[hatch log / mission: hyrypia] the winds that will be howling at all hours

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - Naerstone House
WHEN: DAY :002 - :003
SUMMARY: New hosts hatch on the Station, are briefed, then make their way to Hyrypia to join the rest of the hosts… while they attend a very important history lesson.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

STATION 72
DAY :002

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP are are suddenly changed. --No. That's not right. You're you and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or surfacing up from the darkness of some wine dark sea. Nothing is different and everything is because right there in your own head there's something both familiar and strange. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye.

But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small, faintly hexagonal chamber with a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been calmed. There's something peaceful about waking up here - like you belong. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. A matching dread. An easy comfort. Maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party happening behind a nearby closed door.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone.In fact there are lots of you and none of them are the strangers they should be. Some even seems like people you've known for a very long time.They are as familiar as this place you've never been is.

Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room it's quiet and still, feeling for all the world like a hollow shell.

--Or it does until a voice separates itself from the white noise in your head:


BRIEFING
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD isn't really a voice at all. It's the warm tang of camaraderie, tinged with a flash of impatience like ticking hands on a clock face and a flicker of wonder: a falling star. It says:

( My, you're all very fresh aren't you? Unfortunately, the multiverse waits for no spring chicken. Once you've figured out which way's up, won't you all join us? )
Join 'us' where is the question. And yet, once you're ready to meet the owner of the voice in your mind, your footsteps simply lead you there naturally. Two strangers sit in a small circular briefing room - a tall being covered in short brown fur with a rigid demeanor, and a pale alien with yellow washed frills at her jaw and throat who is smiling cheerfully.

"Hey there, sunshine," says Rhan, her frills humming as she speaks. "Why don't you take a seat so we can get started?"

[ooc note: please see here for the catch-all briefing thread]


THE STATION
WITH A LITTLE UNDER 24 HOURS before it's time to make the trip to Hyrypia, this is as good an opportunity as you're going to get to familiarize yourself with Station 72 before you leave it. There's plenty to see, but a distinct lack of people to make conversation with. It's lonely and quiet and there's a sensation of dust gathering even where there is none. Maybe studying the briefing files on your databank and going over your mission kit is the most proactive distraction, but if not? Well there's plenty of places to get lost...

HYRYPIA - NAERSTONE HOUSE
DAY :003

MEETING
A SINGLE SHIP LANDS in a field the color of burnished gold, returning to the place it had until late the night before occupied. It's carefully inserted beside dozens of other spacecraft bearing more than faint similarities, though each has its own unique aesthetic. When the gangplank drops, the loud engines powering down, it reveals--

New hosts. Seven fresh faces - obscured as they are in layers of intricate fabric - are led down the gangplank by Rhan There to greet them is a number of other hosts - any who answered to the sweet crystalline ring of Collector’s voice in their heads hardly a half hour earlier, speaking with certainty born of truth:

( Rhan and Siva’co are returning. Shall we see what stories they have to tell? )

Despite the solidarity that both combined groups provide, there's a feeling of eyes here. A number of guards along the edge of the shuttle field are watching the reunion like hawks. Better perhaps to return to the apartments where they'll be able to speak in private and teach the new hosts what it is that has been learned since their arrival. --Or explore, for those who prefer not to rest. Naerstone House's grounds are vast and they are almost entirely open to the parties of the pilgrims to explore.

THE PERFORMANCE
AS THE SINGLE RED SUN of Hyrypia dips low on the horizon there is a long, low, mournful sound. A deep bell-- or a horn? Or maybe it's something else entirely, but the call is heard and answered as any nearby servants inform the guests of the house:

“There will be a performance of the First Journey in a quarter turn. All guests are invited to attend.”

There's no mystery as to where the event is occurring. A steady trail of guests and servants lead out past the Veranda into the central garden where a number of pillars have been mounted and a large tiered platform festooned with with numerous draped curtains and abstract representations of trees and mountains - a great stage - now sits. The stage is surrounded by numerous low settees and tables, piles of thick cushions and richly colored rugs around which guests can be found clustered, lounging while sipping thick, syrupy drinks.

Each table is illuminated only by a single glowing orb at its center. Otherwise, as the sun sets it pitches the garden into darkness as even the castle itself has been left unlit. There are no lights in distant windows or on Naerstone House's high walls; these small orbs and the glitter of stars in the black sky might very well be the only points of light in the whole universe.

The allotted time passes and the performance begins. A sun rises over the stage. It's a much larger, more intricate glowing orb and reveals a number of players dressed far more simply than the Hyrypians the hosts have met. They wear complex machine masks upon their faces that shutter into different expressions as their hands flitter across their faces: dramatic caricatures to accompany the droning sound of their singing voices as they unfold the tale at the center of the performance - the one which drives this pilgrimage and for the Nest's very presence in the universe at all. It's the story of lost Rabadoceans coming to a planet near barren intent on brutalizing them - about loss and hardship until finally a single player separates from the rest. The orb of the sun over the stage turns, it's mechanical face shifting and resetting to indicate the passage of time as the very central platform of the stage begins to turn so that this lone player might walk. And walk. And walk through deserts and scrub land, through dark woods and dark caves, against the wind and with it. Through it all, the orb over the stage slowly lowers until at last this lone player can take it in their hands.

It cracks like an egg and brilliance streams from it. Braziers catch fire in the darkness. The garden illuminates itself. Every light in Naerstone House comes to life.

With that, the silence of the crowd breaks. There is applause -- each culture in its own unique fashion -- and then there is a rise of chattering conversation as the guests are served several small dishes and talk about the show they’ve just seen - and whatever possible clues it might give to the pilgrimage they themselves would soon be undertaking.

---

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new hosts as well as the evening's performance. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find a more detailed overview of the host hatching process HERE and additional setting information about the Station HERE. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

iii.

[hymnals]

( Settle down. )

[ Adra can't glare at this newcomer--the hood covers his extremely judgmental face--but the irritation is there in his mind, anyway. He folds his gloved hands in his lap, leaning forward like he's terribly interested in anything else but talking to the man next to him. ]

( We have an image to maintain. )

[calhar]

[ Mat's very practiced at feeling judgmental looks whether he can see them or not, honestly. But if there'd been any doubt, the ripple of irritation in the link drives the point home. His own attention's cast toward the stage, though there's a distinct lack of real interest or curiosity beneath it.

The smallest blessing: he gives up on speaking out loud, slipping easily into the mental link. He does enough switching between languages without meaning to. This isn't much different. ]

( You have an image to maintain. )

[ No such thing as we. ]

( Light, it's like you've all been turned into slaves. Do you do everything they ask you to? )

[hymnals]

[ The reference to Light doesn't escape him, but he can't address it; he's too irritated by everything else this man's choosing to be. ]

( Were you born an idiot, or did you grow into it? )

[ The warmth that suffuses any connection with Adrasteius turns from something comforting to something inflamed, hot and angry. ]

( If we don't keep up this ruse, we're all going to die. I would call acting in your own self-interest the exact fucking opposite of slavery. )

[ JACKASS. ]

[calhar]

( I came into it with a great deal of practice. )

[ He's been called worse by people whose opinions he cared about, thank you. That flicker of anger is — unpleasant, in the way that it picks at his own attempted disinterest. It's difficult to tell which emotions are his. ]

( And I wasn't born yesterday, you mule. Nobody's dying on my account. ) [ His track record says otherwise. His being foolish had nothing to do with it, but that doesn't stop the dim pang of guilt at the thought. ] ( The smarter plan would've been to avoid the ruse altogether, burn us both. We should've stayed off this bloody planet. )

[hymnals]

( That's obvious. )

[ He feels the guilt, and it should make him feel bad in return, having unknowingly plucked a nerve string like that. Would that their situation was not so precarious. ]

( See, the thing is, we are on this Light-forsaken planet, and we're already in this situation. I don't like deception any more than the next man, but sometimes you do what you have to do. Especially when so many other souls depend on you doing it. )

[calhar]

( I never agreed to a single soul depending on me. I won't be going out of my— )

[ The way his thoughts abruptly halt is plainly telegraphed across the link. Mat shifts his weight, sitting forward slightly so he can lean towards Adra. It's impossible to tell with the robes, but the distinct impression is that he's squinting. ]

( What do you know about the Light? )

[ Light-forsaken is such a common term it'd almost slipped right past him. But that's common at home — not here. ]

[hymnals]

[ It doesn't fucking matter what he agreed to. None of them agreed to this situation, but like he said, they're in it now, so they have to act accordingly. All those thoughts boil on the surface of Adra's mind, but before he can arrange his agitation into words, Mat asks about the Light. He hisses--mind hisses--his response. ]

( What do I know? I know I'm the High Priest of my order, that's what I know. What do you know? )

[calhar]

[ The anger's brushed off easily, with the practice of someone who's entirely too used to being lectured or glared at. The other topic's interesting enough to distract him, anyway. ]

( High priest of what order? Whitecloaks? ) [ The thought's accompanied by memory, predictable white cloaks and a banner inscribed with a sun. It's a question for a question, but those memories might serve as some kind of answer. They aren't particularly fond ones, colored with a hint of rebellious disregard. ]

[hymnals]

( What? No. )

[ That's a flood of completely foreign images, and though Azeroth is a big place, Adra's pretty sure he would've heard of these people. The Netherlight Temple comes in response: a tremendous cathedral filled with priests of all kinds, some walking in shadows, some walking in Light. A crystalline being of shimmering power stands at the head of the cathedral's main room, its puzzle piece body shifting constantly, its presence radiating light and music. ]

( We're a coalition from all over the world, united for a common purpose. One that, I suspect, has nothing to do with you. )

[ He doesn't sound disappointed or annoyed by that, though. If anything, he's buoyed: it just confirms his feeling that the Light reaches across worlds, across universes. ]

[calhar]

[ None of that's right. It'd be interesting to someone else, maybe — beautiful. But Mat's had his fill of strange monuments, so the images are brushed off with only a brief sense of impatience. ]

( You're bloody right it's got nothing to do with me. ) [ Accompanied by stubbornness, denial, the belligerent shut-down of any thoughts connected to the Wheel — it's hardly a clean cut, though. It's followed by a thoughtful pause, then a slightly more cautious: ]

( What's your take on witches? )

[hymnals]

[ Well, that's not exactly what Adra meant, but--given their perhaps less than ten minutes of interaction--he's already not surprised that this guy would take it that way. He rolls his eyes, even as his sense of the Wheel prickles at him, makes him wonder just how exactly Mat's world defines the Light. ]

( Is there a take? It's kind of a sinister word for magecraft, but if you want to be spooky, that's your prerogative. )

[calhar]

[ It's a little more challenging to remain unbothered by annoyance and eye-rolls when he can feel them, but he still manages it like a pro. ]

( Magecraft? ) [ Nothing familiar in the repetition, and not a question he'd bother to ask out loud. The curiosity slips through in spite of his own reservations. Adra's curiosity is felt, too, though it's more the strange comfort of common ground — even if it's clearly skewed — that makes him continue. ]

( It's an unkind word for Aes Sedai. Bloody well earned by Darkfriends, but the rest of them... well, if you're not a Darkfriend, then you'd better be a friend of the Light. Whitecloaks call themselves the Children of the Light, but their only real authority is in their blades. )

[hymnals]

[ Well, that's a whole bunch of jargon he similarly does not understand! 'Darkfriend' and 'Children of the Light' seem like easy terms to decipher, at least. ]

( And what are you? )

[ The important question. ]

[calhar]

( I'm no Darkfriend. )

[ He's losing some of the bite, at least. Nothing this man throws at him is an accusation; he's too oblivious for that. The same goes for Mat, and he tries to abandon judgment in favor of genuine interest. Not that interest equates to tact. ]

( When you pray at your temples, is anyone listening? )

[hymnals]

( I expect that's a good thing, wherever you're from. )

[ Not that he would know?! Any irritability in Mat's tone rolls off of him, either way, as it tends to. Adra's own emotions blaze and simmer, but he's rarely put off by the same behavior in others. Or by anything, really. ]

( I wouldn't say 'anyone'. There are no gods in the Light. It's a divine force of creation. Of hope. When I pray, I feel most connected to that force. )

[calhar]

[ Recognition flickers across the link at Adra's explanation. Mat should probably find more relief in the idea of the Light finding other worlds. There's some relief, maybe, but it also feels like being caught in a net. The way Mat crosses his arms and sinks back into his chair gives the impression that he's backing off, or just trying to sink low enough in his seat to duck out of the conversation. His voice sounds a bit more reserved for it, too. ]

( The Light's a force for good. The work of the Creator, supposedly, though if anyone's truly responsible for creating the world they've done a poor job on the upkeep. )

[ Only an idiot would choose the Shadow over Light, but that doesn't make him particularly devout. His connection to the lore itself is distant, slightly irreverent. ] ( Does your world not have Darkfriends? No Dark One? )

[hymnals]

( Can't have Light without darkness. Azeroth has its fair share of both. Demons, cultists, old gods, ravenous hordes of undead ... that sort of thing. But there's no unified pantheon of 'good Creator' and 'singular wicked thing'. )

[ There are lots of wicked things, some worse than others. But even then, Adra's disposition towards the Shadow is clearly not entirely negative. More wary, than anything else. As all discipline priests should be. ]

[calhar]

( Sounds bloody disorganized. )

[ Not a totally serious statement, though it does sound mostly accurate. ] ( We've got all sorts, too, but they'd still pick their loyalties if pressed. Is there nothing holding your demons back? )

[ Demon's a strange word. Not one he's used before, but the link makes it easy to infer its meaning and try it out. ]

[hymnals]

( It's pretty much always a mess. )

[ He's not even getting into the faction conflicts that constantly threaten to fracture any effort at dealing with the rest of whatever's trying to destroy the world this year. ]

( Nothing but our efforts to destroy them. And, I mean, warlocks. )

[ He sounds maybe a little bit disdainful, just at the end there. ]

[calhar]

[ Disdain's something he knows well. There was a bit of it on the words Aes Sedai, diluted only by a sense of reluctant acknowledgment. At the sense of something close, petty interest shoves out more somber notes. He's a little desperate for more trivial topics, anyway. ]

( What are warlocks? )

[hymnals]

[ JERKS, MOSTLY, is his kneejerk reaction. Not entirely fair. Some warlocks were legitimately self-sacrificing, legitimately well-intentioned. But most of them? Not so much. ]

( People who make deals with demons. They claim their work serves the greater good, but more than a few of them only serve themselves--or something worse. )

[calhar]

[ So........ darkfriends.......

Mat's skepticism is obvious, as if he thinks Adra (and apparently everyone else from his world) has been thoroughly duped. ]

( No one makes a deal with the Dark One for the greater good. Even if they did, a few weeks in his company and they'd soon forget it. )

[ The comment's conversational rather than outright judgement. It's obvious enough that their worlds are different, strange coincidences aside. ]