the mighty Brigantes Brehyrion enters KMT, 6'6" of flexing, seething muscles that defy reason...that defy logic...that defy other impressive words like reason and logic...

he enters the strange, foreign pub...many thoughts cross his beleaguered mind.."Do they serve Guiness here?"..."Are there wenches to be -er- wenched?"..."Will I ever stop asking myself rhetorical questions and get to the bleeding point?"...

Culann of the Brigantes swaggers purposefully up to the one called Oset, and eyes the strange dress of the native of this even stranger land...


Oi! You need a bouncer, then? Areet, you found one!

the towering chieftain crosses tree-trunk arms across his ridiculously huge chest, fingers gently tapping the glittering falcata** hung at his hip, a family heirloom passed down through myriad generations on his mother's side...









**a falcata is a weapon usually associated with the Greeks and Celtiberians...it's a type of sword that inflicts rather aggravated wounds by chopping one's opponent into pre-historic kibble.