Lefiri. Centaur. Polkan. The names filtered into his cranium and he severed their fluttering repose and tranquility, sought to savor the edges of the newfound knowledge, intertwine and command its fluctuating traces of interest and intrigue. His attention remained rapt upon the armed figure before them, and he barely saluted or addressed the appearance of others, except for Huyana, who received minimal scrutiny, a twist of his stone lips, and only permitted the brutality of his cold-blooded intentions to brew in their malevolent distortions thereafter. This creature, with his mastery of fingers, with the tumbling, unfolding limbs, with the lofty, possessive height, could do many things for them: foster, render, concoct and compose weaponry, armor, shields for their vulnerable flesh, annihilate and persecute enemies with the raw decadence of his power, the mighty, clambering fortitude of his burly, mountainous mass. Though an anomaly, though a strange, fixating sight, the Reaper didn’t yearn to misplace the opportunity to enhance their prowess, their stronghold, their suddenly, weakened, fumbling status. Too many times they’d faced the burden of their brutality, had sought to puncture, to lacerate, to pierce, and found their efforts maimed, torn, shredded and broken into scattered remnants of pernicious, puissant condemnation. It would be foolish to throw away and waste an auspicious occasion, when manipulation, when machinations, when Machiavellian schemes could be unearthed, created and orchestrated. Could this Kelec, with his odd, peculiar movements, with his balance, strength and intelligence, hopefully another enduring portion, be a soul to assist in their clamor for upheaval, for insurrection, for revolution, for rebellion and subversions? Or would they have to blindfold his sights, push him towards demise, towards fatality, for the exposition of all their secrets, all their sights, all their ambitions and aspirations? Did the others endorse and advocate the centaur’s abilities, watch with awe, or merely wait for the cruel, slashing jurisdiction to pass, witnesses to another infernal consignment to oblivion? The demanding stag, with all of his potent, ravenous rapture, tilted his head, his lancing gaze only pinpointed and keen upon the otherworldly creature, addressed the gathering with his abrupt, rancorous tone, with the weight of his sanction and authorization pervading the imminent, augured surroundings. “I approve.” And though he was not the final decision, for that seemed to rest solely upon the gilded mare’s shoulders, he noted potential, commended possibility, and permitted his mind to drift with the savage notions of probability, of future sieges and assaults with ominous intentions.