The desert is quiet.

Above a rolling dune, the dhole sits calmly, passing a rough tongue across his cream-colored chest until the indignant bristles of fur are flat like the rest of them. The night is surprisingly chilly for the desert, and he forces his body to suppress the involuntary chills that rattle his bones before hugging his wings tighter to his body like a coat—he didn't have wings before, but he decides that he likes them.

Strangers had told stories about a warmongering group living in a desert oasis, and the descriptions they told had struck a nerve in him. If he's to find his sister, what better place for her to go than straight into the arms of her kind? Brutal and savage and uncaring of the world and its inhabitants, she would fight right in with these fiends, and he's eager to prove her lack of worth. Perhaps, when Bathala sees that his claims are true, his seat of power will be restored, and he'll be permitted to return to Kaluwalhatian.

"Hello?" His voice unfurls into the dark night, taking flight until it carries wherever the wind may lead it. The orange feather clasped to his ears flutter, and he watches as it points deeper into the desert. His voice must be echoing in the right direction. He can only assume, however; this new world is certainly different from his homeland. "Is this where I might find the place they call the Pitt?"

FOURTHWALL & GLITCHHOP
BLACK-GOLD MOTTLED HELLHOUND / BROWN-GOLD MOTTLED HELLHOUND
MALE - 22 - SOCIAL & VIOLENT / OBEDIENT & NAIVE - FEMALE - 17 - THE PITT

Jervis was not alone in haunting the borders of the Pitt. Two massive canines, wolfish looking creatures, were quick to pad from the depths of the jungle to flank the fox that called himself Leader. The larger of the two was a black furred wolf with golden brindleing throughout his fur. He was the larger and older of the two, with wine red eyes that were impossible to read as they landed on the dhole. His expression and stance were relaxed and casual, a subtle smirk sitting on his lips as he listened to Jervis speak. The second was somewhat smaller than the first, a female with dark brown fur and similar golden brindling. She seemed more alert and eager than her counterpart, though for blood or a greeting it seemed impossible to tell. Her golden eyes were bright and filled with light, and while she seemed ready to chase the other off there wasn't any outward hostility in her body language, just the energy of a well trained dog that was ready for a command.

The pair added nothing to the conversation because there was no reason to, The individual before them was nobody yet, neither a clanmate to welcome nor an enemy to chase off, and so they waited for the fogs to lift in the wake of their Ardents decision.


"SPEECH

Ardent, huh? Apolaki doesn't know much about the language, but the taste of pride on the fox's tongue when he said the words are indication enough that he considers himself to be the leader of the small, ragtag group of heathens. The smile that unfurls on the dhole's muzzle glints with wicked amusement—yes, perhaps this will do well enough for his temporary stay on the mortal realm. After all, his homeland won't last long without its leader. Bathala will see his safe return soon enough.

"Mabuhay, Jervis and company," the god begins with a flutter of one golden wing, bringing the massive appendage to his front and bowing over it; he is well-mannered, unlike his disappointment of a sister. Their pelts don't carry her scent, so he can only assume that she must not be in their presence, but he thinks it might help him more to have their kind to be on his side. Mayari is too clever, too sly—she would likely amass an army of filthy fiends like herself, and Apolaki simply can't stand by and let her gain the upper hand.

No. If Mayari thinks she can swipe the throne from underneath his nose, she'll have another thing coming.

"Ah, yes, of course; my purpose is to join your angkan, of course," the dhole responds with a nod of his head, a chuckle dangling on his breath. His molten gaze flicks from one strange Pittian another, memorizing every nook and cranny of their facial features and storing them somewhere in the back of his mind; they're certainly quiet, but Apolaki can make do with that. Let them glare. They'll know their place soon enough. "My name is Apolaki Madrigal. Polly, if you prefer. I am very pleased to meet you."