Lex Samreeth

Kurith looks down. He's not wearing shoes. It's kind of hard to do that when you have cloven hooves for feet. Instead, he looks around for a scraper that such establishments usually have, to work the marl and debris out so he doesn't track in. Once he was satisfied, he strode in, his footfalls making hefty clops as he made his way to the bar. "Pint of plain, if'n ye please." He lays his payment on the hard wood with a satisfying clack before looking around for any fair maidens he could possibly impress with his dashing good looks and chiseled physique. Though, the rest of you know there's also a decent chance that he'll just wind up making a fool of himself.

Kurith smiles at the old woman, twirling his halberd expertly before removing the leather sheath from its head. It's definitely got some history to it, though it is by no means ornamented. Still, it is in fine condition, the only defects being a couple of chips on the cutting edge. "Da al'ays called this un <Swift Judgement Against Avarice>. 'S been i' th' family fo' five gen'rations - th' head, a' least. Handle's been replaced of'en 'nough." He then bangs his gauntlets together, making their runes light up. "The twins etn't ol' 'nough ta earn names yet. Less'n a year ol', an' only seen combat yest'day. An' I's no' a poet, so prolly won't be naught a' int'res'in nor fancy a' <Judgement>. 'Twill pro'lly be a fine name i' th' end, though." He gently taps his fingers together, deactivating them before pulling them off. "I' th' meanwhile, a pint a plain sounds won'erful. Mayhaps a fine lass servin' it, too?"

Banana growls in frustration as his blows fail to make any notable impact on the statue. "This is growing frustrating..." His eyes rove over the construct, and he starts recalling the wisdom of the elder hunters. Simply overwhelming some of their prey was not an option. "If swarming and overwhelming does not work, we must dismantle it. Tear away its tools. And I know of one way to make that easier." Banana aims his next strike low, going for the legs. "Come on, everybody, let's do this for the anadi! For the Magaambaya!" His last exclamation is laced with just a hint of arcane magic, giving everyone a tiny little boost. OOC Action 1: Attempting to Trip the Terracotta statue Actions 2 and 3: Casting Infectious Enthusiasm. +1 to Attack, Will, or Cha-based checks for 1 turn

Kurith gently taps the fingertips of his gauntlets together, and the light of the runes dimmed from blazing to smouldering. He walked over and tugged his halberd out of the ground, before motioning to Verris. "Typica' ban'its. Leave summat big an 'eavy middle 'a th' road, 'n jump 'em when th' wagon has tae stop. Dinnae work well fo' 'em this time, though, right?" He laughs as he starts driving his shoulder into the wrecked cart, trying to find a good place to grip the hulking mass. "Well, now tha' th' ban'its are dead, naught keepin' us from clearin' the road. Has tae been done sometime, why not now?"

Banana charges forward. "Don't think I even need magic for this!" He begins to simply wail on the terracotta statue with his staff, smacking it over and over again like crazy

Here's the token for Kurith Krath

Terracotta, I believe

Kurith snapped around, seeing the thistlefolk charging out of the underbrush. He slammed his fists together, and the sigils on his gauntlets flared to light as he ran forward with a loud yell, aiming to deliver a devastating gutpunch to the one nearest to his halberd.

"Why do so many things in this school try to kill us? And it's a statue, too...which means my favorite cantrip isn't going to do much, probably. Tsaa." He glances over at Mac and the others, gripping his staff one-handed. "Standard hunt-tactics, yes? Disarm it, get it on the ground."

"Northsta' preserve...were nae a beast wot did the poor man. This be bladework - an' skillful, too." He carefully maneuvers the head, exposing twinned holes on either side of the neck lain open by the gash - the jugulars and carotids. "Killer slit both vessels o' the neck asides the throat. Some cutthroats pull the head back, bu' tha' hides away the vessels. Makes the cut only hi' th' airpipe. If'n they die, 'tis slow an' painful. Push the head for'ard o'er the blade, though, an' ye get this. Man bled out a'fore the minute was over. An' the smell o' blood like as drew the beasties tae feast."

Whelp. That's fear. How has Kurith stepped in it this time, oh mighty GM?

Kurith drives his halberd into the ground and walks over to the ransacked cart, cracking his knuckles and limbering up. "Wager 'twix' Verris and I we ha' enough brawn tae git this wreck tae the side so we can pass."

Kurith lets his halberd drop into a low, ready stance, but doesn't advance. "Dun care wha' beastie 'tis, Motha wi' young is al'ays nippiest. Don' ge' any closa. Mayha' if they finish thei' suppa, they leave us alone." He looks up at Kimber. "Ye ken how is done. Slow, steady, back a'ay. Kerris, ge' twixt 'em an' the others wi' me. Slow. Steady. Show we nae predator, but nae prey worth troublin'."

Banana tilts his head when they point out the storeroom calling to them. "Calling? You mean it feels like a good fit, or do you feel like something is...drawing your attention there?" He leans on his ever-present staff. "There's been a bit of weird stuff happening lately. Some sort of psychic call that's drawn in insects and gremlins. We're still trying to pin down what it is, and what causes it, but if it's anything that feels a bit..." He taps the side of his head twice. "It might help..."

And Kurith likely passed through, too. Also, as you might have guessed, his people worship the world's equivalent of Polaris as a god of travelers and judgement. Old legends say that those who turn to banditry feel Northstar's gaze to be unusually bright and cold.

I like that idea. A mountain that moves on its own inscrutiable agenda. Probably laden with traps and trials for anyone trying to ascend to its peak.

The Grand Floofin' Wolcoon hath returned. He is currently sitting on the hill (all of it) eating his Pringles. Seriously, did you think I'd be able to send a wolcoon on a trip to pick up Pringles for anybody but themselves? Anyway, any attempts to exert Newtonian force upon him results in vanishing into his floof and flab, and attempts at negotiation are met with blown raspberries. So, lacking any further alternatives, it's best to acknowledge it as My Hill for as long as it remains there.