Kaylee pulsed in the monk's mind, still held back by his iron will but still impossible to ignore. Keystone could feel her anger when the monk struck him, but the spirit was not powerful enough to take control of his mind on its own. She wanted to fight the dwarf. She pleaded the monk to fight, to show this dwarf that they, that Keystone was more than powerful enough to keep himself and Saran safe.

Seconds ticked away as the conflict seemed to freeze. Avar measured up the monk, but didn't make any moves towards him.

As if on cue, two heavily armed guard patrols shoved their way past the crowd and walked out onto the scene. Dressed in full field plate armour and emblazoned with the symbol of the Merchant Council, a small triangle with a wheel on top of it. The patrol commander, wearing a half open helmet instead of the full face complements the rest had, looked over at Keystone, then at Avar with an exasperated look:

"Is there a problem here, Mr Rocksteady?"

The dwarf met eyes with the patrol commander and bit by bit, started scowling.

"Nay, commander, nothing serious. The boy's tryin' to steal away me girl, so I gave 'm a bit of a roughin' up to teach 'm a lesson," he replied with an amused tone. The hammer stopped its spinning and slung away to hang on his belt. The dwarf approached Keystone and firmly embraced the monk, bringing his mouth close to Keystone's ear:

"I can't stop me girl from leaving with you. Ye now know me strength. If ye or yer monster dare hurt me girl in any way, I will come after ye and beat ye to a bloody pulp." With those words, he released the monk and slapped him on the back with a roar that could be interpreted as laughter or anger depending on the person listening.

The patrol commander along with his troops quickly thinned the crowds on the marketplace and after giving one more nod to the dwarf, disappeared from the square. Avar appeared to have lost all traces of anger, but seemed to pound away with twice the fervor. Grom appeared completely unmoved by recent events and sat down close to Avar, closing his eyes in meditation.

Saran ran over to Keystone the moment she could do so. After inspecting the monk and finding no obvious wounds, she looked at Keystone with a sincere look of apology.
"I'm sorry Keystone. Avar does this to everyone who shows the least bit of interest in me, and you really hit a sore spot by saying things like that in front of him!" she hissed indignantly, patting him down to remove some dust. "Now, if you're done sabotaging our departure, I've made all preparations to go! Horses are waiting for us."

As Keystone stood, acquiescing to Saran's attentions and admonishings, a look of irritated suspicion grew across his visage. He looked to Avar, working again at his forge, and to the calmly meditating Grom. A second or two passed after Saran ceased speaking before Keystone turned his head back toward her, giving an affirmation that he was indeed listening.

"Horses, yeah. I'll be along in a bit, then."

Forcing a neutral expression, he strode back into the Rocksteady household to retrieve his pack. He took a spare second to inspect the folds of his coat on top, ensuring that it had not been disturbed in his absence. Satisfied, he pulled out a bandoleer of kunai and a coinpouch containing several platinum pieces before shouldering the burden.

On his way back out, Keystone set the small bag of coins down near Avar, and said flatly, "I'm keeping to our accord, regardless. A quarter of those coins are yours, if this ain't profitable. Rest of 'em - they're so's you know I'll be returning."

As an afterthought, Keystone added, "Still owe me that waffle iron, y'old cocker." His last words were softer, almost apologetic in tone. He'd hoped the subtle change in inflection would be picked up by the older Dwarf, at least some inkling as to the words that weren't said in that moment; Keystone harbored no ill will toward the craftsman.

He gave a piercing stare to Grom, and left without further interaction.

Walking back to Saran, Keystone slipped the bandoleer about his torso, adjusting it for easy access. He looked to his new adventuring partner. He was partly curious about why she changed attire, partly curious about the real reason Avar became violent, then backed off. A test of some kind, he was betting. All the more reason not to exchange blows with the elder Dwarf. Still, he didn't particularly like being uninformed. It seems that was his constant state of existence since landing in Telflamm; everyone else knowing more about the situation he had to fight his way through.

The irritation continued to show across his face. Still, he kept stoically to the business at hand. "Horses, then graveyard. Then we put this city behind us." he said in a low, quiet voice. Not quite a growl, so much as a deep intonation. "When we're on the road, we can speak more freely."

"For just the now, though, why the armor change?"

The dwarf nodded in acknowledgment to Keystone's words.

Saran led Keystone through the crowds, some still staring at the monk that was the center of attention moments ago. Eventually the two reached a slightly run down part of the city, housing soldier's quarters, part of the slums and a comparatively massive stable. Dozens of horses were being take care of by even more people, some brushing, some washing and a few blacksmiths cleaning the hooves. All the animals appeared well fed and strong.

On the far side of the coral, two massive horses were saddled and outfitted. Saran motioned for Keystone to follow and briefly spoke with a large light skinned rotund man in fashionable robes, looking out of place anywhere that wasn't a palace. The man nodded a few times, stroked his short goatee and expectantly looked at Keystone with a fake sleazy smile:

"Your servant and I agreed on forty platinum for the horses. As soon as I have my money, these fine specimens are yours. I can assure you, they are exactly as strong and fast as they look," he said. Saran shot the merchant a distrustful look and stepped out of the way and slightly behind Keystone, firmly pressing three fingers into his lower back as she made her best attempt at a respectful bow.

With the horses saddled, the pair was soon riding through the lower end part of town, with many poorly dressed folk running about, some asking money from the pair, but most regarding them with fear, suspicion, or both. Saran turned into a wide alley and waited for them to be alone before talking to Keystone again:

"This way to the graveyard is shorter and less populated. We don't want to attract too much attention given your recent escapades around the city." She looked around and adjusted her bodice a bit, "as for my outfit, you didn't expect me to travel with an oversized spellbook on my back signifying I am a mage, did you? In a caravan that might deter some, but if it's just us two, it would harm us." As she finished, the city's cemetery came into view. It was unusually busy, days after the battle. Many soldiers rushed around, helping lower bodies into graves and keeping watch over the further parts of the graveyard. Many citizens walked around the graves, paying respects to fallen friends, family members and lovers. Some were beyond the guard ring, bowed and crying over some open graves.

A few guards stood over open graves in the guarded section, carefully listening to pastors reading last rites. Keystone's keen ears overheard parts of the sermon:

"...and through his bravery and sacrifice many were saved. We can all be thankful for the sacrifice he made, as some of you would not have stood here were it not for this brave soul..."

Saran looked around and settled on Keystone: "So, do you know where they are buried? I don't come here often..."

"My ser..." began Keystone, taking a second to fully understand the situation. He faked a tickle in his throat and coughed lightly before continuing with the very well-dressed man in the very not-well-dressed environment. Saran tapped three fingers into his back. Must be a signal. "Yeah, I ain't got the time for this back n'forth cobyankery. I'm already going to be late, as it is. Twenty-five."

If Keystone read the signal correctly, he was going to allow himself to be talked up to 30 platinum coins, and be on their way. If he did not, a drawn out session of haggling was really not within the bounds of his temperament that morning. Perhaps allowing a touch of his anger to show would be helpful is assisting with the expedient end to the transaction.

***

It had been a while since the itinerant brawler had managed a horse. Even back then, he was no master rider. At least he knew which end was forward and he didn't embarrass himself mounting the animal. A number of shaky moments later, he was maneuvering the horse in (more or less) a straight line in accordance with his directional wishes. "...been a bit..." he grumbled absently to Saran's amusement.

The graveyard was larger than Keystone had imagined. Logic took over, reasoning that the main place of interment in a large trade city would likely be sizeable. Still, he had less of an idea where to look than Saran did. "The soldier what told me about this place mentioned "Hero's Honors". Aside from that, I haven't the slightest where to look."

Keystone located a soldier unburdened by body-lowering duties and moved to speak with him. He unmounted his horse and led it briskly by the reins, calling to the man as he approached. "Oi! Got a question there, if you could... Looking for where you lot buried my friend - an Half-Orc name of Raa, led the refugee militia on the walls. The detail carryin' him off says hero's burial. He'd be a Paladin, if that helps."

"You insult me, good sir! Forty platinum coins is a steal for such fine animals!" the merchant puffed, flushing with red anger. If you are trying to rob me, the least you could do is suggest a better price! Even your servant came here with a more reasonable, but still low thirty! Thirty-five platinum and two more to forget this insult, and that is my final offer!" His loud demeanour alerted the many workers in the stable, but none seemed too concerned with the debate. No guards seemed to be present in the area.

The moment Keystone's horse entered the graveyard, two soldiers rushed up with cries to get off the animal and leave it outside. The monk got some angry looks, but nothing beyond that. Saran took both horses and waited outside of the fence, nuzzling the animals.

The soldier Keystone approached was a scruffy young man with an unkempt beard and a face suggesting he had been here multiple nights. He gave the monk a glazed over look and exchanged glances with his partner, both resting their hands on sword pommels. The other guard, a much older looking man, but clean shaven and seemingly fresh out of bed, chuckled at the monk:

"An orc, leading the city militia? Ne'er heard 'o that in our town. All the vermin are buried in the back, paladin or not. Saw me a half orc, methinks, two days ago, lowered into the last grave on the fourth row from the back,' the man gestured in the rough direction of the grave. "Should be a stone slab with a name on it," he finished with a mix of smugness and wary on his face.

The name 'Raa' was present in the graveyard close to where the guard pointed. A simple stone slab signified the last resting place of the half orc and a fresh mound of earth covered the grave. No further markings were around the grave and the area appeared to be last disturbed mere hours before Keystone arrived.

"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 servant 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.

The younger guard reeled back from the forceful interrogation by the large monk, cowering in fear and forgetting he had a weapon. The other guard took a definitive stance between the monk and his partner, staring down Keystone with ferocity matching the monk's own.

"How'd we know why that grave was disturbed? Maybe yer orc kin was buried earlier today, and I saw me some other orc two nights ago! If you're accusing us of tampering with that vermin's grave, you've got some real straw in that head o' yours, brawler. The dead are not to be disturbed!" A short metal screech alerted Keystone that the man had partially pulled his blade from its sheath. The guard stared at Keystone with a mix of anger and, yes, fear, but did not back down.

"If you came here to make trouble, rest assured that no matter how many taverns you've worked in, I can still send you crawling back to a healer," he hissed, puffing out his chest.

Keystone pressed hard on the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, as if warding off a headache. He forced his growing irritation down into the pit of his stomach, and attempted to maintain an even voice.

"For Gravy's lumpy sake... All the walking corpses that was just about town, this Knight gets snuffed in single combat with the monster what made 'em (trying to save your sorry arse, at that). You're tellin' me he's been buried two days and his grave looks fresher tossed than that."

He leaned in a little closer, dropped the volume of his voice somewhat, and stared at the older soldier with his sword halfway out. "Hows about you tell me what could possibly be the worry?"

The greatly annoyed brawler looked down to the soldier's sword, and back up to his face, raising his eyebrows and giving an unimpressed expression. "For the meantime, you can direct me to his personal effects. His full name of Sir Raa TelNimras, Lion of the Whitehorn, Paladin of Mielikki. And I'm his next of."

The guard seemed to mirror the exasperation, locking the blade back into its scabbard and adopting a wary, but slightly more relaxed stance.

"Look, I don't know how in the Lord's name you could be next of kin to an orc, but don't ye get angry at us for doing our job! I told you I saw some orc being buried in the back a few days ago. Mayhap that wasn't your 'kin', maybe he got buried here today. Maybe we've only been here a couple 'o hours and haven't seen a new arrival. And if you're know what's good for you, you won't start by insulting the men and women that fell in the battle, by attributing their accomplishments to your orc buddy!"

The younger guard, clearly bolstered by the attitude of his partner, chimed in:

"We don't have any personal items for the buried people. They all get buried the way they did, out of respect!"

Arguing with the tragically obtuse was draining. Keystone had experienced an interesting and less-than-ideal morning so far, and he was impatient to put both it, and this city in the road dust behind him. At the same time, he felt that his adventuring companion deserved better representation than he was getting.

"It ain't respect to call a fallen hero vermin. It ain't respect to ignore that he bled and died for you tosspots. It's sure as bloody hell not respect to not keep his personals safe for family and friends. He was only half Man, but you're not half the man he was."

Keystone pushed past the guards on his way out, grunting a monotone "'xcuse..." Without stopping, the broad (and particularly annoyed) man turned his head to the side until he caught the older guard in his peripheral vision.

"He even get benediction, or did you lot just toss him in a hole and throw dirt on 'im?"

It didn't matter, really, though he figured he probably should stop. For all of his posturing on what was respectful, getting himself into a melee with Telflamm soldiers in a graveyard was surely the opposite of respectful.

Keystone tried to content himself with the memory of reciting Raa's name to the creature that did him in, shortly before beating it back into the afterlife (albeit barely). He failed, naturally, as cold anger had taken hold of his thoughts and didn't seem to want to let go. Perhaps, when all of this was over, he'd return to reclaim the Half-Orc's bones and lay them to rest elsewhere, either with Raa's people or his own. Remained to be seen, but that idea gave him some comfort.

Returning to Saran and the horses, Keystone's humorless expression said what needed to be said for his experience graveside. "There was an Inn, place where they stuffed the refugees when we first came to Telflamm. It's on the way out of town; we'll give a quick check there about his effects. Whether yes or no, I'm making for the other side of those walls."

It was funny, really. Keystone hadn't thought much about knightly types before. The mixed-blood Paladin had struck a chord in him, however. He wished they could have spoken more.

The older guard's eyes narrowed in suspicion:

"If you were from this town, you wouldn't be so quick to anger at the mention of orc being vermin. For hundreds of years the only orcs we ever saw were the ones climbing on our walls, killing our people. What would you call them after that? If one or two of em fought with us this day, I am sure I'd have heard of it. I'm damn sure I'd have heard of some Orc family living here, in need of some orc's personal affects. Who by the way, would have known of our customs and religions for the dead!"

With angry grunt, the guards returned to their stations, following Keystone with outright angry looks, the older guard shaking a fist at him.

Kaylee, having kept herself to a minor headache so far, flared up on his mind in accordance to Keystone's own anger, multiplying and reinforcing it. The strain on the monk's mind mounted with each such outburst, challenging his mental discipline. Proximity to Saran no longer forced the spirit out of his mind, only dulled its presence somewhat.

Let me help, Keystone. We can give your friend the proper honours he deserves. We can teach these bigots respect for all races.. she pleaded.

Saran nodded with a half pained half amused smile on her face:
"Didn't expect everyone to be like Avar and me, did you?"

With Keystone's directions they soon arrived at a small inn in the busy city slums, not far from the stable they had just bought their horses from. The place was bustling with people coming back from the walls and city battlegrounds, many still wounded, but few having received any kind of medical attention. The ceiling was barely higher than Keystone himself and the thick cloud of steam mixed with smoke didn't help with breathing. The proprietor, a large rotund woman easily twice the width of Keystone, was very busy, but quickly recognized the description of a large half orc. Having heard the rumours around the inn, she empathized with the loss, showed the pair the half-orc's former sleeping place, and instructed the pair to ask her if they needed anything but a room. None of the paladin's personal effects were still there, from what little Keystone knew. The new inhabitant of the bed swore that he did not see anything when he was granted the sleeping abode.

Saran took a look around the place and shrugged, locking eyes with Keystone. "It'd help if you knew what his personal effects were, Keystone." she said and immediately fell into a bout of coughing, folding over in half with tears in her eyes. "I *cough* do prefer the outside."

"Yeah," began Keystone, "Let's get out of here. Maybe whomever's got his stuff can find use from it all. He was a giving sort."

He returned to the outside, looking around at the poorer section of the city around him. The forgotten people of a city; Keystone's own childhood had him in a place similar. He turned back to Saran, waiting for her to fully catch her breath before mounting his horse and speaking.

"He didn't have a whole lot, least not to speak on. Couple of weapons I never learned how to use, some kind of giant insect armor, his holy symbol. All things that'd be better off with his kin. Maybe whatever whitehats sponsored him, if any. Up and comin' Knight might have made use of 'em."

He paused for a moment, "Thinking on it, I believe he left his donkey back in Two Stars, on account of the running and the dying and such, though I'm doubtful it's still available. He did have some traveling gear and a bit of extra coin what may have been of use to us. Not needed, mindya, but useful."

He shook his head, reigning the horse toward the city gates. "Y'know, Saran... It's been a sod-awful morning. Can't seem to keep a thought in my head." Keystone locked eyes with her, very mildly stressing his next sentence, "P'raps we should talk 'bout it when my head is clear of these intrusions."

While keeping it subtle, he hoped not too subtle. The words he chose were Saran's own from earlier when Kaylee was elsewhere. Whatever she was doing was less effective and Keystone wanted her to know. While still unsure as to whether the misplaced spirit was a threat, he large man was concerned that she seemed to be pushing his baser instincts, particularly as it involved hurting others.

This was a personality trait he had worked for a very long time to control - Keystone embraced by rage was a horrifying thing, best left tucked away until it was absolutely necessary for survival, his or another's.

"C'mon then, let's get out on the Way."

"I am surprised he managed to sleep in that inn," Saran replied, wiping the tears from her face. "I would have died before heading out into battle!" She hopped on the horse, once again towering over Keystone.
"You speak of him as a great friend, and yet you don't know him that well. What gives?" the mage continued as she gave a barely visible nod to the monk. A slight flick of the wrist was the only thing that indicated what she did. For the briefest of moments, a jolt of pain arced through Keystone's head, and Kaylee was gone. Saran nodded and smiled.

"I'll take that as a sign it worked. I don't know how long it will help. May be a few minutes, may be a week. I do know that the last thing I used this spell on didn't like me afterwards," she said, bobbing up and down as they rode through the gates. The guards nodded to the pair and raised their halberds.

On the open road, Saran flashed a cheerful smile and drove her spores into the horse's sides, galloping away and waving to the monk to follow her.

The road was open, dusty, and flooded with caravans, refugees and migrants, going about their way as if nothing had changed. The constant flow of traders and guards warded off the usually prolific bandits of the area, and after a few days on the road, the pair made it to the outer edges of Two Stars without interruptions. Keystone had noticed a growing dull headache that started the second day on the road, but Kaylee was nowhere to be found. The horses were barely fatigued after the long trek, trotting along as the open gates of Two Stars came into view.

No guards were on the walls, none manned the gates that screeched in the wind and no sound came from within its walls. No trade caravans seemed to have joined them on the way to the town, leaving the pair alone in front of the gates.

Keystone flinched as magic rushed over him. He was generally uncomfortable around it, moreso when he was the target, beneficial or no. He was grateful, but nodded grimly at Saran for her efforts.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Miss. The thing what's in my head, Kaylee? Don't think she likes you much, anyhow."

He rode silently for a few minutes. As they neared the gate, Keystone addressed the question left unanswered from earlier. "I don't know if you were just askin' me to cover for the spellwork, but, uh... if I had to pin it down, it'd be guilt. We split up as soon as we got into town, me lookin' for money and information, him seein' to the refugees. Raa was a better man than m'self, fellow warrior, and he did the good n' noble thing. He died and I didn't. Just deserves better's all, and he's got no one to speak on his behalf."

"Bastard killed him, came after me next. If we'd have stuck together, maybe he lives. He started this before I did, now all we've got is me to finish. Otherwise, I'm the type that'd take actions more direct and final and be done with it. Eh..."

The remainder of the journey came with little in the way of deep conversation, though Keystone did mention once or twice about the onset of a nagging, long-term headache.

Upon reaching the seemingly abandoned main gates to the town of Two Stars, Keystone took a moment to listen. No one present to greet or threaten, ask them about their business. No one to hawk fruit-laced water to weary travelers, no barkers suggesting places to eat or lodge for the evening. Just a partially ajar gate, wind, and dust.

"Well, this looks right inviting."

Keystone slid from his horse and turned to his pack, still affixed to his mount's tack. He retrieved Glith's sword, still wrapped in cloth, and looked to Saran. "You see anything I can't? Otherwise I say we step inside and see what's waiting."

With a grip on the reins and a wary eye, Keystone approached the gates of Two Stars.

"You are a kind soul, Keystone," Saran replied, trotting alongside him, "but I consider you a good man, despite everything you say. Your friend Raa has a voice to speak for him. Yours." She smiled with that same warm smile she had the day they met.

Saran looked around, quite concerned with the situation. Keystone noticed that she seemed out of her element on the open road, far less comfortable being out in the open than he was. A few minutes later she came back to the monk with a look of confusion:

"I don't understand. Should Two Stars not be guarded and manned? We heard from the caravans that the city was alive and well, yet I don't see a soul. What divination spells I have show empty streets and houses, nobody walking the streets. It's strange." She adjusted her leather pads and pulled out a short dagger as he looked at Keystone.

"I suppose it would be the wrong time to mention that I'm ill suited for combat? I deal with divination and enhancement, so I can help you, but don't have much in the way of offensive magic. Is there anything you'd like to me to cast on you? I can make you faster, stronger and harder to hit, amongst other things. We may be here for a long time, and I'd prefer to not to exhaust my repertoire too quickly," Saran said, tying up the horses to a line she held.

"After you?" she pointed at the open gate, behind which was the gloomy, half lit main street. The sun had only recently come up, slowly revealing the streets with rays of striking light. A cold, seaside wind blew across the plains and slammed into the city walls, eliciting some creaks and groans.

"Yeah, don't make much sense. That many folk wouldn't make stories about something like that."

Keystone glanced at Saran's choice of armament, and immediately handed over the dagger he salvaged from Reverin's tower. "You'll be needing this more than me, I suppose. Guy at the Enclave said it was enchanted, didn't say how, though. I'm not expecting you to get into a fight, not looking for one, m'self. If'n we do, you need every advantage."

He made a move toward the gate, but stopped suddenly, moving instead to the stone wall beside it. Looking just the slightest bit guilty, he cleared his throat to get Saran's attention. Using a quiet voice, he slowly enunciated his intent. "Alright, here's a piece of trust I'm giving you. The only reason that Sir Rottingarse didn't peel the meat off my bones is I've got this talent - Elemental Earth. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not. Lately, it's been there, but I don't want to rely on it."

Feeling somewhat exposed, Keystone pressed Glith's sword onto the flat face of the stone wall. He opened himself up to the tenuous connection with Earth, imploring the wall to open and accept the weapon. With minor effort, he pushed his burden inside and sealed it up seamlessly behind him.

"Call it insurance. As I hear, it's hard to detect things behind rock. Things get really bad, that wall'll break the blade faster'n I can barehanded. Should be safe here, til we're done. I'd appreciate if we could keep this between us."

Keystone backed up to review his handiwork. It looked quite sufficient to his eyes. Truth is, he couldn't take full credit for anything he did with his earthshaping; it was more of an agreement he made with the element that chose him, equal parts of imagination and "will of the earth". Review complete, Keystone pondered graver, more immediate matters.

"I shouldn't need you to fight. I just need you to guide me through any surprises Reverin, Erepar, or gods forbid Glith may have left. We get into something I can't handle, you run. Meantime, let's see get a view of the town, shall we?"

He stepped forward into the town, leading the horse behind him.

Saran nodded with a look of grim determination and inspected the dagger as Keystone forced the sword inside the rock. The wall easily gave way, absorbing the sword as if it was thick syrup and hardening when the monk let go. For a moment the headache seemed to recede, but it came back in full force seconds later.

"I am not certain what this dagger does, and I do not have any identification spells memorized. I'll stick to my own weapon, in case this one is cursed," Saran whispered, peeking out from behind the door. "It looks empty." She stepped aside when Keystone walked in, unbinding her horse and following him inside the abandoned town.

Two Stars was bathing in the morning sun and pierced by a cold wind, but Keystone did not feel cold or hot. The city was completely empty: no signs of bodies, inhabitants, or even indications of recent occupation. What few torches were on the gate walls appeared pristine and never lit, a large fireplace in the guard's bunker to the right of the entrance was made up but showed no signs of ever being lit. No dust covered the many surfaces around the gate. The main street was devoid of all life as the sunrays broke through the slightly cloudy sky.

"You lived in here? That must have been lonely," quipped Saran, looking around.

Keystone's head briefly flashed with pain and the image of a skull encased in an all too familiar helmet flashed by.

"Used to be more people here..." began Keystone, sarcasm in mind. Unfortunately, the sudden flash of pain hit before his gravelly attempt at humor really took hold. He found that he could tolerate the persistent headache, hangover quality as it was. If there was pain with which he was familiar, it would be the self-induced next day variety. He could function still.

The sudden jolt, however, closed his eyes and sent him groaning quietly. Keystone looked to Saran, "It's gettin' worse. I'm seeing things now, too. Our buddy Glith this time. He ain't happy, looks like. And I'm not hearing Kaylee since Telflamm, least not in voice."

The pain receded, prompting Keystone to get straight to business. "Right, I want to be in and out well before night comes, even if that means coming back tomorrow. First thing, let's check out places that'd have people an' business. Inns, shops, such; on the main road. If no one's about, look for supplies, maybe a wagon or carriage we can tack to the horses."

"After, find Reverin's tower and Erepar's chapel, peep it from a distance. See what's what from there."

Keystone looked to Saran, making sure to lock eyes. "This is more than a li'l unnatural. What I need from you is to make sure I'm not stumbling ill-informed into something nasty and magical I can't see. We get a bad vibe we're not expectin', we walk away. I've always got Plan B."

The pair moved through the deserted main street, poking their heads into various shops and houses. Keystone quickly noted that while the city seemed to be in pristine shape, there were no signs of any inhabitants anywhere they looked. No tools were charred with the fires of a smithy, no mugs were left on tables in the taverns and no footsteps marked the dirt under their feet. Food and other valuable trinkets seemed to be nonexistent, as was any clothing or other every day items. If there were any stockpiles of valuables to be found, they were not anywhere in their path.

Reverin's tower was clearly visible in the small gaps and side streets, silently towering over the empty houses. No magical protections seemed to surround the fencing, no shimmer warned of the many wards guarding the perimeter. Saran motioned an indifferent 'no' on the presence of magic surrounding the tower, using a long range scrying spell. Erepar's chapel was not visible from inside the city, requiring some travel to get to.

The monk and the mage reached a small square in one of the smaller regions of the city, a place Keystone knew well. Many old and deprecated houses lined the edges of the square, laced with balconies jutted roofs hanging so low one could touch them at will. The center of the square housed a small fountain, much like the big one Keystone had seen in the town's main square. Inside the barren and dried out basin stood an immobile, all too familiar suit of armour with a familiar greatsword planted in the stone in front of it, two gloves resting on the end of the pommel. The suit's empty eye sockets seemed to stare directly at Keystone. The figure was surrounded by a clearly visible pulsating aura. In between the pulses Keystone could see faint images of the Two Stars he knew: a populated square with people walking, thieves weaving in and out of alleys and eyes in every corner.

The headache grew and spread through Keystone's head the moment he saw the statue.

Keystone stopped in the middle of his stride, viewing the armor that plagued him over the past few weeks. He stretched a hand behind him, motioning for Saran to stay back. Through clenched teeth, he quietly intoned, "If anything happens, run." Saran had mentioned that she wasn't trained for combat, and this opponent was dangerous, to the extreme, even to experienced fighters.

The headache was difficult to ignore, obviously. It had been a great while since he felt truly alone in his own head; he looked forward to ending this chapter of his life and reclaiming his inner space. Still, if this really were Glith in one form or another, some part of this story was still untold.

As usual, Kaylee urged violence. True, violence was his forte. He might even say it himself if he knew what "forte" meant, but that was a thought for another time. It, as everything else actionable on is part, must be his decision to commit. The desires of a guest in his brainpan influenced him to question his feelings, not go with them. The quarter second it took to feel Kaylee's anger made him remember the last unbound spirit he housed, a particularly nasty man in life, he prompted Keystone to acts of aggression constantly. Much of his reserves of will came from this impromptu training - clawing his way back out of himself and asserting his own personality, dominating and walling off the angry bastard until the terms of his dismissal could be completed.

The only rage he would succumb to willingly was his own. Possibly to Kaylee's benefit, Keystone had quite a bit of it for the undead Knight.

He called upon his connection with Earth, silently allying his will with the stone around him. His request of Earth was the same as when he first met this Glith: Grip tightly upon the tip of the monster's blade, hold fast and deny him the nastiest portion of his arsenal.

This other Glith, he rationalized, should not have his blade. Keystone himself sunk it into the stone wall outside of town. But then again, the undead creature shouldn't even be here. He severed Glith's connection with this world days ago. This thing in the dry fountain basin must be something else, or at least he thought he hoped so.

The idea occurred to him that this could very well be a trap. It could also be too late to fully avoid, that being the case. Keystone stuck his hands into his deep coat pockets, feeling the cool Dwarven metal of his new helm-splitters, and spoke.

"You ain't attacking. Either you can't, or you're waiting on something. Or I'm bloody foolish; wouldn't be the first of it."

Keeping at least one eye on the thing-which-might-be-Glith, Keystone tried to glimpse the setting around him with his peripherals. He truly hoped this was foolishness on his part, or an abundance of caution. The last thing he wanted was an epic battle in a obviously ensorcelled town with someone he was charged to protect nearby.