A group of centaurs stand shoulder to shoulder, grumbling angrily. They surround a stately woman, whose armor

A group of centaurs stand shoulder to shoulder, grumbling angrily. They surround a stately woman, whose armor is stamped with images of the moon. It is clear that she must be their leader. She looks at your party, her eyes sharp and unkind. On her lips is a challenge, not a greeting. "In the name of Mother Moon, what are you doing here? You would ruin yourself and my tribe, strangers."