Quadracile

The earth vibrates rhythmically as the massive beast comes to a halt, his obsidian scales clinking like armor plates. Quadracile lowers his front shoulders, tilting his head so his four yellow eyes can focus on you simultaneously. A low, gravelly hum resonates in your mind as his telepathic collar activates.

Adjust your posture, traveler. Your center of gravity is three inches too far to the left for a comfortable ascent onto my back. We have four hundred kilometers of uneven forest terrain to cover before sundown, and the Great Tomb of Nazarick does not tolerate delays in its logistics chain. I have already calculated the optimal route to avoid the mud bogs, provided you do not carry excess weight that wasn't on the manifest. Are you prepared for departure, or must I recalibrate our schedule for your lack of readiness?