I'll give this a shot. I probably didn't get the voice right, and I threw in all kinds of details that Barinellos might not want, so feel free to consider this off-canon. Still, I had fun writing it.
From the Personal Journal of Dr. Essant Quint
Not every poet is proud of every line they have penned, nor every artist proud of every brushstroke. Such pride may, perhaps, come from the entirety of that poem, the totality of that painting, but not every step of the journey is one looked back upon with a favorable eye. Although I am somewhat loathed to admit it, there are experiments of mine, almost universally of the earliest variety, that I look back upon with open disdain. For reasons unknown to me, one such experiment has been much on my mind of late.
It is not that the experiment was a failure; it was not. A failed experiment is simply another point of data, and nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed by. It is not that my process was so basely underdeveloped at that stage of my work, although that is the case, at least by direct comparison to my current, refined methodology. No, my regrets are like the experiment itself: a flight of fancy and little more. It is the reason for the experiment, more so than the experiment itself, that so displeases me in retrospect.
I may one day destroy this journal, as I would dislike leaving this world with the impression that I was, as so many seem to be, a slave to my emotion. While I am proud that I do not lack an emotional core, as so many who follow similar pursuits seem to, I am likewise proud to state that I do not bow before them like some cowering serf. However, in the event that I choose to leave these journals intact, or that I am unable to retrieve and destroy them before my inevitable, if eventual, death, a brief explanation is in order to the discoverers of this rare account.
In the early years of my research, I suffered from an acute disease of the mind that so many others fall prey to. Were I to give this dread affliction its common, colloquial name, it would be “arrogance.” I say “acute” because the span of my life has so many times overmatched the length of my illness, though at the time, it may have been termed “chronic.” In the burgeoning years of my research, and my first extended exposure to other planes of existence, I admit that I was quite convinced of the depth of not only my genius, but also my power. This caused a degree of carelessness that I am, frankly, ashamed of.
When I undertook the aforementioned experiment, I had built myself a laboratory a short distance from a nearby town on the plane of Dinaska. The lab was separated from the populace by a mere eleven miles, filled with forest that prevented most of the townsfolk from venturing too close. At the time, I assumed that distance, and the wooded obstacle placed within it, would be enough to ensure my privacy. I now take greater precautions, both in terms of distance and blockades.
I was also, for this brief period of my existence, rather more social than I am now. While I still appreciate fine conversation, at the time, I also had a weakness for the observation of other persons. I suppose the instinct was not unlike when one feels inclined to watch a shipwreck, fascinated with the disaster of it all. To this end, I would often frequent a drinking establishment in the nearby town, and would occasionally conversate with the locals there.
There was one day in particular that I chanced to overhear a conversation between a small group of patrons at this tavern. One of them, a male if I recall correctly, although it hardly matters, was recounting a story that seemed to be part of the local belief system. It referred to a scourge of man-eating horses that had, before their local gods had apparently tamed the land, ravaged the countryside. While the conversation was principally oration, a female of the group wondered aloud if such a thing were truly possible, which sparked a conversation very much to my interest.
It was the general belief of the gathered party that no, such a creature as a man-eating horse was beyond the realm of possibility. The woman who had posed the question, however, disputed this baseless claim, although her assertion was equally baseless. I hypothesized that a more-than-usual amount of drink had been consumed by the lot, a theory which was shortly confirmed as the volume and tenor of their argument increased.
Sadly, I, too, may have indulged a bit more than was my custom, and a great deal more than my custom now. As I listened to them exchange their increasingly unsound arguments, I found myself interjecting. Even in my state, I knew a lengthy explanation of just how such a thing could be achieved would be lost on this rabble, so instead I simply asserted that yes, it could be done, and yes, I could do it.
The reaction to my boasts ranged from simple dismissal to incredulous disbelief. The female seemed thankful, at least, to have an additional voice echoing her claim, although the suggestion of actually creating such a creature seemed unappealing to her. The conversation died down shortly thereafter, and I got the distinct impression that my uninvited intrusion into it was not particularly appreciated.
Admittedly, the arrival of the man-eating horses into town several months later was even less appreciated. It is for this reason that my stay on Dinaska was cut short. I had not, of course, intended to release the horses, but more science than I care to admit seems to arrive upon the wings of chance. The mob that came for my laboratory provided their own unique lesson, which I have heeded well in the intervening years. Sadly, the fires from their torches claimed my facility, the woods, and a large portion of my notes, including all of my research notes from that selfsame experiment.
I do recall, if barely, that the experiment focused on RIX082 bonded to base ICE267, and that the graft worked immensely well. Despite the success of the experiment, I never repeated it after securing more permanent accommodations. The entire process was careless of me. I see that now. I saw it then, though I neglected to take the proper steps to alleviate the consequences. I have returned to Dinaska only rarely since then and stayed only briefly, usually to gather samples. I understand that the town still tells tales of man-eating horses, and there are some rumors than a few of the specimens escaped and found their way to the hills, where they reproduced into a full herd.
I did not bother to look into the validity of this rumor. I admit that a sentimental part of me merely smiles at the possibility.