The earth was silent in its humble being, prayed upon before the altar of the sun, the rise and fall of its idle whims. Here, in this monarchy of old earth and old casts, the mountains rose high, a fleeting symphony of winds hissing its saga for all to hear, promising glory and honor to those who would but vanquish the treacherous peaks. It was a frivolous ambition, the dangers of the archaic temple offering little sympathy for the foolish, the brazen. How many fine equine had fallen to their death here, in these very trecks, seeking a sight far reaching upon those heights. Each step set the bar ever higher, the steep hills rising from their bed of rock, the silty soil rushing down with the most minor of mishap. It was a strained place, one with more than a few lustful demons to be found, poking and prodding at a lords passing feet, forcing them to bend the knee. He would oft watch others in their folly of the game, a mad dash with very little consequence weighted upon feats such as caution. Yet, no matter the trials he would face, there was an addiction to be had with every moment he triumphed in the rites placed before him, the lacerations and grit burning fine red lines made all the more worth it when he breathed in untouched air. It was perhaps the solitude that tempted him each time, the escape where few dared venture, the earth threatening to cast him to the air, so that he might fall to an unfortunate end. And as each threat came he would meet it head on, his hooves cutting grooves into the mountain side, to be remembered even the hours faded to nothingness. Oblivion crept forward, and for a time, he could almost pretend it that he was a mere spectator to the dial of the world. It was in his blood, this passion at the end of the world, finding joy and simple pleasures in the mere existence of such places. To watch the clash of water upon stone, the heaving titans few dared acknowledge, so enamored they were with more flashy, gaudy entities. This was why he perhaps came to the court of Dusk, this place that mirrored his love of the end, the edge where if they took but one step further, would take a tumble into a different world. The gates stood open in jubilation, burning bright as the Oriens marched his chariots across the threshold. The God who was in love with the moon, willing to share his place amongst the sky with the maiden he would never touch.
It was all very tragic, the sort of tale that would cast a young flowers heart asunder, their naive fallacy minds finding romance in the horrid. The sort of tale that the old such as Arion had long come to expect of the norm. Oft was there a trial place before them, a trial to overcome, a rival to make light on what you truly believed to be true. How could you possibly love, how could they ever love you? The game of words was long and treacherous, for it was linked to the heart; the true weakness of every living mortal. These idle thoughts wound in his mind, flourishing in the melancholy of his mood, the sour expression taking in the myth unfurling before him. "I greet you Oriens," he murmured, the thrumming tenor falling from his lips with a surprising ease. He had never been a man of devout belief, had never knelt before an altar before falling upon this court of grandeur and indulgence. It was a peaceful place they made their own, the whispers of love and guidance to a pantheon he never knew existed drawing intrigue from his artisan mind. A scholar by word and philosophy he would never be, yet, he found admiration for their craft made to honor them, the fine sentinels of stone and gem. Gazing high, watching the process of the lord sovereign of the hour rise ever higher, rushing towards his lady love he would never touch, a brilliant flash of light reflected against a hung kite, alabaster and gold and radiancy. It came from its perch like an eagle set upon a serpent, Arion's bewitched gaze watching, only for its wings of leather to flare open, the molten gold mantle casting shards of diamond light across it hides. A stallion, a familiar beast from the Court of her Ladyship. "A fine morn'," he offered, tracing his eyes upon the other for a moment long, only to turn his sights once more out across the sea, the dawnserly light slowly transitioning to the absolution of day.
