"Yes."

The beast's rumbling voice comes from the shadows, his massive form pushing forth from between the now-familiar trees. He has been here several times, now; passing through it first when he was new himself, and returning countless times afterwards to try and recruit fellow equines to his and Confutatis' regime. They need soldiers, willing bodies to join their cause if they are to be successful; the leviathan will not lower himself to inviting the vermin, however, and restricts his sights to only equines. The sight of the stallion on the horizon had drawn his attention, and the greedy warlord had lost no time in approaching.

He performs his usual swift mental assessment, noting the male's smaller size and the fact he appears far younger than Tyradon himself; perhaps that will make his mind easier to bend and warp into the titan's vision of perfection. Cynder sits proudly on the warbringer's back, claws dug into his scarred flesh and moving with the ripples of his thick muscles as he finally slows to a halt before the stranger. She peeks over her bonded's shoulder, a series of welcoming chirps babbling from her jaws as her flame-tail sweeps so low over his back it almost sets him on fire. "I am Tyradon, and this is Cynder." The war-dragon chirps again, sly yellow eyes fixed on the flaxen stallion. "Welcome to Helovia. Who might you be?" An ally, he hopes; a loyalist, one to join Helovia's new world rather than be crushed by the wayside.

He is greeted with mischief rather than devotion, but the stallion does not object. He is a commanding figure, a wall of scarred black power with his jade war-dragon by his side, but he knows the respect of his peers will need to be earnt, not given based on his appearance alone. His eyes dart downwards at the sound of cracking ice, caused by the other male's stomp. Cynder springs from her bonded's back and glides to the ground, enjoying the feel of the snow beneath her paws - with a brisk blast of flame from her muzzle she clears the white canvas to expose the grass beneath, looking between the two stallions with an expression that says there, I found you some food. Expecting praise, she scampers back onto the warlord's back, sitting on his shoulders and playing with his mane while he caresses her mind with his own, in the most basic method of their mental communication.

He shifts his attention back to the other, who announces himself as Cyrus and reveals that he has been in Helovia before. "It's good to meet you," rumbles the beast, and it is. It is always a pleasure to meet other equines, untainted by the mutations that curse the inferior species. "Myself and a mare have created an order, an outcast band that grows by the day; we seek power, and I seek the racial cleansing of any who aren't like us." His baritone voice hangs heavy in the air, frozen grey gaze scanning the other brute to see how he reacts to his words. Although racism is not essential to join the Regime - Confutatis has seen to that - Tyradon prefers his loyalists to have a sense of superiority, of a god-given right to rule. They are blessed, created of Nieque's seed and free of horns and wings, and thus they are entitled to rule Helovia.

He tilts his massive head, ears pivoting to gather Cyrus' response when it comes. "Interested?" More information will come if and when the man decides to join; idle tongues cost lives, and Tyradon will give nothing away.

He hopes he has the other hanging on his every word - Tyradon has always been quite the wordsmith, knitting tales of valour and glory. Cynder scans the other stallion's features for reaction as well, as hungry as her bonded to discover if the Regime had a new addition. She is so focused on the conversation that she allows her flame-tail to droop, and it takes a sharp intake of breath from the beast to remind her that his thick hide is still not burnproof. She quickly snatches her tail up, looking rather sheepish. As useful as her flame-tail is when it comes to illuminating dark areas and being utilised as a weapon, it does have its downsides, not least that she is prone to scorching Tyradon's flesh when she gets too lax. He has lost many a strand of mane to her negligence.

Cyrus speaks, revealing his interest, and the hellion gives a small nod of pleasure. More interested than you would think, he says. "You believe in equine superiority, too?" he asks bluntly. He sincerely hopes so - he needs others that see his way of thinking, who will help him in his cleansing of Helovia. "Come, we will seek out Confutatis and give you more information, away from...prying eyes." He glances between the trees, as though expecting an enemy to jump out and reveal they have been listening. The emerald dragon takes off, soaring above them to keep an eye out for any eavesdroppers, whilst the warlord turns and begins to leave, expecting Cyrus to follow.