[mission: hyrypia] give me my scallop shell of quiet, my staff of faith to walk upon

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :013
SUMMARY: A day of competition begins, and Hosts put their newfound skills to the test.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

THE GRAZE
DAY :013

A MOURNFUL SOUND passes across the Graze in the early hours of the morning: the mingling drone of the wind coming up across the flatlands and funneling into the depths of the Finger Maze. It saws, a tired, hollow constant noise. Carried with it up through the Great Flat are maybe forty visitors carried by a variety of carts and wagons, automated and incredibly austentatious live mounts. Apparently the events of the day are drawing a crowd from the surrounding farms and homesteads on top of the various diplomatic envoys already in attendance.

After a brisk, light breakfast the short blare of a horn cuts across the encampment. It seems it's time to saddle up.



I. THE SIDELINES
A CHEER SWELLS up from the assemblage of Rabadoceans as a team successfully completes their event. On a nearby platform, musicians takes turns striking up a series of fast paced, sparkling tunes and the tang of roasting meat is heavy in the air. There's a sense of festival in this that quickly becomes lively as the Hyrypians' official pleasantries cede encourage the Meradan's cheerful, competitive shouting and the Descendants'' entertained clapping and smiling. There might even be a few smiles to be seen among the typically grim faced Carpathan diplomatic envoy.

Get something to eat. Talk to a stranger. Make friends. Sabotage a competing team. Most importantly: keep your eyes and ears open. For every moment you might spend machinating, someone (or something) else might be doing the same.

II. THE SORTING
THE SUN HAS FULLY RISEN by the time the first event is ready to begin. There has been a constant bustle up until this point, people meeting up and splitting off again, members of Envoy’s checking in with each other, carefully discussing their strategies- or laughing the challenges off as a game. Now, all of the competitors are gathered together to be given their tools- the ropes and crooks of the Gryer wranglers- even as the spectators begin to gather at the edges of the large pen, some standing at the fences, other on long staggered benches along the edges. There are a flags strung up all along the fences and large banners fly from the outermost posts of the pen. When it is nearly time the teams are split- each of the members led to a different point on the outside of the pen, to the gates that will set them loose upon the false gryer within.

When it is time for the Hosts to begin, the gates are again reset, the Gryer are all released from their holding pens, and the spectators have become no less raucous. They’re so loud it’s almost hard to hear the horn that calls from the holding pen, but the gates that spring open in front of the hosts are signal enough for them to begin. They are afforded just enough time to make their way fully into the pen before the three Gryer are lit, scattered through the herd and still milling about. The clock- or whatever passes for a clock- is ticking, and the faster they manage the task- if they manage it- the better.

When it is over, the crowd cheers, either way- energized by the competition and the strong grassy flavored drink that seems to improve every Rabadocean’s mood.

III. THE MESSENGER RACE
A SERIES OF FLAGS marks the route of the relay race that runs along the edge of the outermost cliff faces - not that it's necessary. Spectators are strung along the sidelines that it might be possible to run the race using only them as a guide for where to go. The course itself is studded with obstacles - logs and ditches, stacks of brush and at least a few imposing walls made from coral harvested out of the Finger Maze. The riders of each team are dispersed along the length of the course toward the finish line, quiet and lonely (if you disregard the forty or so other riders from competing teams in your company) and waiting in the midday heat for--

The short burst of a horn. The first string of Elin and riders, each in possession of a ceremonial scroll, launch forward across the starting line. Hopefully. What would be even better? If they keep all their riders in the process.

IV. THE ELINMASTER RUN
THE FINAL EVENT comes late - so late that the sun is already beginning to move towards the high horizon of the clifftops, leaving a cool purple cast across the landscape as the competitors and spectators alike are gathered at the yawning entrance of the isolated splinter of the Finger Maze. Unlike the other events, there is no seating, no rows, no stretches of banners or strings of flags. The environment doesn’t allow for it. Instead there are ropes separating the milling crowds from the riders. There are no gates and no strict starting point; rather, there is an area the width of the entrance and forty feet behind it that the racers may begin from. A large number are clustered near the very front - eager but clearly at extra risk, the metal and rubber flesh of the Elin automatons pressed close enough to crush. In the stillness of the near-evening air, the anticipation for this event is more subdued. More hushed. It's clear that the majority of the race will not be visible to spectators or judges. There will be only a small party waiting at the end of the course, ready in the clearing to mark places, and no witnesses before that.

The most senior members of House Basittia stand on either side of the entrance, protected by the ropes and flashy in their officiator-wear. When the horn is blown, sharp and with very little warning, it echoes down the length of the waiting canyon walls. It echoes strangely, broken only by the sound of metal hooves pounding forward into the maze and out of sight.

The first challenge is immediate - beyond the wide entrance the canyon begins to narrow dramatically. Those who have chosen the front of the pack will be forced to either get ahead or muscle their way through the others around them. Those that have chosen to stay further back will find that the distance between them and the next rider ahead of them narrows. Before there is much chance to adjust to the new positions, there is the first obstacle - a ditch, narrow but sudden, ready to take the legs out from under an Elin that fails to jump. From there the course begins in earnest. A number of paths split off from the main line, each with their own challenges. Coral branches fallen in the path, others arching just over rider’s heads. The course is full of switchbacks and sudden turns and in places the ground is made of pebbles that slide beneath the metallic hooves of the mechanical beasts. The course narrows in sections, barely wide enough to allow one rider to pass, and as the race stretches on fewer and fewer are able to continue. Some riders simply fall, others are knocked off, others foul their mounts and end up as new obstacles for those behind them.

By the time the end is in sight - a large open clearing, the far end of which has a simple stage where the judges wait - many racers have been unseated and countless others have simply fallen behind. But for those who make it to the end, there is a note in an ancient looking tome and a ribbon to be tied around their wrists to show that they have completed their trial. They will linger there in the winner’s circle until the last of the racers trickle in. Once that happens, they will be allowed at a much more sedate pace to make their way out of the canyon and into the awaiting cheering crowd - into the beginning of night and the lighting of the great braziers and flames, the scent of a well-earned meal that awaits them carried across the Graze by the mournful sigh of the wind.

V. BEFORE, AFTER, AND BETWEEN
THE COMPETITION stretches long, each individual challenge met by scores of Envoys eager to impress or simply eager for something to entertain themselves with. But the day is made far longer by the time between the competitions which is filled with talk, general chatter, and some good- and less good-natured betting - all lubricated by a constant stream of the cool grass drink that’s growing rapidly more popular as the sun’s heat increases. There's plenty to do- and plenty to enjoy between the events themselves. People will have little trouble finding things to keep busy with. And after the competition is said and done there is dinner (of course), the great dining tents pulled open and even more crowded than before with the additional local color. It’s those locals, and perhaps the camaraderie born of shared experience, which seems to help encourage some of the Envoys to intermingle more than they have before.

Of course, not everyone is in a good mood. Some of the participants didn't perform as well as others. Bruised egos are as abundant as bruised bodies among some envoys... a potentially volatile situation considering the close quarters they share with other Rabadoceans who clearly think very highly of their own performances.

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers the competition events of Day :013 and any related sideline activities. You can find a full breakdown of the events/a place for mini-event specific questions HERE. Sign-ups will remain open until the next event log goes live, however going forward please make sure to either join the individual event or have a full team selected for the team events. Please be aware that signing up late won't give you extra time to finish your thread to qualify for the finale event.

Have more generalized questions? Drop them on the MISSION: HYRYPIA OOC POST or get in touch with us on the Mod Contact page.))

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( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[perroquet]

[ He says nothing on the dismissal word choice, but a violin strikes a sharp chord in place of his thoughts. He's too untrained with the connection, and his opinion slips anyway - he doesn't fully agree, but in this case agrees it is trivial. ]

(So sorry to have interrupted.)

[ And then the opposite happens - he speaks, but there is no feeling of regret coming through his still wide-open connection. No dip in the mental symphony that plays softly somewhere in an unseen pit. He just goes through the motion of an apology anyway, for the sake of politeness. ]

(It was my hopeful attempt to build more bridges between hosts. Still is. There are so many walls.)

[shiro2hero]

(I see.)

[This isn't what he wanted to get into after the competition. Some kind of back and forth about the merit of helping a friend versus first meetings. In his mind, Aloy had come first. And he doesn't regret that.]

[His shielding stays. Doesn't waver. Hadn't for Shinji or any of the other new faces. Elena had been the exception, and then, it was an accident.]

(You know, a lot of us really prefer face to face talking.) [The fact there are shields up for a reason isn't something he's going to get into right now.] (Over getting our brains banged into. New people don't need that right away.)

[perroquet]

(You're right. I'm being quite rude again. Just - wait there.)

[ Not all bridges have to be built through the symbiotic link, and Gildor seems to have taken Shiro's notion as an invitation to meet face to veiled face. His mental presence recedes to a shadow that hovers just outside their range of communication - a shadow the size of a thread pulled taught, and it leads him in the right direction.

It's still some time before he finds where the other host is resting. A few bumps into drunken Hyrypians and scrapes past swaying Meradans later, he makes it out of an after party tent and into the cold desert night air. He accidentally knocks the tip of Shiro's boot lightly with the end of his staff as it drags along the ground in front of him. ]

Ah, sorry- for the knick and the wait.

[ It is more difficult to locate those with thicker walls. ]

Mr. Shiro, correct?

[shiro2hero]

[There's a headache building up behind his walls. Probably fatigue. It wouldn't be the first or last time that happened, anyway. He's about to rise, turn around, and duck into the tent to put a blanket over his face for a while. It helped sometimes.]

[He's used to very few people tracking him down this way. All of them are people close to him. Pidge. The other people sharing his Brood. And Sam. People he could count on one hand. Needless to say, the fact someone else does it puts his back up again.]

[Especially the tap on his foot.]

[It makes him get to his feet, bracing, before his brain catches up and recognizes another disguise. And the voice.]

Shiro, yes.

[perroquet]

[ His voice is much more cheerful in person. Easier to mask his own fatigue from the day with the practiced tones of formal pleasantries. ]

Hello. Sorry that took so long. Pleasure to finally meet-

[ Though he stops, just short of a handshake. Shiro's mind is closed, but it doesn't take much for Gildor to taste the tenseness in the air, or hear the shortness in his tone. Perhaps he's one of the "anti-socials" Pidge warned him to tread lightly with. So he withdraws, gripping both hands along the long wooden staff he carries instead. ]

I... sorry. We can do proper introductions later if you're not feeling well. I don't mean to be a bother. I know I certainly can be-

[ The burdens of extraverts when they want to get to know people at the wrong time. Gildor isn't proud of it, but he's used to feeling like a burden. ]

[shiro2hero]

[It's behind a veil, but one of his eyebrows lifts. What was with that motion? No handshakes? Okay then. He'll keep his hands at his sides. Makes it easier -- no need to explain anything about the hands.]

You didn't need to hike all the way over here. Assuming... you were a ways away?

[He doesn't know. The shields stay up for everyone's benefit, after all. No one close to him enough in range to make him want to lower them. But suddenly there's the impression he'd said the wrong thing?]

[Weird. He'd barely said three words. Or close to it.]

Seems more like I should be the one saying if you're not well.

[perroquet]

Oh no, I was just a tent over.

[ Close enough to hear the initial question openly asked to the Nest. Beneath his own veil he's simply smiling his usual smile, happy to be meeting another member - and grateful at the returned concern. ]

Thank you, but I'm feeling fine. Tired after the day's events, but fine. I'm just a bit slow. I'm blind.

[ In case it's not obvious. Sometimes he's aware it is, sometimes he's aware it isn't. With the disguises still on, it's an easy guess. ]

Did you participate in any of the events today? I was in the stands for most of it, but no one was willing to describe what was happening.

[shiro2hero]

Oh... sorry. I didn't realize.

[Well, score one for the diplomacy route. Except not -- at all. He could blame the disguise, or blame brain fatigue. It just hadn't occurred to him that was a possibility, when you were linked in the head with others.]

[Whoops.]

Just one. The herding competition. I didn't get to see the others.

[For a variety of reasons, really.]

[perroquet]

It's quite alright.

[ No negative scores for diplomacy here - Gildor seems unfazed. ]

You must still be tired after the ride. We can discuss our adversary's possible identities and intentions here later, if you'd like. Or perhaps something less heavy. I really would like to get to know each member here better.

[ Hence his musical call the previous morning. It wasn't just to be annoying, but to break the ice between hosts... though he understands now perhaps shattering it probably wasn't the best option. Still, even in the middle of the mission he's still insistently pursuing getting-to-know-you time. ]