[center][h1][color=f7941d]Kiffar, the Unbound[/color][/h1]
[h3]The Orange Road[/h3][/center]

It was a wonder, really, that they had gotten this far. Between the debates on plans, the debates on leadership, the debates on breakfast, and the debates on who rode, who walked, and who drove their little caravan, Kiffar had been beginning to believe that all they would ever [i]do[/i] was debate. He'd been overjoyed when they finally got a move on that morning, and the only thing that has prevented him physically dragging the others into action was some thin veil of politeness that he insisted on keeping in front of the Confessor.

Now, after hours of walking, he was getting restless. He almost would have welcomed further debate if only to interrupt the monotony- but what he got was a far better gift. Bandits. Oh sweet, sweet bandits, and their eternally foolish ways. They could see a legend made flesh and still think to rob them of their purse- and while they may be led by another incessant talker, at least there were those foolish enough to [i]charge.[/i]

The arrows that came first, of course, were a nuisance. He was able to lurch out of the way of the first few, a startling display of agility for a man of his mass- but, unlike some people, Kiffar had no magic. He wore no armor, and carried no shield. It was little surprise that a pair of the shafts found their mark on a target so large, no matter how fast he was- arrows sinking into the flesh of his thigh, and his side. The pain, sharp and deep, got an irate snarl from Kiffar, as ice blue eyes turned towards the charging fools.

[color=f7941d]"Kiffar has promised the nice Confessor he will commit no war crimes. [i]But we are not at war, are we?[/i]"[/color]

The others were granted, then, a singularly unpleasant glimpse at just what their least favorite kitty cat did for a living. First came the knife- really, a whole short sword, for people of any normal size. It practically leaped from its place in the small of his back, sent spinning underhand towards whoever was unlucky enough to be first in line. The much larger of the two weapons on his belt was left right where it was- because it was time for hands. Just. Hands. The Cathay Raht moved frightfully fast, even with an arrow tearing at his thigh- and seemed to have no compunction at all with trying to get his claws in all the squishiest bits he could find, while he cramped the bandits for space to wield their weapons. He would be... Busy, for a small while.

The roaring and screaming was probably a bit distracting. Was he laughing? What was that crunch?