"Thirty is reasonable?" questioned Keystone, ignoring the man's rant and counting out coin, intentionally clinking loudly. "I didn't get a nod from my lady about forty, makin' me think there's worse than insult you're shoveling. Price is a reasonable thirty. Two more for your trouble. And I'll try not to take injury to the fact that you called that lady a [i]servant[/i] right in front of her. And me." 

***

Rather sheepishly, Keystone realized that he was riding an animal capable of depositing a stone-and-a-half's worth of crap and insoluble fiber into a place of sacred eternal rest, right at the moment the soldiers alerted him to his dreadfully uncouth social faux pas. "Sorry 'bout that..." he grumbled, dismounting and fumbling the reins over to the more experienced Saran. 

He held sympathy to the younger soldier. Not a lot he'd show openly, granted, but he'd been on guard duty in the past during times of conflict. It wasn't where anyone really wanted to be, especially if they were younger and of low rank. Days and nights of keeping as raptly attentive as possible was exhausting work, despite not moving around much. Keystone looked to the younger man and nodded knowingly. 

The older man, on the other hand, he wanted to drive a brick through. It was not the time nor the place for him to physically correct the ramblings of the bigoted, however, and he did have information that Keystone needed. He narrowed his eyes at the elder soldier, thanked him for his time, and moved to leave. 

As an afterthought, he called to the younger guard, "Ey, boy!" and waited for him to turn before continuing. "Not every greenskin's vermin, y'know. And not all vermin's got green skin, neither. There's those that'd show you a better path, if'n you needed one." 

With exasperation he refused to show outwardly, Keystone honestly wondered if the vast majority of the people in Telflamm were bitter, judgmental, sociopathic, prejudiced practitioners of self-serving asshattery, bit and determined to drive him into a state of percussive psychological maintenance as he drove his ham-like fists into their craniums and torsos until bare, simple concepts (such as "Don't Be A Total Bastich") could be communicated by means of good, old-fashioned, reliable, negative reinforcement. He quickly banished the thought, though allowed a strange smile to linger as his brain clung to the image of a few choice people from his recent adventures in the city stuffed into a sack and whacked repeatedly onto a section of the city wall until the bag grew dark and slick from the fluids of the crushed and maimed within. 

But back to business. 

Keystone scanned the row of markers where the soldier had indicated, locating Raa's burial site readily. He knelt, paying his respect silently for a long moment before rising. Carefully, he regarded the soil. The priest at Tyr's temple had mentioned burying the chunk of steel with Glith's blood seal in consecrated ground. If any ground nearby was consecrated, it's be this. Likely it was blessed again either just before of just after his interment two days prior.

And then it hit him. The ground was freshly disturbed. This did not bode well. Keystone produced his original money pouch, the one that held his silver coins, and emptied the contents into another. He grabbed a few handfuls of the soil and stuffed it into his now empty pouch, and rose.

With some urgency, the massive pugilist returned to the two soldiers on duty, and half requested, half demanded to know why the grave was disturbed.