[h3][color=bedded][b][center]Thomas Richard Harrison[/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] Forest North of Salarn.
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] Keystone [/indent][/center]

Bury the hatchet,
May the dead rest in pieces.
Bloody blade and all.


A sock? No, a worn down beaten piece of rag. Confusing Thomas as to what exactly was it that Keystone presented. Just before Thomas got into the swing of things and focusing on his mantra, it seemed there was one last parting gift the ruffian chef had for him. And whatever it truly was intended to be for Thomas did have his suspicions as it seemed completely unlike the man to be giving out things he sentimented over. After all he did chase after his supplies when the wagon started to run like a loon. And the way he polished his cookware with an amount of ritual suggested otherwise. Thus the notion of giving Thomas such an object was either spiteful or apologetic. Either way, it seemed Thomas had no choice but to accept the strange paraphernalia.

[color=bedded]"Err... Thanks."[/color] Taking the object presented somewhat regrettably, probably considering to wash his hands in aqua vitae immediately following the action, Thomas fuddle with his own pack and decided to place the worn piece of fabric into an alchemical jar. And With that he returned, or rather began his meditation with the nice mediation pillow tucked beneath his buttocks as he closed his eyes to refocus his vision on the void. The stars and moon above perhaps to channel their radiances upon his form. Or not, and let the void take him deeper into the darkness. Into the void, deeper and deeper. Until perhaps sleep may blossom from meditation.