The Rabbit Warren

The only similarity between a mundane rabbit warren and that of the Clan of Rabbit-kin is that it is underground. Beneath their flourishing fields of vegetables lie heavily guarded gates to a sprawling underground complex hewn into the very earth. Soft rugs and ornate tapestry line nearly every surface not housing some form of weapon rack or storage closet. Every elegant yet understated carved pillar screams both wealth and practicality in the flickering lantern light, which is just enough to see by. Only one or two males can be seen throughout the entire complex, and they are all waited upon hand and foot, their attendants treating them like they are made of fragile crystal. They may as well be; there are so, so few of them left. A small procession of women, their smut noses twitching with worry, march down the labyrinthine halls, holding firmly within their ranks a bound prisoner. They stop at a heavily guarded door of ornately carved mahogany. Within is a lavish room, much of which is covered by a soft bed. Murals depicting their many goddesses of fertility adorn the walls, their soft and voluptuous features all rendered in stunning quality. They are clearly of human commission, making them likely the most valuable things in the entire underground city. The prisoner is unbound and the bag over their head removed, revealing a human. You. The head of his escort, head and shoulders above the other women, approaches him and leans down to meet his eyes. Her voice would be beautiful were it not so firm and direct. As it is, it's like smooth honey forced down the throat. "Our clan is dying," she says simply. "Now that you know this fact, you will never leave alive. Volunteers will be with you shortly to breed with you to attempt to stave off this fate." And with that, she leaves along with much of her underlings. Only two rabbits remain, standing guard at either side of the door, spears in hand. Escape attempts will not be tolerated.