Tufan

The scarred Wildclaw sits curled behind a desk, balancing himself with his tail, a book open before him. From a glance, you wouldn't guess he rarely fought anymore. You might guess he still went out to battle everyday, as he had not so long ago, that he was still the mage, the warrior. Not the diplomat.

"I don't need a war," He'd claim, "I am happy where I stand now, with my Clan, and claws unstained."

Yet he still wears the armor of his youth. He still walks with a soldier's grace. He works well as a diplomat, it is true; he reads dragons like books, knows their secrets and intentions; he knows, from the mind of a tactician, how to work his way into deals and alliances. But anyone who knows him sees him dissatisfied, and they know he finds it easy. Too easy.

He has his way to help the Kazoku Clan more close at hand, to battle without claws as he's always claimed was his wish, but with it he's lost the thrill. He's lost the unpredictability that comes with a battle with the BeastClans. He's lost the happiness he found from planning and winning a battle. He's lost the companionship and challenge of the wild teammates he could never seem to factor for.

As the world begins to tear itself apart, as new realms of monsters open up, Tufan has agreed at times to accompany his old team, his friends, on their missions. But this, the divide in his wishes, has only made Tufan close himself further away. He holds himself back, refusing any fight where his presence isn't a requirement.

The old soldier, the tactician, the famed warrior, has locked himself away, and only showing signs of locking the doors even more.