And from a picture posted on Weasyl by Everruler at:

https://www.weasyl.com/submission/1395950/that-time-again

Upon my discharge from the Legion, I was given an Acceparuis scroll proclaiming my honored service along with a small salaried allowance and simple traveling garb. With travel sack upon my back, I headed southwards on foot along the Nicaean Way. High summer meant hours of quiet travel in lingering morning twilight. Exposure to my first foster parents had granted me preference and the eyes for traveling in dim light. Sunrise found me crossing the River Tiem upon a grand arched bridge into the provincial town of Neims.

The town guard at the crest of bridge lazily waved me on and into a city of rough hewn stone, but broad avenues. Footsore, but not particularly hungry, I went to the fountain square to quench, wash up and fill my water skin.

At Dawn, there would be servants and matriarchs of many races gathering water for the day. But the fountain square was mostly empty except for a small cluster gathering around a most odd enclosure. A waist high horseshoe shaped fence composed of shiny, metal diagonal webbing like wainscotting that spoke of being freshly erected. Within the center of the enclosure, arms held behind, was a manlike being with tail and erect ears upon a canine like head. A Cynophalite!

There are many stories regarding these creatures; from barbaric origins to becoming the most trusted of vanguards serving the Empire. Their appearances can vary in fur coloration and build.

Wearing no clothing, the Cynophalic stood erect, expression neutral and mute. His pelt was a tricolored patchwork of white, tan and dark brown fur. Dark snout, but unusually broad and erect ears. More interesting was what lay strapped around his ears. Spectacles, elaborately designed to fit around canid ears and mounting two round vitrum lenses upon dog snout in front of his eyes

At the heel of of the horseshoe shaped fencing, stood two beings. Another Cynophalic wearing a head crest and a man. The man armored in the manner of Centurion of the Western legions, but wearing no helmet. He carried a scroll and staff.

Silence filled the square and on a hidden signal, the pair advanced towards the center. The man passed to the right of the standing nude canid and continued towards the rounded front of the fence. The second Cynophalite halted behind the unclad one.

Only then, did I notice the unclothed Cyno had his wrists bound with mere twine lightly tied.

Possessing a long muzzle and vulpine like coloration, the second Cynophalite shifted his muzzle towards the right ear of the naked canid. Jaws parted, whispering a command that sounded like a gentle request.

The tricolored being slowly kneeled onto the sandy ground. His expression changing to laid back ears and tail tucked underneath his rump. An expression of resignation.

Carrying a sword pointed downwards, the standing Cynophalite wore the crested headrest of a Centurion but unlike the human Centurion, the Order of Reprobus carried no vine staff bearing a Standard. Clothed in a manner more suitable for campaign travel than for ceremony and parade. Oddly, he wore a short cloak hardly reaching to his hips. A cloak as dark as charcoal, yet shimmering with flecks of violet in the morning light. He now stood impassively behind the kneeling naked canid in center of the improvised arena. Sword held upright, tip pressed into the ground, both hands resting casually on top of the hilt.

I managed to paw through my traveling sack and extracted a waxed tablet for scrawling short lived messages. It would become an impromptu drawing pad as I pulled a reed pen out of my front garment pocket and began to hastily sketch what lay before me.

By now, a small crowd had gathered. A motley assortment of town citizens, people, dwarves and the odd half orc speaking in moderate tones amid themselves. The mood muted, but anticipatory.

They were asking similar questions crossing my mind;

The kneeling one is naked. They do hath nethers that are furred.

Looks small. Came one whispered inquiry to a half orc.

Stand neekid in the morning chill and yours 'ill shrivel to dried blueberries! The half orc grunted to his human companion.

Another inquiry from the gathering. Are are those spectacles he's wearing? He must be a scribe!

How can a mere Cynophalite afford them?

Can't be a scribe, he looks as tough as the Centurion behind him! Added another

Little did the crowd know of how those canid, tailed beings lived their lives. Customs that I am quite familiar with. For Cynophalites not only serve as soldiers in the Empire, but all manners of occupations.

I ceased sketching and shifted my position in the crowd, away from the front to the right flank for a better view of the sword held by the vulpine like being. The sword was not standard issue, but long, with a blunt rounded tip.

It was then that I noticed the Dwarf, sitting within the enclosure upon a dark brown wooden square pedestal.

By then, the human Centurion had reached the front and carefully threaded his staff into the metal wickerwork, leaving it standing erect. He stood tall, with unrolled scroll held between steady hands.

"Hear these words written by the Emperor," He spoke loudly. So as all in the square could hear him.

"In full filling the dictates of Law, one must remember that the children of Cyno walk the path of Rectitude.

With great regret, I decree the penalty for him who forsaked Fidelity and Honor for the Ecstasy of Aurum."

A short proclamation, scroll rolled up. Staff retrieved. The Dwarf stood and dragged the pedestal towards towards the pair, placing it in front of the condemned one along with an open woven basket.

The ceremony proceeded with murmurs from the crowd. Grim faced, I put my wax tablet away. Had I possessed the anatomy, my head would now be expressing laid back ears and phantom tail sagging like a dead limb.

Wiry trunk flexing forwards, a tricolored head and snout self placed upon the convex, wooden block. Expression now totally blank.

Vulpine being in short mantle of fuligin with sword raised skywards. A pause. Metal arcing faster than a bolt from a crossbow. A muted gasp in unison from mouths of human, dwarf and others.

The Dwarf expertly closing basket lid with it's cargo of severed cranium. A rag held like a shield to deflect blood streams down to the ground.

I was the first to turn away, leaving a crowd with Fugue eyes dwelling in the Ecstasy of witnessing once living ochre spilling upon the ground.

Strange to say, that unfinished wax sketch remains with me to this day.