Kret retrieves his terbutje and shield from his back as he feels his primal instincts wash over him.
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Kret crouches in the underbrush next to Lokien, staying alert for a signal from his companions.
Kret lifts his gaze to meet that of the masked elf. "My people are dead. The minotaurs proved too strong. This is the way of nature. Kill or be killed. For now, it seems as though this Herald has some idea of my fate, so I will follow his direction." The barbarian sighs and runs his hands through his matted hair. "So be it. If you die, I'll be no closer to understanding the words of this Herald. I'll fight these bandits with you."
Kret shrugs "I you want to sneak into a camp filled with bandits and steal their things, more power to you." He then unrolls a curiously large pelt and lays down by the fire.
Kret shrugs, "They don't know we're here. I think it's best we keep it that way."
Kret does his best to help Lokien navigate the unfamiliar landscape.
Merry Christmas, happy birthday, and the happiest of holidays to you all!
"I'm not sure what 'normal' is anymore." Kret responds as he sits by the fire, a welcome respite from the chilled desert wind.
"These city folk cannot harm me." Kret responds, not noticing Lokien's sudden change in demeanor. "The bear taught me how to fight, and the ram, how to survive. Without their metal weapons, these men are nothing."
The highlander's head perks up when Lokien shouts. Kret shakes the rage from his mind and rushes back to the dwarf, wiping blood from his brow as he makes his way through the crowd. He rests a bloodied hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Sorry about that."
Kret continues to beat the snot out of the rioters.
The hulking savage charges the men approaching the herald and brings his weapon down heavily on one of them. Swift action | Activate rage Move action | Move full 40' to reach the Herald's attackers Standard action | Attack (or move further if needed)
Current Stats: AC | 14
HP | 18/18 Rage | 6/7
Kret attempts to maintain a level head, but the sounds of the rioting crowd soak into his mind. He jerks upward into a standing position and looses a primal scream before drawing his weapons and charging headfirst toward the 7 Nerekans near the Herald.
Kret stands motionless as the tension in the air grows thicker.
Kret merely looks to his newfound companions. He's in an unfamiliar culture and too weak to be putting his neck out for someone else.
The large man's face lightens somewhat as Lokien speaks. "I would like that very much. Thank you."
Kret listens to the music and conversation, but does not approach. His stomach growls loudly, reminding him of how long it's been since he last had a meal. Were he back in the mountains, he would go hunting and foraging to sate his hunger. Here, he doesn't know what plants are edible or the behaviors of the local game. He turns to the dwarf with a defeated look, "Do you know of any temples in this city? It has been too long since I have eaten, but I have little to trade"
Despite his best efforts at restraint, the human greedily downs the water given to him. After taking a moment to breathe he replies, "My people are from the highlands of Icewall. The tribe was attacked by minotaurs. I was left for dead, but here I am." His glance moves beyond those present as the horrors of his recent past wash over him. "I thought the elves could help, but they are gone, too." His large frame relaxes slightly as he sighs. "I am Kret. I thank you for your kindness."
Ragged and beaten, a human wanders into Pashin. Dark circles surround his eyes and his skin looks almost stretched across his bones. With chapped, bleeding lips and hair matted with sweat, he makes his way to the first people he's seen in weeks. Approaching a dwarf and two elves, his words are few. "Do you - have water?"
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