We marched through the vast plains that separated Canisgard from the lionkin border, a force of 20,000 dogkin warriors moving as one. These combatants were warriors born into war, raised by it, and now prepared to use their accumulated prowess to exterminate a fellow beastkin race.
After only a few minutes of travel, we set foot into hostile territory. Instead of the large fields full of rich grass, the dry, cracked soil of the lionkin lands welcomed us. The earth felt vastly different beneath my boots, like it had been drained of life itself.
And then, after only a few more minutes of travel, we saw it.
The remnants of the lionkin settlement we had devastated alongside the resistance army led by Kargrim. The little town that had once stood tall was now but a husk of its former self, with scorched ruins stretching everywhere. The true horror, however, was what lurked within the wreckage.
