Crowley had been a busy boy as of late. With visiting the Foothills under a faux personality, his dun partner in crime at his side, and then his kidnapping of Lana, the brindle had little time to spare. He'd stumbled across a strange looking egg simply a day or two ago, and while he'd had little intention of caring at first, what if whatever was growing within it, was something of value? He still had much to learn about this land of Helovia, and so had decided to take the risk of bringing it to the Basin, and dedicating a surprising portion of his time keeping a close watch on it. Though he wasn't complaining, of course; without anything to do, the Phantom grew bored quickly, and that never led to any good.

But for his Empress, he could always find the time.

It was the call of the Crux that coaxed him away from his duties, pulling him from the mouth of the cave where he had stood watch over Lana, an unfortunate victim to the tortures of the Plague. If she were outcast, he could care less if she tried to make a run for it; after all, he was certain he could find her again one day, or simply find somebody else. Yet from the sound of it, she was of the Dragon's Throat, a land which he admittedly knew little about. He was unsure their numbers, but the Basin certainly did not need another battle on their hands.

As he approached the group that was slowly forming before their leader, Crowley tipped an ear to the white wolf as he spoke, taking in news of the Throat. How convenient. A chuckle escaped his dark lips as he approached, taking up a spot beside d'Artagnan as per usual, sparing a glance to the pup at his side before focusing back upon the wolf. "If he is a newcomer to these lands, then he is a fool. One who shouts such ideas to whoever will listen is likely to fail." The Time Mender spoke, then, but Crowley remained quiet. Perhaps he would be given the opportunity to learn more of the arid Throat soon.

Now, his attention returned to their dark leader, listening intently as she spoke. It came as no surprise that Faelene was to be their Thief; she was skilled at what she did and held a level head upon her shoulders, a necessary trait for one of such a rank. What she said next, however, came to him as a surprise. The brindle rather liked his position as a Phantom, and yet, the thought of becoming the herd's Weaver was something he simply couldn't pass up. He'd already experienced Frostfall within the Basin, and knew how hard it could be on the old, the young, the weak. As Weaver, he could help his brethren.

Meeting the amber eyes of his Empress, he gave a firm nod of his head, a silent sort of acceptance to her words as she carried on with what she had to say. He would have to make a point to speak with her later on, in private.

[Blargh post is blarg. ._.]