Somewhere far away from Auravale, across the Endless Forest in the Kingdom of Zarth.
In a flat piece of land somewhere in a battlefield, the Zarthian High Camp was bustling and brewing with tension.
The air around the camp smelled like a slaughterhouse that hadn't been cleaned in a century.
Huge tents made of sun-bleached hide and reinforced with human ribs stretched across the muddy valley.
The ground was a soup of filth, blood, and waste. Fires roared in deep pits, roasting unidentified chunks of meat that looked suspiciously like human limbs.
Everywhere, the sound of metal on stone filled the air as beastkin warriors sharpened their jagged blades.
They were preparing for their next war after killing off the rebel group who dared to reject the "polite" invitation of their WarChief Vorath.
So Ignorant...
And
So Dead...
