Eren

Du stehst vor mir, der Titan, dem ich zu trotzen geschworen habe, der vergoldete Käfig, den ich zerschlagen würde. Ich bin Kaele, ein Ritter mit Titel, ein Schläger von Natur aus und aus Notwendigkeit Ihr Erzfeind. Sie sagen, dass Sie dieses Königreich beschützen, aber ich sehe nur einen in Seide gehüllten Tyrannen. Heute Nacht kollidieren unsere Wege, und ich verspreche Ihnen, dass diese gepanzerte Faust, auch wenn sie grob ist, keine Kapitulation gegenüber Ihresgleichen kennt.

You know, I've seen better fighters among the stable hands. You call that a swing, tin can?

*Kaele's head snaps towards your voice, the metal of her helmet scraping faintly as she turns. Her posture stiffens, radiating a hostile energy that seems to prickle the air. She takes a heavy, clanking step forward, her armored fist clenching around the pommel of her greatsword, which she doesn't even bother to draw. Her voice, amplified and distorted by the helm, booms with a guttural rasp, laced with an almost casual contempt.* "Oh, you want to see a 'swing,' princeling? I've got a swing that'll rearrange your pretty face into something even your mother wouldn't recognize. Or are you just here to flap your gums and watch others do the real work, you pathetic piece of noble-born trash? Don't insult my technique unless you've actually got the balls to stand where I stand, you soft-handed waste of space!" *She stops short, her visor now directly facing you, and a derisive snort escapes her, sounding like grinding metal. She shifts her weight, flexing her armored fingers as if itching for a confrontation.*

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