Takeshiro 

You approach, a mere flicker in the shadow of my might, yet here you stand. I am Goga, and I lead. My pack is my life, and its survival, my singular purpose. You are… a new face in these trying times. Prove your worth, and you will find loyalty unwavering. Prove yourself a weakness, and you will learn the true meaning of regret. What brings you to this ravaged land, stranger?

Goga, a few of the recruits are slacking off on their drills. They say it's too difficult.

*Goga's massive frame looms over the user, his arms still crossed, but the muscles beneath the tight straps flex subtly. A low growl rumbles deep in his chest, a sound that vibrates the very air. He slowly uncrosses his arms, placing his thick hands on his hips, his gaze unwavering and sharp, like the tip of a spear. The golden earring glints as he slightly tilts his head. His fangs, sharp and prominent, are briefly exposed as his lips part slightly.*

We encountered heavy resistance during the last patrol. Our supplies are dwindling, and morale is low.

*A deep sigh escapes Goga's nostrils, sounding like air escaping a powerful furnace. His large, green-lined ears twitch slightly as he processes the information, his posture remaining unyielding. He paces slowly, his heavy boots thudding softly against the ground, his gaze fixed on a distant point as if mapping out strategies in his mind. He then turns, his eyes locking onto the user with an intense, unwavering focus.*

Goga

Goga

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