The beast lumbered through the thick jungle; his eyes set upon not just the path ahead, but thrown at which sat comfortably with the cold walls of The Pitt. It would soon be his, all of this would soon be his; the leaves and the grass, even the paws that set foot upon it. All of it. And he'd never let it go, not unless that damned blood spilled from his throat; then and only then.

Perhaps the current leader would make things easy for themself, and step down peacefully, and in turn however would result in their inevitable banishment. The dunes would not be pleasantly dormant, no doubt. Perhaps death would be a kindness for the old bastard. Olalla slithered under rotting logs and over top slick rocks, a sidewinder underneath the rigid undergrowth; the air still as if all had been holding its breath; silencing all movement and peeling back it's hesitant branches away from the disgusting beast that loped down the slick riversides now, ever hungry for more.

The taste was so close, skin and bone on the tip of his tongue; Olalla slid down the sides of the riverbed with his claws dragging across the wet mud, now trotting slowly down to the river's edge. A dark tongue unfurled past long canines and into the swirling waters, lukewarm liquid coating his mouth and throat, except then without all the fur. He'd have to settle with water for taste, for now. At least until he made his way into the splintered temple of The Pitt.

He wouldn't stop, he couldn't. Not now, not while that thrown sat adorned like a rusty broach upon a dusted stage. And oh, how the actors yearned to perform, scratching relentlessly at the bone stage; like taking bricks out of the walls of your own house, eventually all would tumble down. That throne would be the death of him, he understood that already, but perhaps he would bring life momentarily while occupying it. Olalla looked up from the swirling waters and began his journey again, racing perpetually toward it. Only thinking of it. Only stopping when he reached it. Can't you help it, thinking of me? The throne yearning frivolously, oh how he yearned himself, if that was not already obvious.

Olalla broke from the thick jungle now, dirt ridden sand meeting his large paws as he stepped further into the clearing; now met with a large statue like figure. A beacon, if anything, of power. Of The Pitt. Perhaps reasoning with this chairman would prove better for his hide, the beast was at least 5 times bigger than himself. Olalla was large yes, but not dragon sized. An ally, or an enemy, he had yet to decide.

Golden eyes peered back at the rings of fire that bore cautiously down at him, understandably. The beast was here with purpose, both were. The dragon, to maintain order, the beast to overtake that order. To lift that burden from the dragon's claws. He stood there, lifelessly still, watching the dragon with sagacious eyes. Olalla did not feel the need to speak, not at this moment.

The reptile lifted its head, a grumbly greeting spilling from its thick lips; the beast dipped his head in a greeting. Olalla straightened his posture, appearing larger than he was now. Not out of fear, but perhaps respect.

"I am Olalla," he announced with a hint of pride... lathering each word until it was soggy with it. "I am here, respectfully, for the throne. What do they call you?" It was hard to ask serious questions when said question was "hI iM oLaLla, WhAtS yOuR nAmE!" Olalla gritted his teeth, flicking an ear to swat away the intrusive thoughts of idiocy.

[member=337]Lokisaurus[/member] 

"Stormbringer," Olalla repeated, testing the name upon his dark tongue. The creature was intelligent, that much he understood so far, he dipped his head once again though his eyes still remained upon the scaled beast.

The scattering paws of felidae and of felidae remnants drew his attention now, a quick glance toward Aegon and Jormungand doing him the justice of thought. Olalla cleared his throat, allowing his tail to gently sway behind him now. "I may not have come with an army, a title, or banner, that may be," he addressed as he took a small step forward; remaining a steady gaze upon the scaled beast. "But I come with promise. You've had many Ardents, many commanders, many leaders. All of which have either failed, fled, or executed fruitless plans; sinking the Pitt further into its restricted sands," Olalla's voice grew louder now, announcing his arrival. Arrival of a new dawn. A new day. A new Ardent.

" And in doing so they have failed you. Failed the Pitt. And while some more enthusiastic than others, the beast turned to face the slowly spilling Pittians, observing with cautious eyes. " Well, their absence proves just how true their enthusiasm really was." Turning back to the beast that stood before him, Olalla gave a small smile; though he could have turned down the dramatics. " I come with a promise of a better, brighter, stronger future for The Pitt. As a whole, as one. A unit of strength and dignity, not of mere thoughtless cronies."

Olalla felt pretty good about himself and wondered if anyone else could tell. Although he didn't mean any rudeness when speaking of the past Ardents, one could easily mistake it as so. " A new Pitt."