It's Vadir who first spots the trespasser, who alerts her bonded and sends him galloping through the Throat's chilly dawn air, limbs thundering against the ground like the impending rumbles of an earthquake. He is in battle mode immediately; muscles flexing, hulking hindquarters bunching and propelling himself forwards, both dragons by his side and eyes searching for the intruder. He is the Gladiator, and the herd's first line of protection lies squarely on his broad shoulders.

Sand sprays in a dusty cloud as the Indomitable slams on his brakes and skids to a halt in front of the winged newcomer. Sweat makes his black flesh twinkle, his thick muscles roiling and bulking as his breathing regulates itself from his run. With a hiss, Vadir lands heavily on his back, her scales gleaming beautifully in the dawn sunlight. Vérzés, having missed out on the prime spot on his bonded's back, contents himself with circling the duo like a crimson bodyguard.

The leviathan finally allows himself to observe the stranger. It is a winged mare, boyish and well-built; it is only Volterra's professionalism and urge to protect his herd that prevents the stallion inside from launching his gaze across her. No, he must assess her as a potential danger, not a potential screw, and he does so quickly and coldly; large wings, lightning markings and a sizzling of static around her, hints of good breeding. "You are bold, to fly directly into the Dragon's Throat," he rumbles, his voice the deep baritone that quite matches his size and hulking presence. He allows himself to relax slightly, realising that he may have been hasty in assuming she is here to attack. She could be here to join, and simply doesn't know the etiquette of not flying right in - it is only the warlord in Volterra that naturally jumped to the initial conclusion.

He schools his handsome face into neutrality. "Might I ask what brings you here?"

She flares her wings slightly, greatly increasing her size and posture, although Volterra remains unflinching and steadfast in the face of the display. He does note, however, that her wings are far larger than he's ever seen on a pegasus before, even though they are not fully extended; he wonders how she can bear the bulk of them when they're tucked against her sides, as they must surely be cumbersome when she isn't using them in the air. He has never understood wings, though. Flying unnerves him greatly, as evidenced by his short flight with Isopia and his countless forays into the minds of his dragons whilst they dart through the air - he is a landlubber and proud.

Her words causes a small smirk to flicker onto his lips, unbidden; I am not disappointed. He can't help it, the boost to his ego makes his muscles quiver with pleasure, although he keeps his face as a white mask save for the traitorous smirk that has forced its way into place. "I am glad that I meet with your approval," he rumbles. She continues, explaining that she was born here and that her father used to be the General. Now the Indomitable's interest is truly piqued, and his ears dart forwards to display this fact. "Who was your father?" Could it be the man whom Volterra was handed the position instead of when Sikeax asked him to join?

Her revelation that she wishes to be a warrior makes the smirk widen, and his eyes roam freely across her again, scrutinising her now as an ally rather than an enemy. "A warrior, you say? I am the herd's Gladiator, in charge of the soldiers who reside here. My name is Volterra." His swift assessment tells him that she would fit in absolutely fine within his ranks, but he is not the sort to offer such a compliment so freely.

She continues with questions of her own, which intrigues the mammoth warlord. If she truly is a spy on a reconnaissance mission then perhaps it is unwise of him to answer them, but there's little he can tell her that would truly compromise the herd. "Our Sultana is a woman by the name of Aithniel the Inquisitor, daughter of the Sun God himself. We have no Sultan, not since Gaucho's passing." He is sure this woman will know who Gaucho is, unless she has been gone for an extremely long time or has been living under a rock. "As for our rules...which ones would you like to know about in particular?" Their attitude to racism, perhaps, or what warriors were and were not allowed to do?

Azzuen, the Ardent. Volterra has not heard of him, but the fact he has a secondary name implies that he was somebody of note, as evidenced by the leviathan's own Indomitable title. She reveals that her sire battled to claim these lands alongside a woman named Kri, and the behemoth's eyes widen despite himself. This is history beyond anything he's ever heard of, because for his entire lifetime Gaucho had ruled the Throat. He wonders how many residents of the Throat remember such a time, the years before the Wildfire burned bright here.

The stallion's innate curiosity overrides his desire to appear aloof and uninterested. "That is a rich history you speak of. Gaucho ruled here for a number of years - I am not sure there are many here who remember a time before his reign." He lifts a handsome sculpted brow, his interest truly piqued. He hopes she will elaborate, educate his greedy ears with further tidbits of information about the history of this land to which he has pledged his sword. There is a certain level of irony to this situation that is entirely lost on Volterra - he cannot possibly know that, countless years ago, his great-grandfather Morgue the Womanizer had joined a herd led by Azulee's great-grandmother, Naryl the Fireslayer. The two had never seen eye to eye, yet their lines have met again now in roles somewhat reversed. Alas, this meaty history regarding his bloodline is not known to the titan, and thus he cannot question whether it is known to her, either.

She introduces herself as Azulee, and he files the name to memory. "If you decide to join us as one of our warriors, I will be more than happy to test your abilities." That burning crimson gaze of his darts across her again, knowing how difficult it is to fight winged opponents. Those massive appendages of hers could be used as a weapon, of that he's fairly sure. It would be a challenge, but even though the muscled Gladiator is a bona-fide warlord now, he is always keen to test himself against new kinds of opponents.

Judging by her apology about the news of Gaucho's death, Volterra can assume that she also knew him, perhaps even served beneath him. She then asks if Aithniel is a fair Sultana, and the stallion pauses to contemplate the question. Considering he has had a child with the woman, there is a lot about the Inquisitor he still does not know. He is loyal to her and to this land, and he has a definite level of appreciation for her untamed, fiery beauty and the strong son she bore for him, but truthfully he has no real ideas about her personality. She is still his Sultana, however, and he is honour-bound to defend her, even if a little Sikeax-shaped figure in his head makes him feel almost guilty for it. "I would say she is fair, yes. She is not afraid to stand up for her beliefs or to fight against a regime she deems unacceptable, and whilst she is relatively new to the role, I have faith in her." The honesty is open, gaping, raw. Aithniel had fought to take the herd from Sikeax when she disagreed with the Sea Soul's leadership; Volterra might not have approved of it, given that Sikeax is his friend, but he can still appreciate the meaning behind it. She had also fought against Kaos when many others retreated, and had stood up for them against the missionaries from the Basin. Fair is a subjective word, but Volterra believes in her.

"Everybody in the herd is assigned a patrol in one of the neutral lands every season, but I expect us warriors to patrol the Throat regularly to search for any potential threats. I also expect each of us to spar regularly in order to keep ourselves in prime condition - I suggest sparring against a variety of opponents both inside and outside the herd to ensure you have experience dealing with anything thrown in your path." Protection of the herd is paramount after all, even if its island status means that it is better protected than most herds. "Regarding prisoners, I confess that we have not had one during my time here. I would assume, however, that they would be held in relative comfort until such a time as they may be sentenced." In Volterra's humble opinion, cowardly thieves and child-murderers should be held in the highest amount of discomfort and torment, but alas, he does not make the rules, he only upholds them.

"With regards to trespassers..." He allows a small, amused smile to ghost across his handsome features, a reference to how he'd reacted to Azulee herself only a short time ago. "Approach with caution until you ascertain their reason for being here. Like yourself, they may be outcasts looking for a home....but remain on your guard in case they are not." His own muscles have only just begun to relax, having realised that this mare is not here to attack.

His brow quirks as the mare speaks of supremist unicorns. "Sounds rather like the modern-day Aurora Basin," he rumbles, vividly remembering the conversation Aithniel had had with the Basin's queen. Azulee confirms this by adding that the unicorns retreated to the north as a result of the invasion, and the pieces click suddenly into place - ah, that explains why the Basin holds the beliefs it does. Who would have thought that the Basin's racism stems from a time when they were driven from the Throat? Little wonder they tried to rip the wings from a young pegasus.

His jaws crease into a smile at her eagerness to begin the fight now. It is tempting, but he knows it would be unfair. He is rested, well-fed and accustomed to the Throat's sands now; she could well have travelled far on weary legs and wings, perhaps not eaten for a while, and it has been years since she last set foot on these shifting sands. He would prefer to fight her when it is more evenly-matched, as he prefers a challenge. "As much as I would love to cross swords with you now, I think it would be better for you to settle in first, get reacquainted with the land. Once you are settled and rested, then we may fight." It is a rare glimpse of the chivalry inside the goliath's black heart.

The mare asks about assignments, and the blackened Gladiator simply inclines his head as he ponders for a moment. "For now, your only assignment is to familiarise yourself with the Dragon's Throat. Much could have changed since the last time you were here, and it is important that you are accustomed to the ground you could be fighting on and the various nooks and crannies of our home that we could use against invading forces. Then, begin sparring as regularly as you can to ensure your body is in peak condition." He thinks for a second and then continues. "Attend all meetings called by myself and any other rank leaders, and get to know the rest of your herdmates. Aside from that....enjoy." He offers a broad smile.