[Color=red][h1]Zamuri Zamuri [/h1][/color]

When the call came, Zamuri was drinking at a pub. It was all he had done lately, as the soldiers wouldn't let him leave the city to go hunting. Bastards. The huge faunus was on his 7th pint of the day, when he heard the announcement over the intercom. [Color=red]"Finally, I get to see some action."[/color] Zamuri boomed, his voice permeating the room like a bass drop. After reverberating the entire room with just his voice, he downed the rest of his pint in a single gulp, and walked out like a man who hadn't ingested a couple dozen of gallons of alcohol over the past week.

Even if he was unaware of the reason, Zamuri could see full well the tension between the two races in the alliance. It felt like that time young Bert was carrying a crate of red dust for the miners, teetering on the brink of a real mess. Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything to help the situation himself, as a man trying to solve a problem he knows nothing about is like trying to pull your foot out of a bear trap. Pointless and extremely painful. 

As he entered into Room 5-0D, having to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the door, Zamuri found himself looking at another of those armored humans, and some weird guy with a crowd atop his shoulder. That dude set Zamuri's danger senses into overdrive, and he made a note to himself to never get close to him. Giving a rather sloppy salute, based on what he saw the soldiers doing outside, he gave a boyish grin and announced in his ridiculously loud voice; [color=red]"Zamuri Zamuri here to kick some Grimm arse!"[/color]