[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

[deployed]

[ This mission is frustratingly delicate. The kind of negotiation at play here has never been Bellamy's forte. Between them, Clarke had been the one to take point on any kind of diplomacy. She had met Anya on the bridge. She was the one who walked into Lexa's tent. Bellamy wasn't made for it. But at the least, he understands the need for them to win. It was enough to make himself miserable for hours upon hours to remove at least one competitor. ]

Then win.

[ Bellamy offers up a tired grin at her. It's not that simple. There's still plenty of other skilled riders. ]

I'm not spending the night like this for us to lose.

[adamance]

I was the victor of my conclave. That was a few years ago. I don't intend to lose during something as simple as a race. [To her, making it to the end doesn't count as a victory, but she knows that it may have to be enough. Proving that she can make it to the end shows that she has the strength, and it may also show the other Hosts that she has strength that can be respected.

Like it or not, that's important to her. She still feels like strength is something that people find worth following.]

[deployed]

[ If he were less sick, Bellamy would have given Lexa's statement space. He'd have taken it for the assurance it was, and let the parts of it beyond his understanding alone. But the question rises before he can speak, mind winding too close to her consciousness for it to pass unnoticed: What is the conclave? ]

Just be careful. Win, but don't do anything that would...

[ Bellamy trails off. He doubts he has to complete the thought. Lexa has to understand how poorly Clarke would handle losing her a second time, especially not connected as they are. Bellamy suspects Clarke would handle an injury only marginally better.

And it covers his own tangled emotions, the parts of him that worry for Lexa. It's the same part of him that had latched onto her mind in the wake of the blast on Concordia. He cares for her safety. It's easier to let that go unspoken. ]

[adamance]

There's nothing to be gained by dying, Bellamy. Once I believed that my spirit would live on and choose someone in my stead, but I know the truth of that matter now. [The person she chose, so to speak, is who she had always chosen; love had ended up being what mattered, whether it was spiritual or otherwise. Lexa knows Clarke took the Flame and had managed what came next so that her people could be saved. But it was also meant to be a temporary salve, a way of improving things for the moment so that her people could live on.]

I intend to create a new legacy now. [By ending this war. By ensuring that Clarke and Bellamy are safe ... and Murphy, if he someday accepts that he's under her protection. (She has doubts that he will.) She intends to be victorious. It's the path she has now.]

[deployed]

[ Bellamy doesn't grasp what Lexa is giving up in totality. There's much of her still hidden from him, and the soft, private parts of her he's caught glimpses of don't completely illustrate the inner workings of her mind for him. But he understands enough of Lexa to realize that she's giving something up and remaking an end goal. A new legacy, one created here, as a Host, is very different than angling to return home. ]

We both know that's not always something that can be planned.

[ But he trusts Lexa to handle the race. He trusts her to be capable and competent under pressure. And he trusts her to come back to Clarke. ]

And I won't be able to help you with anything until this sickness passes.

[adamance]

[Three different people with slightly different endpoints in experience. Bellamy, Murphy, and then Clarke all made it clear that she would die if she returned home, making it so that Carata's explanation back on Concordia proved to be true. It's weighed heavily on her mind for months, especially knowing what happened in the wake of her absence. Even if she hadn't died, she was gone—all but dead, forced to abandon her people. Four months is a long time. What she had built had been gone in mere days. Bellamy had made that clear to her.]

I'm not avoiding what might happen, Bellamy. I'm avoiding embracing what could happen. [There's a sense in that, a shift that's not entirely clear. The difference may not be obvious, but it's there just the same.]

You don't always need to feel inclined to do something, [she adds, a lightness taking to her voice.]

[deployed]

[ The difference between the two options isn't immediately clear to Bellamy. He lets the question in his head fade back into the fever-haze he hasn't been able to shake. Preparing for disaster has never been a step Bellamy had room to take. Disaster had always been very close at hand; it had been a breath away from reality. What Lexa posits is as strange to him as the showers at Concordia had been. ]

Does sitting on your hands come easily to you?

[ Being proactive, taking whatever action available to him, it had always been how Bellamy dealt with any given situation. It's how he wanted to handle things here. He lifts a hand to scrub his palm over his face with a sigh as his mind curls towards Lexa's, unconsciously seeking out the comfort of connection. ]

[adamance]

No, but I'm sure you've noticed that I like to delegate tasks to other people. Consider what you've done today completing that task. [The mirth, no matter how light and strained it always is with Lexa, is somehow still there. Lexa knows that she hadn't asked Bellamy to do this, but it is the type of thing she might ask him to do.

Now, he has to get better for having accomplished it.]

I can't have my hands in everything. It's not possible. A part of being a leader is learning to identify who you can trust to act on your behalf.

[deployed]

[ The implication of trust settles in his chest. Bellamy still marvels at it sometimes, but more so now, after hours of feverish dreams reminding him of where the pair of them had come from. ]

Maybe.

[ What she's telling him is true, but it's never the kind of leader Bellamy has been. He was always in the thick of battle, dug into the trenches with his people. If he was delegating, it was always when he was nearby, close enough to be immediately affected by the outcome of his decisions along with those he ordered.

He wasn't the kind of leader Clarke was. Maybe he would have no choice but to become one here, though the idea of it doesn't settle easily in his mind. ]

You have at least two other people to help you hold things here.

[ He doesn't need to clarify that any farther. Of course the first pair of hands was Clarke. Who else could it be? ]

[adamance]

[If it weren't for Clarke, their bond would have never come to be. Lexa knows that some part of her still resents some aspects of Bellamy's character, but she also recognizes that they aren't things that she's opposed to because they're him. Rather, it has to do with how those tendencies make him act, and how she's been trained to do the exact opposite. They are opposites in many ways, and she's had to come to accept that for some time.]

I'm aware. The numbers are growing, so long as I don't assert myself in the wrong way.

[As she's done before. Lexa learned a lesson that day. It's maybe not the lesson others wanted her to learn, but she knows her bold antics in her court don't hold here.]

[deployed]

[ There had been a point where Bellamy had assumed Lexa was incapable of change. Face streaked with paint, elevated beside her throne, Clarke before her, Bellamy had looked at her in the least flattering light. All Clarke's assertions that Lexa would bend to her wishes, and Bellamy hadn't believed any of them.

But since he's arrived here, even outside of their truce, he's realized that Lexa does change. She has changed here. It has been slowly, perhaps, but Bellamy has noticed. Lexa adapts. He doesn't forget who she is or who she can be, but he recognizes the change in her. It's why the first responses that rises from his mind is: You won't. ]

I wouldn't worry about that right now. Making a good case for how your ideas are going to help us survive this are going to be all people need.

[ Or should be, as far as Bellamy is concerned. ]

[adamance]

So long as people act upon them. [That assumes a lot of things. It also assumes that Lexa will get over certain grudges (and she will, if pushed). She knows that some of her ideas are lofty. Asking Pidge to consider how they might be able to power this civilization in their absence is a big ask, but asking Aloy to approach the younger nobles is smaller.]

I will say that I have more headway than ever before. Perhaps we're finally surrounded by more reasonable individuals.

[That is a bit of humor, a hint at who they were with before. She doesn't even mentally refer to anyone, as it's arrogant to act as if she was right all along.

And, well, she's aware of that.]

[deployed]

I think we're just lucky the people who showed up are capable enough to contribute.

[ Murphy's worry rises in Bellamy's mind. Undertaking a mission this dangerous with new hatched teammates to compound their existing weaknesses would have shrunk their chances of success. Bellamy still doesn't know what it looks like when they outright fail, rather than scramble off a planet in the wake of a messy win. ]

You should try to sleep, [ The whispered undertone: go back to clarke thrums beneath the statement. There's something wistful accompanying it, though sensible concern is the dominant emotion in the mix. ] I want one of our people to win tomorrow.

[adamance]

Your efforts won't be in vain, Bellamy. Overcome this quickly. We'll need you.

[If only he hadn't been against learning to deal with the elin to a comedic degree. She wouldn't mind him being out there by her side, and she knows he's strong enough (physically) to manage it.

But this is where he's chosen to devote his strength. She rises up to leave his side after giving him a final nod.]