[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.))

NAVIGATION • GAME CALENDAR • MISSION: HYRYPIA • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

( closed to sam and shiro )

[miscreant]

[Winning the race hadn't necessarily been easy, but it had never been in question. She had dumbed down the last leg of the relay race for the benefit of the Nest only, but it would have been a cold day in hell for her to have kept from showing off. If Seviilia had but one flaw, it was her pride.

She's spent most of dinner entertaining other Rabadoceans fawning over her prowess, so its no surprise that she's looking for an escape. Not too far away among the press of others, she spots the heads of both Shiro and Sam first as they weave their way about the crowd.]

( You don't look busy. )

[She speaks to both of them, attention obviously divided between them, the drink in her hand, and the surrounding crowd.]

( Come absolve me of this rabble before I...accidentally...trip one of them trying to do so on my own. )

[shiro2hero]

[After his own competition, he'd naturally sought out familiar company. Well, after the competition and threading his way through onlookers and potential well-wishers. Very... very well-wishers. He's sort of looking forward to doing nothing except shrugging off the disguise and going over whatever information they'd gotten.]

[You know, like a shut-in.]

[Seviilia (thankfully) ruins that. She's not unwelcome -- far from it. He's always sort of liked her, her directness, and... other things that will not factor into his mind, thank you.]

(Really? I was trying to go for the 'busy bodyguard' look.)

[He's already taken a half-step in her direction, glancing at Sam to follow.]

("Accidentally"?)

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Very much like a shut in. Sam'd spent most of the competition mingling with the other envoys and cheering people on, and a lot of it afterward soothing sore bodies or fanning sore egos, but he doesn't mind. There was a time when crowds bothered him, but now? He'd almost be enjoying himself, if it weren't for the mission they were here on.

His token is clear on Shiro's chest, and those of nobility who either saw him pin it there or heard about it from the gossip that spreads waste no time congratulating them both on Shiro's abilities. Sam's polite, friendly, but it's obvious that Shiro just wants to get away and he doesn't linger.

Until his attention is grabbed by another Host. Seviilia's words are met with a chuckle and a flash of a amusement as he follows Shiro. You can't hide those other things forever, Shiro. ]

( Completely accidentally, we'll vouch for you. )

[ He moves through crowd like he's expecting it to part for him - or expecting his guard to make it. Clint'd taught him that, to project confidence and act like nobility. When he and Shiro manage to insinuate themselves among her admirers, he switches to speaking outloud. ]

I'd say you did well, but I'm sure you know that already. Congratulations.

[miscreant]

( Such a gentleman you are, Sam Wilson. )

[Shiro is rewarded with the sensation nasty mental smirk from her, though Sam had already done the favor of acknowledging her mean-spirited sarcasm. In spite of all that, Seviilia happens to be intimately familiar with playing the role of a subservient, as well as they of a knight. When Sam makes his appearance, she is quick to shoo the others aside so that she might bow. If she had her swords, she might have even kneeled-- she was so much taller than most of the Nest that it was almost required anyway.

Nevertheless, she falls into the act easily, one arm locked behind her back and the other layer across her chest.

You honor me, my lord. This one and her assembly could not have hoped to succeed without the favor of the Titans.

[There is a brief moment where she considers if anyone might have referred to their strange fake religious dieties in some other manner before she decides it doesn't matter. She is only playing this up to make the Rabadoceans feel like they're interrupting something.]

[shiro2hero]

[You're hilarious, Seviilia you really are. But he's not going to scold or do much else beyond shake his head.]

(Long as it's accidental.)

[Hah, see, two people can tease a little here. Or try to. He's following close on Sam's heels, mostly for the bodyguard role -- but also it's a convenient way to keep the crowd away. It's also kind of nice to see people part. Some part of him is oddly satisfied how they get out of their way.]

[He's here to stand in the background and look imposing until the admiring Rabadoceans start to drift away. Apparently it's successful.]

(Titans, huh?)

[miscreant]

( Of course--does your world lack its own? )

[She was never a particularly strong believer in any sort of higher power, but physical evidence of the Titans were all over Azeroth. Whatever sort of beings they were, she knows them to be tangible.]

( I am indebted to you both. I thought they would never shut up. )

[She turns out from the pair, across from a selection of favors and drinks.]

( How do you take your drink? I insist. )