The blackened brute wandered through the heat of Tallsun without much running through his brain. His mood was not in good standing order, with a rage filling his brawny bodice like a fire being stoked. And all for no reason. With his lobes pinned back, he began to skulk across the sand. Without any mission on this particular day, it left Abaddon with little choice but to move aroun and find out what was happening. In some aspects it would have been better not to speak to any creature, but even the hellboy knew that in this climate in such a densely populated region that he was likely to bump in anybody. Anybody. And this was something that caused Abaddon to let out a huff of frustration, they better not get on my back he thought with venom.

With quiet lashings of his tongue as he muttered, the flame-kissed pools noticed in the darkness several creatures locked together in fierce discussion. He had caught wind of a speech being made that was carried across into his line of hearing by the hot wind, but he had never paid attention. He gathered that this was one of those wretched meetings, and since few bodies encircled the leading creature, Abaddon assumed it was more exclusive. But regardless of whether it was for certain members of the herd, the heartless stag drove himself forward in an attempt to crash the party...

Soon he stamped his way into the crowd, with the melee of discussion buzzing away. Evidently he had been too late to fully catch the topic of discussion, and thus he simply stretched his attention onto who was there. There were creatures of all shapes and sizes, one striking ivory fae draped with a flame-kissed blanket and two small ivory wings behind her cranium, a primitive looking brute with a bone hooked through his nostrils, a winged flame-kissed fae, an ivory dame with blackened tassles and another mudded winged creature. None of them he recognised, nor wished to really consort with. His attention was drawn to his pretty friend, Ghost who seemed to have only just arrived herself. He nodded in acknowledgement to her in the politest way he could, with his pools still burning with a lust for chaos. He then turned himself into the crowd and tried to listen into conversations before simply making himself heard with his dark voice rumbling through his chest,
"It seems I may have arrived late to the party," a mischevious chuckle thinned the air and he shook his thick wavy tassles to be rid of the dust that had settled as he wandered through the night into this part of the Edge, "Why are we gathered?" His question was not to one creature, as he knew not who was who. There was Ghost, but she was a lowly rank, thus meaning that someone must be the leader here. Or at least someone who could help him fulfill his ambitions of becoming a warrior... He asked another question: "Who do I ask here to become one of the Throat's warriors?" Abaddon's blunt question was perhaps the only reasonto be involved with such a crowd. But to say he was making a good impression of himself was perhaps an over-exaggeration. That the hellboy could not disguise.