Quoted By:
The Centaur
On the far side of the barricade of Iron Thorns, you see another shape emerging - at first, you assume it is another Horse, identical to the one that is poised in frozen and taut anticipation accompanying you on your side of the barbed wire.
However, as the shape approaches, you perceive that whilst the overall proportions are comparable, this creature is different. Whereas the Horse is headless, and sprouts a coil of jointed limbs and hands from its neck, this creature is possessed of a face - a troubling, contorted human skull, that distends into mandibles and a writhing mass of many, many hands and withered arms from its lower jaw and neck. You recollect what you once heard of the ancient realm of Khimaire - a land of the union of flesh, whose artisanry made a mastery of the craft of impossible mergings of creatures.
The Centaur chitters and gestures in animosity in your direction - all of its arms thrash in revulsion and ecstasy, beckoning towards the barbed wire as a beggar beseeching for alms.
You are not entirely sure if it addresses you, or the Horse, which remains poised and utterly frozen.
