The sun hung low, casting elongated shadows across the decayed landscape as Kaelen and Kelvin crept silently along the twisted edge of the corrupted forest, their tattered cloaks pulled over their shoulders. The dying light painted everything in hues of crimson and ash, adding a grim glow to the world around them.
And then, through the thinning veil of vines and ruined branches, they got a clearer view of the town's front gate—and what they saw made them stop dead in their tracks.
There were beastkins.
Two guards stood on either side of a thick wooden gate reinforced with steel beams and mana glyphs that pulsed dimly. One bore the features of a large wolf—gray fur lining his arms, snout slightly protruding from his face, and eyes that glowed faintly in the darkening light. He leaned on a halberd easily twice his size, sniffing the air occasionally as though instinctively monitoring every scent in the region.
