, working on a fully defensive strategy. Keystone’s subsequent attempt to damage was met with failure, but his undead opponent was starting to give ground to the swiftly tiring human. If Glith could only outlast him for a moment or three longer, the fight would be his.

Unless Keystone got lucky.

“Not so certain anymore, are we, Sunshine?” taunted Keystone through ragged breaths. That’s when he saw it: a glimpse of something red and out of place, viewed through the holes recently driven through the corpse’s armor. This was his point of attack. It had to be, or he was dead.

Keystone threw an ineffective feint, transparent, made so by mounting fatigue. Even in his state, Glith saw through it, intercepted the set-up attack, and knocked the large man back. They both stumbled backwards; Keystone gathering himself to launch another attack, Glith readying a spell.

Sensing another fake casting to draw him in, Keystone approached with ragged caution. He threw two more attacks, evaded by the still spell-readying Glith. This action convinced the unsteady fighter that this spell was genuine, and likely very powerful. Now or never time, he reasoned as he threw what was probably the last of himself into the next exchange.

Keystone exhales slightly, fighting to focus his eyes on his target. He steps in, a light jab leading the way. Not serviceable enough to cause damage, it did just enough to allow another, more solid hit to land, disrupting Glith’s concentration and throwing his arms wide.

The moment came together perfectly, at long last. An opening, showing the brief glimpse of crimson behind the armor. His attack was lined up and already in motion before he even consciously realized he was throwing it. The curved stone spike of his elemental armor’s glove penetrating the ragged hole in Glith’s steel carapace, jutting upward at a different angle than before. A feeling of subtle resistance through the living stone, followed by a sudden giving way. It was done.

Glith watched in horror, horror that nobody could see, as Keystone found a hole in his defense and aimed for the blood seal inside of his armor. The spike drove right in and through the plate, breaking the structure of the seal. The old knight immediately felt his connection to the armor fade, falling away within the space it took the monk's armored hand to penetrate and destroy the seal. The knight jerked his head up to face Keystone one last time:

"Fool."

The creature known as Glith, sacker of cities and commander of an army of the dead, fell motionless, sliding down to the rubble and dirt beneath him.

Keystone took a moment for himself to drag his belongings back into the alley, to the scene of his fight. His elemental stone armor falling away, he breathed deeply, and immediately regretted it. That was the feeling of injured ribs, among other things, cracked or broken was anybody’s guess. His chest filled readily without any gurgling sounds, so at least his lungs weren’t punctured if they were breaks. Several cuts covered his body at varying depths and degrees of severity, and his back burned with what promised to be a nasty set of scars, if he didn’t bleed out first. His hands were a mess. Butcher’s work, by the looks of them; he wouldn’t be able to tell more until the bleeding slowed and he was able to clean up some.

With a sigh, Keystone sat heavily between his gear and the remains of Glith’s armor, all on the uncovered ground of the alleyway. Just a half-hour, he’d be rested enough to try to find help for himself. He leaned back on the solid wall of the building opposite the one that partially collapsed, and tried to slow his heartbeat. No small task, after his ordeal.

Keystone kicked Glith’s armor, part of it at least, closer to himself, curious about the piece of critical red inside. He peered in, wondering what it was he had hit, in case another thing like this should happen to occur. Information is vital. He took a good look, before muttering, “Well, sod me sideways…”

A barely recognizable scribble of blood stained the inside of the collar, the remains of some kind of magic. Due to the damage inflicted by the last attack, Keystone was unable to tell what shape the blood was in or what it may have represented, but he got the feeling it was intended for magical binding, evident by Glith's recent presence.

The moment Keystone tossed the armor back to the earth, the steel shards and bent carcass shattered, falling apart in front of him into tiny pieces. The remains of the plate that bore the blood stayed intact, leaving some larger armor shards (the size of a fist) on the ground. At that moment, Keystone felt Kaylee's presence return to the forefront of his mind, radiating anger at the sight of the ruined armor. Also in that moment, the damaged fighter got the distinct feeling that the armor didn't fall apart on its own. He collected the chunk of steel with the blood markings, and regarded it carefully before slumping back against the wall.

As if to reinforce what he had spoken before the fight began, Keystone repeated a single sentence with sad defiance:

“His name was Raa Tel’Nimras.”

Keystone leaned his head back, grateful again for the exposed ground. Its presence beneath him would prevent him from bleeding to death, until he regained the will to stand.

Kaylee's anger dissipated when Keystone stopped looking at the remains of his foe, and the spirit focused its energies inwards, at Keystone. She grew in his mind, barely leaving any space for him, as he felt his limbs go light once again and his wounds jerk shut on their own. It was not enough to stop the bleeding, but it was enough to reduce it down to a trickle here and there. Kaylee's presence shrunk in his mind, but was still present, painfully so, as she controlled parts of the monk's body to keep his wounds shut and his muscles spasming. Mere minutes later, the blood had nearly stopped as the wounds started to mend and crust over. Kaylee subsided from the monk's mind to a fraction of her former self, retaining only the lightness in the monk's limbs.

The wounds that had just been held together by her efforts now relaxed, reminding the monk that they were still not fully healed.

"Try to move, Keystone," echoed the familiar girlish voice in his mind. "I have done what I can, but I am not a healer." As if trying to entice the monk into moving, he felt his right leg trying to get a hold on the pavement to get him up.
"It's all right now. You have won. You saved me. Thank you." she almost purred in his mind, flooding his head with images of a happy Keystone standing next to a happy Kaylee as she was before, holding hands.

The fight in the streets of Telflamm was now over, with no more magical blasts or metal ringing audible from Keystone's alley. The familiar murmur of the city soon returned, but it took another hour for a living soul to enter the alley. A building inspector, obvious from his carried hammer and a set of tools, jogged into the battleground to inspect the wall. He wasn't aware of the monk, as a solid heap of wall was covering the sitting figure on the other side of it, but Keystone could clearly hear his instructions to a few of his helpers.

The battle-torn Keystone, while grateful for his spiritform cranial guest's assistance with his wounds, he could not help but notice the growing ease with which she could assert control over his limbs. Between her help and an hour spent on natural ground, however, he found he had recovered enough of his vitality to change location without fear of rupturing something. The loss of blood was still a factor; he would have to take it easy for a while.

From behind his pile of rubble, the battered and bruised victor slipped back into his monk's attire and replaced his belongings on his person. The scrap of metal bearing Glith's damaged blood seal was quietly slipped into a belt pouch, and he held the cloth-wrapped sword openly, intent on using it as a walking cane if necessary. Keystone checked on the recently liberated blade, presumably still Kaylee's prison, and quickly re-wrapped it.

He listened carefully to the inspector and his people for the few moments it took to get his affairs in order. It seemed like business as usual for the work crew, and as good a time as any to depart. Dipping his new hat low on his head, emerged from his place of relative security and walked casually away from the whole scene, the opposite direction of the laborers.

The first Xiang Monk he found, he politely requested (or as politely as he could, given who he was) to send a message to the Temple as he was able: "I have met and defeated the enemy, barely, and damned near snuffed it in the process. Before I keep going, I need to rest and heal. Next hour, I'll be speaking with the Dwarf Smith near the merchants if you need me."

Keystone set off, carefully and a little light-headed.

For a city that hours ago had been the subject of a siege and an attack, there was no indication of anything amiss as Keystone entered its busy streets again. A few guards rushed past him, paying no attention to the dirty and bloodied monk. The sun had moved past its zenith and was now approaching the horizon, drawing long shadows over Keystone and most of the street. The howl of a cool seaside wind was barely audible over the murmur in the packed street. Movement was constricted as more and more people flooded the streets to offer aid, take a look at the long procession of soldiers carrying zombie and human corpses to the city gates or to work their trade. Keystone experienced some of these trades as he made his way past a particularly congested area and found that his purse was missing. Despite his earlier experiences he never caught sight of the thief. Not all gold was lost as Keystone found forty one gold coins that somehow managed to fall out of the purse during the fight with Glith.

He passed several empty side streets with their fair share of bodies in red robes, with crossbow bolts through their bodies and multiple stab wounds, if not entirely missing limbs. He saw a few other bodies next to the wizards, but the numbers of dead were in favour of the mages on every battleground. Every once in a while he spotted glimpses of shadows moving, dragging off those nameless and unmarked corpses. The rest of the townsfolk passing the same alleys deliberately ignored the carnage and moved past the bodies like they weren't even there, as if such fights were frequent in the seaside trading town.

On the road to the dwarven blacksmith, Keystone got a slight tap on his shoulder, turning to see the same monk he had spoken to earlier. The monk bowed, handed him a small package consisting of a potion and a note and vanished as quickly as he came. The potion was easy to identify as a small vial of healing, capable of restoring some vitality to a wounded person and close some small wounds, but not enough to completely cure all of one's injuries. The note was written on a piece of brand new parchment in Common and by the practiced hand of a scribe:

"Dear Keystone,

This shall be the last communication between us. You spoke of having defeated the enemy I mentioned, yet I still sense a foul presence close to me, in this city. The threat to the temple is still imminent and closing its claws. Be wary of your surroundings and don't let down your guard.
The monk who informed me of your request said you were gravely wounded fighting a common enemy, so you shall find a potion we can spare in the temple. It is not much, but the rest we need take care of our own. I am sure you will understand.

Signed,
Shein-Fang"

The Merchant's square was packed full of people, making the journey to the blacksmith a long and arduous one. The first drops of rain dropped on Keystone's weary muscles, and soon the trickle turned into a light summer rain, coasting every available surface in a reflective, wet coat. The huge crowd quickly drained out of the market square just as Keystone made his way to the dwarven blacksmith, catching the looks of more than a few women on his way. He quickly put a profession to their attire: paid wenches, good for a night of pleasure or, given enough coin, information.

The blacksmith's workshop was empty, but the forges still radiated heat from the work that ended hours ago. Heavy laughter, followed by a heavy, coarse cough, echoed out of the same door Keystone had seen earlier: the inside of the workshop where the smith's helper, Tim, had come from. The boy's voice soon joined the dwarf's raspy tone as the two debated something in Dwarf that Keystone couldn't quite understand. A third voice, a husky female pitch, yelped from the same room as both men laughed and clinked their tankards, by the sound of it. Keystone picked up the aroma of fresh salad, smoked chicken and a light spring sauce often used in the Eastern Realms.

Loud voices drew his attention away from the smithy. A large group of armoured soldiers marched through the merchant's square, clearly seeking something, or someone. Several of the men were battered or wounded, but all walked straight and proud. The armour of almost all carried the marks of a recent battle, from holes inflicted by heavy bolts, to scorch marks caused by fire or lightning, to several bloodied arms and shoulders one would suffer in a sword fight. The gazes of several men locked onto the wounded monk as the group passed and Keystone could hear the soldiers talking about him as they stopped a few dozen feet from him. The commander of the group looked his way, trying to make sense of a bloodied man standing next to a smithy and debating this inconsistency with his soldiers. The longer the group stood there, the more the commander nodded along with the arguments of his men, encouraging him to take the suspicious man prisoner and interrogate him on some topic Keystone didn't catch.

Some of the paid wenches eyeing Keystone noticed the group and wasted no time on distracting the soldiers, weaving all about them, enticing the men with liberally laced corsets or raised skirts. Some guards paid more attention to the girls than they did to their commander, who himself was still focused solely on Keystone, weighing his options.

"Don't let down your guard." mumbled Keystone flatly. If Glith were truly destroyed, as the evidence in his pocket would suggest, then he was never the evil that the old master kept referencing.

The disguised fighter drank Shein-Fang's potion immediately, and paused for just a moment to let the restorative effects wash over him. He began to feel warmer, his heartbeat more relaxed, as if he had just recovered a quart of the blood he had lost in the fight earlier. Standing a little straighter, he continued to his destination.

The attention of the guards was not lost on Keystone; he surmised that his monk's attire probably prevented an immediate identification (if they were still looking for him from earlier), but it was still best to get off the streets.

Pretending not to notice the attention he was getting, he strode purposefully to the door of the workshop, knocked, and announced in a clear voice, "Master Rocksteady, I am Edeknurl, of the Northern Ironfist Temple. I've traveled quite a way, and your town certainly has a violent welcoming committee."

It was a ploy, obviously, but this smith was the only person in town with which he'd used the Dwarven translation of his name. He continued, this time in Dwarven, "I have a gift and a commission for you, Master Rocksteady, if you'd have me in. It's important."

While waiting for response, Keystone briefly pondered the events of the last two minutes. Why would the underclass, as exampled by the concerted efforts of the nearby prostitutes, help him? In his own home, he had the proper connections to warrant such cover, but here? It seemed like another player was in on this game, a mysterious benefactor whose interests lay in keeping Keystone alive and free. At least, free from the open ruling body of Telflamm.

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted this done, and to be on the road, unchallenged, to the next chapter of his life. All things in time, this challenge must be seen to first.