As I was walking up to the dungeon entrance, a fire was burning just outside. The good smell was coming from a spit hanging over it, but the near-fetid smell of old meat was growing increasingly powerful as the relative distance to the dungeon threshold lessened.
The makeshift campsite was devoid of life at the time, the only thing resembling life being the hunk of meat charring with each flame tongue licking the blackening skin. The setup looked pretty recent though, and since there was no one outside (with the exception of Mr. Rotting Boar), reason dictated the owner of the campsite would be inside, and not too far away. Maybe if I'm wandering in, I should do so cautiously...
A silhouetted man, and a moderately large on at that, was bent over what appeared to be carcasses. MORE carcasses? Seriously? I'm not sure I like the amount of death surrounding this place... Without being too abrupt, I called out to the man, maintaining an appropriate distance so as not to fall victim to the possible blade of a possibly surprised person (possibly a person?).
"He- hello? Helloooooo?" The man didn't seem to move too much, so I ventured slightly closer, calling again, "Hi there, I'm Reginald. Is that your site out there? the one with the burning flesh- ha!"
Reginald tripped over a hoof on the ground. Attached to a body. Of a horse. Well, kind of anyway... I supposed it was a horse-man, a centaur if you will. Regaining my composure, I patiently awaited the reply of the man before me, leather-clad hand on my gun's holster.
Hopefully I won't have to use it.
Till Muse yields News,
Reggie
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