Y/N previously known as the Titan, Champion of the Adamantium Blade, and bearers of many more titles, have to abandon his peers in order to go to Japan to further his study. A simple man who fights for the best of others, wise, quiet and universally...
Its sides decorated with gorgeous marbles and trailing fire, dripping pallets of water down to the surface. Its flaring thrusters lit the cold of the eternal winter, it emerged from the turbulent sky from the mountain like a spear hurled out from the depths of the deep blue sea. Lashes of trium energy dance across its hull, evidence of a failing Fusion Shield. Songs and tribal chants dance across its hull, melodies to the people in their own tongue, a truth evidence of the Wolves are no mere fairytales. Long, twisting imprints has been carved into its keel, as though it had just finished a titanic battle against some great tentacled beast.
The ship is called the Dauntless Huntress, the capital ship of the fearsome Hinterclaws, and its crew has made the jump blind after a hunt for a Grimm Kraken's head.
For minutes, the shadow of the capital ship had blocked the sunlight for half of Civita. The only light sources is the blue hues of thrusters underneath the ship, driving away fusion energy in its wake. Lights flicker on across its bow and sides, dull embers glowing in the dark. Automated defense guns swivel on their mounts, seeking nonexistent targets. The command bridge bustles with activity. Sensory sweeps are performed. Long distance augur scans stab into the darkness. Information floods back in bursts of data.
Slowly, ponderously, the battle barge begins to turn.
It has found its destination.
~2 months later~
The fortress is silent. There are no birds singing. No insects buzzing. Even the wind is silent in its howls. It is so silent that Brother-Svern can hear the beats of his twin hearts behind his ribcage.
The Warclaws steadies his breath with a mental command. He is secure in his master-crafted artificer armour. The suit itself is not as heavily armoured as the Bladekeepers, allowing him to take deeper and steadier breaths. It is painted grey for camouflage. Grey for his duty. In his hands are his infamous Lightning Claws sheath in a rubber-made gauntlet, the underslung melta barrel green with full charge.
Svern monitors the events happening from the fortress window. Although it is nearly coated with snow, his superhuman eyesight are eagle-eyes sharp. Same goes to every of his senses. He fears for the worst that might happen to those villagers that are, some, traumatized by the assault.
His nose twitching by the air, it smells like aquatic creatures as they release some of the worst odour his sensitive nose can sense. He coughs for a moment, swaying his hand at his nose to let the bad air away.
" So this, is the day. "
He said, with timelines of nostalgia and repetitive events that his brothers and him will partake after a massive tide-turning victory. That would explain all of the drop ships coming in and out of the kingdom, delivering not only supply foods for the people but to the five hundred Hinterclaws as well.
He senses another scent in the air, it is hot and humid - in contrast with the cold, foetor of the air. He doesn't need to see who is radiating such anima.
" What drives you here, Diaz? Would you like like to come in our feasting tonight? " Asked Svern when she reaches the window. The dim sunlight refracts by her ring into the walls. " We have turkeys if you feel like it. "
He adds with a sheer of nervousness. This is the first time he had ever met Christina since his initiation into the Chapter of the Hinterclaws, and he doesn't want to strike conflict.
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