[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

[servitor]

[Nyx keeps pushing closer, bringing in the herd closer together, forcing them into a cluster. They're going to have to start actually herding their targets pretty soon, because Nyx really doesn't want to lose.]

Very impressive, Annie!

[somnifacient]

That's what passes for impressive these days?

[He teases from afar, but has managed to shoo a few more stragglers back after intercepting them. They trot along closer to the main part of the group, and therefore closer to his broodmates as well.]

Dinosaur noises.

[He sounds amused, having to hold back a laugh. But he's going to focus on one of the targets on the edge of the group, so that they actually make a bit of progress in this ridiculous competition. He has a... rope, he suspects, for the sake of wrangling them, but is a bit doubtful on how to use it. A lasso is definitely not one of the weapons in his armiger, after all.]

where did my notif go....

[sistershoggoth]

[ She is clearly having a stupidly good time, stomping around like a tiny Godzilla. One of the Gryer is still refusing to move, so she goes right up to it, squatting down and prodding it in the head. It looks up at her slowly, stupidly, eyes widening before making a run for it to join the others. ]

These things are kinda dumb.

[ But they do now have the herd on the move, it seems about time to get them sorted. Annie contemplates the lit up robo-Gryer in the center, and decides she's just going to part the Gryer seas and get it.

It includes stomping through a sea of Gryer poop as well... ]

shows up late w starbucks

[servitor]

[Nyx actually slows down to watch this all happen in real time, watch Annie just beeline through animal crap and all to get the target.

Which causes the nearby ones in her path to start scattering.

Splitting up seems not such a great idea, but Annie's got her plan and Noctis looks like he has an aim for a second one. Of the two?

He starts spurning his Elin towards Annie first. It's going to run, no doubt, and he needs to block the escape routes.]

( Get with us when you can, we've got a one-woman stampede. )

[Obviously intended for Noctis, but of course Annie is free to spectate the commentary.]

[somnifacient]

[Just because he's a king doesn't mean that he won't listen to suggestions. Galloping along the edge of the Gryer herd is simple enough, but again he has no idea what to do with this lasso, and it looks like Annie is tearing through the center, anyway, so he ditches his game plan for the sake of trying to catch up with his broodmates.]

(Annie, you just stepped in crap.)

[The most helpful of comments, surely.

Still, he manages to find himself close enough to Annie, and just yells-]

You know how to lasso things?!

['Cause he sure don't. There is no lasso Royal Arm.]

[sistershoggoth]

( Life's full of shit, Noctis, but do we need to lay down a blanket or something to keep your princely fuckin' boots clean? )

[ She'd stick her tongue out at him if she weren't hidden in this goddamn burka, or yanno. In the middle of something. She creeps up on the first of their robo targets, about three seconds away from just tackling the thing when she hears the call for a lasso.

Oh right. She's supposed to truss this silly thing. ]

[servitor]

[Nyx, in an avoidance from sighing so loudly, just starts moving in and tries to work something with the lasso.

It's going just as well as it looks, which is really not that great. He's thrown hooks and he's climbed up ropes and just about anything else, but exactly a lasso?

At least he has aim going for him. He used to hunt and trap, never exactly using a lasso in the process...]

Hunting never included lassoing!

[But he's damn well trying anyway, look at him go and almost get it.]

[somnifacient]

(You'd do that for me? How sweet.)

[Sarcasm mixed with humor, even as he has to stop his mount from plowing right into a stray Gryer that had zipped across his path.]

Hunting was more straightforward! All you had to do then was kill it!

[Easier than trying to wrangle animals into cooperating, that's for sure. Still, he only has so much energy left to complain, and he'd rather spend it trying to lasso his actual goal and end this event in their favor.

So-- up goes the lasso, twirling it above his head rather comically, and he throws it. It lands on his target's head, but slides off seconds later.]

Crap.

[sistershoggoth]

Holy shit, you guys are useless!

[ She turns her head to glower at them. She's never trussed up a farm animal before, but she knows her knots, how hard can it possibly be?

She takes the rope from her hip and begins the process of creating her loops and her knots, using the creature's own muscles and joints against it so that when it does try to kick and squirm, things only pull tighter. ]

I can't believe I had any faith in you two!