Theatricality and deception are powerful agents.
You must become more than just a man
in the mind of your opponent

The Moon Goddess chided and clucked at them like a mother hen, pecking and shooing at the herdlands and outcasts as if they were her chicks to be shifted and manoeuvred. And perhaps they were, for at the Moon Mare’s judgment (at her request), he had come forward, summoned from the mists —beckoned from his business at The World’s End to hear about the Sun God’s exile and the start of the games. Just as she took special note of those who gathered and those who didn’t, Cineviam took a care to notice that small detail. Malcontent and loathing slipped over him like a dark cloak when he realized how close he had been to not making an appearance. He wondered what she had in store for the poor souls who stayed at home. Was she really so different from her blazing brother.

Only a swimming contest was open to him

He would have preferred the cross country course, averse as he was to water and he wondered if this was his punishment for his earlier dark thoughts. With all the bodies and minds gathered in a single place, he had hoped she would have overlooked his small slip up. There was another competition, open to each race – to any who possessed magic. But what good was that to the cinder beast who obeyed his ashes, not the other way around. Regardless, he signed up to swim, and took small comfort where he could. Since it was only open to unicorns, he would be surrounded by his fellow Edge members. Should he win or place well, it might give him more distinction among his herd mates. The games offered a rare opportunity to gain magic and other rewards without having to crawl up to the Veins of Gods on his belly and obey their every whim.

He comes to Dragon’s Throat by the deity’s hand—though it nearly destroys him to do so.

The journey from the World’s Edge was a long one – potentially tiring if rushed – but the cinder beast was in no hurry to get into the water. His only deviation from a meandering walk was to stop and admire the Dragon’s Blood tree with its blood red sap and vaguely metallic smell. The ash that sputtered from his nose was persistent and he was soon back on his way toward the shoreline. Even though his cloven hooves marked his progress for any who trailed him, it was the soot that lightly dusted the sand that betrayed who the tracks belonged to.

When it was time to get into the water, he hesitated and gawked about the beach having found himself very much alone. He wondered if that was a good sign or if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. But that was impossible for his ashes had helped guide him here. An involuntary gasp of breath was choked off as a wave pushed up against his chest, already regretting the decision to sign up for this blasted race. Then his stomach dropped as the ground fell a way and his feathered legs began paddling, propelling him determinedly forward. He thought he was in a good position so the pace he set was meant to leave plenty of fuel in the gas tank for later.