If you ever have the rare fortune of smashing mugs with a Hesh, it's an experience you'll take to your grave. They're true animals in both the field and the pub. Take my chant as you will, but I once clipped an invite to the Capitol Party in the walled city itself. Someone in the Chanko Circle caught wind of my Rocky Cloud exploits, exaggerated down the chain, no doubt. And of course, there were Hesh in company. You couldn't miss them, laden in furs, matted with grease and grit. How those grizzlies endeared themselves so wholly with the topsoil, I'll never understand. But they sure party hard. Twas at this romp I seen a BC baron try to swap a full purse for a Hesh fursuit. Man ended up with drink on his dome and was laughing for it. Such is the strange charismatic power of the Hesh. The suits themselves are a sight to behold, a specimen of rarified craftsmanship from a whole nother order. If The Fringe were to garnish it's own aristocracy, I'd put the brutish Hesh at the top of the triad. But rest assured, you ain't never gonna feel the heavy drape of this sort of craftsmanship on your own shoulders lest you cramp a Hesh, and I don't reckon that'll ever be in your stars.