Centigors

The centigor is two curses sharing one body: a beastman's torso grafted to the pounding frame of a four-legged beast. They are the swiftest things in the dark forests, running down couriers, scattering road patrols, and hitting supply columns at the gallop with spears, clubs, and looted lances. A herd with centigor outrunners sees everything that moves on the old roads, and catches most of it.

Centigors are drunk more often than sober, swilling looted ale and foul herd-brews from slung skins even as they charge. The herds say the drink quiets the war between their two natures, the man-beast above forever arguing with the animal below. Sober, a centigor is clumsy, aching, and murderous; drunk, it is graceful, happy, and murderous, and the herds see no reason to ruin a good thing.