EATING FIRE IS YOUR AMBITION; TO SWALLOW THE FLAME DOWN, TAKE IT INTO YOUR MOUTH, AND SHOOT IT FORTH, A SHORT OR AN INCANDESCENT TONGUE, A WORD, EXPLODING FROM YOU IN GOLD, CRIMSON, UNROLLING IN A BRILLIANT SCROLL
Perhaps the greatest advantage of the citadel is one of the highest points in all of Solterra. From his study, crammed full of books and parchment, he is able to observe Solterra to the limit of his vision. Orestes, by nature, is an observant man. He watches Baphomet as she passes through the gates of the city, into the Court. He hopes she is still there as he leaves the citadel and descends into the city.
Orestes finds her near where he had seen her last, trotting into the city itself. He picks up his pace, so as to catch her before she passes him by. “Baphomet!” Orestes calls, and then slows. She is a striking mare and seems to belong to the desert far more than he; perhaps it is her chimeric coloring, or the length of her legs. She is taller than Orestes, and bears an intense cross marking; one that splits her face in two. He knows she is a foreigner, but not from where.
He has been meaning, for quite some time, to build more familiar relationships with those in his regime and counsel. There is no better opportunity than in the present. “Would you care if I accompany you, on your walk? I would appreciate the opportunity to learn more about you.” Orestes smiles. “After all, we cannot be strangers.” There a small part of him, dark and secretive, that wonders if anyone will ever know him. He decides not to dwell on it, and continues: "Where is it you're from, originally?"
TO BE LIT FROM WITHIN, VEIN BY VEIN. TO BE THE SUN.
@Baphomet
