The Warchief felt a shiver crawl through his spine, his body shaking to try and throw it off, as if it were some forest lurker spider. An an uneasy, as well as a feeling of disgust and anger pooled in his gut, an innate sense he just could not seem to shake. Something made him feel that this as a whole was wrong and destructive to tradition as it was to the enemy. This thing was unnatural, the bone and flesh of the earth torn and bent to create nothing seen of this world. A device used to smite his own kin as well as poison the land itself. Its fiery breath chocking the sky, its blood infecting the rivers and ground. He paced up and down the side of the bulky landship, his single working eye tracking across the darkened metal hide that was its hull.
"Victory at any cost, yes...But what would they thing?" he quietly pondered as he stopped at one of the access ladders to the main deck, now looking up at the command bridge at its centre, his own clans flag whipping in the arctic winds along with the other wolf clan heraldry.
"I wonder if there is another way."
"Another way for what, Warchief?" said a grizzled voice, one that sounded as if a bolder were being raked across jagged and stony ground. The Warchief snapped his head in the direction of the sound, a slight startled by the sudden hand over his shoulder. It was nothing more than one of his senior advisers, and long time family friend, Gaius of the Tearing Fang. Somehow he had slipped out of the his sight during the inspection with the various engineers.
"Oh, this. All of it. Weapons of the enemy we use, Gaius. Same ones that slay our kin in droves. Do you not think it is unnatural to use such things? Pollute our own heritage with the inventions of outsiders no less?"
"Tell me, Warchief. Are casting swords, out of the metals drawn from the earth itself unnatural? I too do recall the histories mentioning our people gaining such knowledge from the Thunderbirds many summers ago. But you