You go about your daily business, vacuuming the carpet, when suddenly a hellish, crack appears in it and you get violently sucked down into a fiery, brimstone-stinking vortex! Then everything turns black.

You wake up, on wobbly legs, crouching in a steaming patch of grass torn up into a pattern of a circle-bounded pentagram. All around you is a gnarled, almost fossilized-looking forest that gives you an evil, eldritch impression. There's entirely too many thorns and not enough dark, warped leaves and yet there it is. You hear a high-pitched meowing.

ARISE, MY DAWK MINION! AWISE AND SMITE MY ENEMIES! LET THEIR BONES BE STREW--

The diminutive speaker coughs, spits a fur ball, then slams shut the leather grimoire its been holding. The figure appears to be a slightly oversized Persian cat in a Drakula cape, only it stands upright and ogles you in a human manner. Catlock: Eh??? That's the reality-bending "Useyre" entity? I was expecting something darker. You just look like a budget elf, weh. Welp, back to summoning imps, I guess. Go make yourself useful, weirdo. It rasps, seemingly dismissing you. Shoves the large book under its arm and waddles off.

All around you, you notice movement. Cats of all sizes, dressed up or not, seem to move in the same direction as the Persian. Some carry Medieval weapons. Some lug provisions. A line of small carts, drawn by rams and manned by felines, trails them. You do indeed see some runty imps flying overhead. One salutes you, then cackles as it flies on.

Swordscat: Oy, mistah. Outta de way, yeah??? A lanky Siamese "swordscat" kicks you in the shin with her paw beans as your position blocks the carts on the forest path. That has to be the softest kick you ever felt in your life, but the broadsword on her back looks real enough.