[mission: hyrypia] then the holy paths we'll travel strew'd with rubies thick as gravel

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :014 - 016
SUMMARY: Two days of horseback hunting training, followed by the second round of competition.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

THE GRAZE
DAY :014 - :015
THE DAY FOLLOWING the festivities finds the majority of competitors and spectators still buzzing with the competition’s failures and successes, but there is little time to gloat or moan about the results. By the time the sun has risen over the graze there's a new announcement: there will be two days of additional training followed by another day of competition. Today and tomorrow will be dedicated to learning skills vital to the hunt.

0. TRAINING
THE TRAINING FIELD has become familiar, but the decor has changed- as have the the teachers. Unlike the previous riding and herding lessons which featured ropes and hooks, today's syllabus includes a series of more dangerous tools. The short spears that line the racks may be dulled but they still look painful, and the speed at which they're hurled from the intricately carved Sarvat - the traditional spear throwers - is intimidating.

At first glance, the slings of woven and stained Gryer leather are less impressive-- but the different ammo that can be loaded in them proves interesting: a bio-luminescent tagging liquid that stains the targets that it hits and leaves distinct trails, hard metal weights, and carefully handled poison globes.

Over the next day the envoys are are trained to use the weapons from Elinback in addition to being schooled in a number of simple traps and snares that leave little confusion as to the nature of the next challenge events...



THE GRAZE &
THE MINIATURE FINGER MAZE
DAY :016

I. THE CHASE
THE HERD of technomanced automaton Gryer sits idle in the knee-high silvery grass of the Graze. They're nothing like the Elin (who exhibit all the traits of live animals); these automatons seem to know only two basic concepts: don't run, and run. Right now they're practicing the former as the competing riders are divided into large, mixed hunting parties. Once the parties have been formed, they take turns taking their runs at the herd. Among the herd of thirty, four Gryer have been painted a brilliant sapphire. To strike one down requires either two metal weights to the head, a spear to the neck piece, or two spears to its midsection.

When the hunting parties take off so do the automaton Gryer. And they're fast, moving as of one mind - a school of mechanical fish through a sea of silver grass. It'll take cleverness, skill and a bit of daring riding to either cut the targets free of the herd or go crashing through among the running Gryer to strike a target down among its brainless brothers and sisters. Once struck enough times or in the right place, the sapphire Gryer will lose power and drive spectacularly into the earth.

The attentive audience (many of them armed with an array of binoculars from their personal belongings) might cheer when appropriate, but due to the distance at which much of the action takes place most of the observation is spent eating, drinking, and enjoying the shockingly pleasant weather.

II. THE 75th HUNGER GAMES PURSUIT
THE BREEZE GROANS through the shadowy pocket of the canyon system, whistling tiredly through the coral structures - along narrow bridges and between tight passages. Familiar to anyone who competed in the individual race on Day :013, this shadowy miniature canyon is crawling with automated creatures to 'kill.' The only problem? Beating everyone else to one of them. With the blare of that now-familiar horn, the hunters mounted on their Elin take off into the canyon and rapidly splinter into disparate groups or simply go off on their own into the tangle. It doesn't take long at all to lose sight of other riders, to begin to feel completely alone in the low light of early evening. Mist rises from the canyon floor and the breeze moans ominously through the pockmarked coral structures.

It'll take more cleverness and accuracy than high speed riding skill to claim a prize here. But best work quickly and quietly to avoid having your target poached out from under your nose…

III. THE AFTERMATH
THE SECOND CHALLENGE ENDS with a long, mournful cry of the now-familiar horn. All of the possible targets have been captured and to the victors go the spoils in the form of the accumulated scores, carefully kept by the judges. The losers are left empty handed-- at least until the spectators and competitors alike have made it back to the tent encampment. Then their hands are filled with the same liquor and a new spread of simple, filling, and delicious dishes expertly prepared by the servants of the manor.

There’s some ceremony to it - the meat they are eating is the same that they would have served if their hunt had been for something more than machines. However, mostly this seems to be a chance to relax sore muscles. That's aided by the addition of several leather-enclosed tents raised earlier in the day. Once the sun sets, these tents are filled with hot, relaxing steam and lined with benches: saunas! ...which might provide some comfort for anyone not stuck wearing a heavy robe. :(

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers the two days of mounted combat/hunting skills training and the competition which follows. 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 for the finale 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]

[ The humming comes to Bellamy's mind before his mother's face fully forms. It's all muted; it comes across his thoughts muffled and obscured. Bellamy's walls hold. The memory of Aurora Blake has become something that Bellamy often manages to keep shielded, as much as he's able.

It occurs to him that he might not have enough memories of song to get Gildor through the entire planet. They'll have to hope for either a swift end to all of this, or less enclosed parties full of sweet-smelling alcohol. Bellamy has faint hopes that at the end of the hunt this mission will be able to be decided one way or another, but even he is aware that would be too good to be true. ]

I can do that for you, [ Bellamy answers him. ] I have a lot of memories of people singing, but some of the music...it was preserved from before the bombs dropped. Clarke might know more songs than I do.

[ There's only the faintest trace of bitterness. The upper class on the Ark had access to a lot of things workers like Bellamy didn't. But he's offering this to help, not to unload his own bitterness onto Gildor. ]

[wille]

[ She lets out a tuneful, considering hum that carries with it every bit of amusement as well as disappointment. ]

You think I'd be talking to you if not for work?

[ How rare for her to have someone else to stand in as the butt of the joke instead of herself. She relishes it, it's clear, resting her chin on her hand as she grants him her full attention for no other reason than to unnerve him further. Her legs are crossed, flexing her foot in a measured rhythm. ]

I'm not saying you can't be useful, it's just . . .

[ryohji]

[ nocturnal, diurnal, crepuscular; if only there was a term for people most active during downtime. he's taken to observing people's comings and goings, a vestige from not too long ago, enough to know where to find bellamy among the jellyspread of hosts cast about the the encampment. past the thick flaps kaji peaks his head through, then his body follows. off goes the hood, this excessively gilded vessel, and then the boots. to bellamy's quip he bats not one eyelash in offense. yes, he deserved that. ]

The way a kid tires out a toy he's long outgrown.

[ cordial, taking it on the nose. bellamy's lingering gaze toward the tent flap would have bothered him more if kaji didn't understand precisely who he'd been expecting to trail after him - like the sun, misato's personality tended to draw smaller things into her orbit by association. each planet categorized firstly by its relative position in her galaxy.

he sits, once the hood is off. back to wall, arranging himself in such a way that bellamy's tablet is visible. more vestiges. ]

I spoke to Murphy. He tells me you all are acquainted, you and Clarke and Lexa.

[deployed]

[ It isn't particularly difficult to suss out that the four of them had all come from the same place. Just as Lexa's reaction to seeing Bellamy upon his first arrival had been broadcast through the Nest, Clarke's appearance had caused ripples that anyone would have been able to pick up on. It may go deeper than that, Bellamy suspects. The flavor of their minds had certain things in common. Shared experience was hard to miss, even if the particulars of their relationships weren't readily apparent. Bellamy lowers the tablet, mind curling slowly outward to Kaji as Bellamy looks at him. ]

We are. I thought we were all obvious about that.

[ Is that such an interesting fact? Misato and Asuka and Kaji had all come from presumably the same place. There were pockets of previously acquainted people throughout the Nest, but Bellamy couldn't quite discern a pattern. ]

And we aren't the only ones who lucked out there.

[ An eyebrow raise. Misato isn't in the room, but Bellamy doesn't need to say much more to allude to her presence. ]

[earthborn]

"Rani," Shepard returns, low and almost amused. She's thinking of another exchange between warriors, though Lakshmi was no Krogan warlord, Shepard would absolutely love to see what they'd make of one another.

Lakshmi is... Well, Shepard didn't know that she was expecting anything particular. Something similar to this, had she been asked, the dark face, hair long and straight. The face of India, if such a thing could be said to exist-- or maybe just, the idea of a beautiful India, without scars or blemishes. Queen, was it? Apt.

She's never going to get over the jewelry, though.

"It's about time we met face-to-face, I guess," Shepard tips her chin up, very slightly, a gesture of challenge. Well, here I am. What of it? She knows her face was never beautiful, even before Cerberus cybernetics split it with fissures and scars, "Still carrying around a bunch of questions?"

[calhar]

[ It's absolutely what he's asking. Knowing that she doesn't have to kill doesn't make the concept any less unsettling, but it does make it easier to keep his cool. When she offers to answer his questions, he feels weirdly called out; his curiosity's snuffed out, stubborn resignation settling in its wake.

Tolerance isn't exactly his strong suit. He's learned it, though — how to sideline bias and focus on someone's usefulness and loyalty in the field, how to see past half his bloody friends turning into witches. ]

You said your strength needs balancing. What sort of strength?

[shri]

"About time." a faint echoed amusement, as she strides a little further in, not the Shepard's side so immediately, but in her own brief check of the perimeter. Done under the guise of settling her veils straight about herself, pulling them all the way back to lay again her hair, settled neatly as she folds it with the ease of long practise.

"And of course, always. Though perhaps I thought, this time..."

Safe, for now, and she steps to face Shepard fully. Yes, the earth, she cannot help but think of it. Raw and unforgiving in how it had been shaped.

But no less inviting in the indulgence of sinking your hands into it, she had been mud and stick soak child, and there was something to that wildness she simple had shaped otherwise.

But the scars that run like rivers on Shepard's face say that she did not. A pull, planet like - did the scholars that Tesla prattled on about, say that sun called to planets called to moons and so too-

Did Lakshmi take a step forward towards Shepard. Slow and careful, toes to flat heel as her hands move down to settle by her side. "You may have questions for me too?" The faint appraisal in her face is mild, a lifetime of dimming herself to expressions. But her gaze and her eyes don't leave her face, a constant watch, without pause or hesitation that sits in selfishness that she will take and take and take.

She will not stop watching her, she will keep doing it as long as Shepard lets her.

[redheadcarrier]

[ She remembers the few times when she and the other pilots had managed to work as aw ell-oiled machine. It had been... nice. It had felt good. They'd been able to accomplish something greater than all of them and for a brief moment in time she'd felt as if she'd belonged.

And then it had all gone out the window. ]

I'm not falling down either.

[ She's determined not to waste her second chance. Even if it hurts, even if she doesn't know what she's doing. She doesn't want to sink back into oblivion or let herself give up, even if it would be easy. And it would be easy to just stop. To just curl up and refuse to leave her sleeping bag or bunk and she doesn't think anyone would try to stop her.

But she'd be giving up on herself. ]

I just-

[ She can't explain any of that. She can't put it into words without feeling like she's being weak or whiny or a scared little girl. ]

Just. Never mind.

[ryohji]

I don't like to think too hard about other people's relationships. [ he doesn't seek to convince bellamy of this lie with confidence or vehemence. akagi ritsuko and ayanami rei remained of his world, if he were inclined to think of them as alive. the problem is, he sees no reason to. ] Fell on hard luck, you mean. Four is an tragic number for the Japanese. Things that come in fours promise hardship and death.

[ heavy. he hadn't mean't to sour their conversation so soon - or at all, for that matter - and by way of apology, kaji makes pause for a gentle, self-deprecating scoff. where bellamy's mind turns outward like a sunflower pointing toward the sky, kaji's pleats over itself to razor-thinness. ]

What? Is she giving you too much trouble, Katsuragi?

[onemind]

[The brilliantly scarlet Meradan's brow rises noticeably toward his dark hairline, the edge of a curling smile punctuating the moment that he turns to draw his partner's attention--]

My dear, we're getting presents.

[Captain Gris Syn pauses mid sentence, glancing very briefly to the Carbauschians and her counterpart then-- swivels her attention directly back to young Meradan.] Now, as you were saying? [She invites, voice lovely and honeyed. The young Meradan hesitates, glancing to the Carbauschians, then continues limping their description along.

Ilya Mor hardly seems bothered by the dismissal. Rather, he looks back to Misato and her companions and shrugs as if to say 'Well, I'm paying attention.']

[earthborn]

If that surprises Shepard, it doesn't show in her face. She seems to consider it, then cocks her head slightly as if making an agreement with herself; well, why not?

"Alright, how about this; Quid Pro Quo. You ask me, then answer it for yourself. Then I get question," Something in that is dangerous, in the way that when her face falls momentarily into shadow, her eyes have red at their heart. She does not merely resemble a volcano in metaphor, "Want me to start?"

[shri]

She settles near by. Sweeping skirts to settle around her as she finds a comfortable way to seat herself, turning to rest her weight on her side, arm catching her weight. The flick and curl of her fingers to gesture agreement.

"Very well. What would you like to know?"

[earthborn]

"I like to start with the basics. Where you from?" She says it in that flippant, rote way that people do when they ask how you are-- you're fine, and they're not expecting any other answer. But Shepard's eyes are sharp on Lakshmi, and her interest is clearly genuine, despite the affect, "I assume you got family."

She knows these answers, in some capacity: the husband, the nation, the struggle. But all journeys begin on the launchpad, and this one is no different.

[aluminumandash]

( What's that? ) [ Nothing idle about the question, arising as it does from wholesale ignorance. Fleetingly Rust pictures a mole, tunneling through a dark and palsied world. Fleetingly he scoffs at himself.

As for the story, it's a story. He suspects he's meant to find it funny, which he doesn't. It sounds like a fucking cartoon. But it gives him an idea of the kind of drunk Gildor is—reckless, mouthy, self-important or self-sacrificing—and in that roundabout way answers his question.

He's the kind of drunk who'd wreck his car, not beat a man to death.

Rust lets silence pool between them, then, with a sort of slow-acting interest: ] ( You tell that one a lot? )

[aluminumandash]

[ Rust hesitates. It's a tight interval, between what's noticeable and what's rude, and he tests his luck a little. ]

Isn't she generous? [ He says of Misato, his tone not entirely complimentary. Corrupt means acting as though he owns a piece of everyone, or could arrange to. ] With her words as much as her scarves.

[ Glancing again at Captain Syn, he dips his head to Lakshmi's ear. Whispers: ] I'll let you demand a private audience.

[ To Ilya Mor: ] No, this—this would be more in the nature of an exchange.

[shri]

[ she stays back and she had participated in the races, true enough. Let that speak enough for her merit in being here.

The rest she plays to a role long since dormant but comes back easily. She hovers back, secretive as they are meant to be, she shows her distrust and refined restraint. Her hands paused, half a step behind Rust. Off against his and Misato's boldness. She does her best to be as mildly withdrawn as he gestures forward she finds his hand. An acknowledgement of his words not done vocally.

Plays up to it: her blue and gold embroided fingers that move like theyre not sure they want to touch. To even be seen outside of her long robes. ] Ishq, [ my love, comes the understanding through the symbiote. Affection in tone about why she's here obvious, even if it's in demure disapproval. ] we are... outside of ourselves here.

Do not dishonour me by speaking so openly with... others. [ a wife nagging a husband in tone, and a person of position used to being listened too in all her demands for all she phrases it like a request. ]

[shri]

"Had, yes, I did." She threads the material of her veil between two of her fingers, as she thinks, speaks, smoothing the motions out to measured pace and measured words. "I grew up in Varanasai, in what you would call India, I suspect."

The veils glitter, swinging with the gold. "My father was a poor man, and my mother died when I was young. I married when I was 13, to the Maharaja of Jhansi. Jhansi is a kingdom, far into the deserts of Bundelkhand. From then, that is where I resided."

It is without emotion, as it ever happens. The story of another woman. Or else, what is her option? Weep over it? "I bore him a son. The one. He..." a pause, and that, she cannot pretend over - that, she blinks, looks at - something. A place not here, not Shepard, not herself. The flicker, of a little boys laugh. "We adopted another, a year later. I had to leave him, after the war." The material unwinds and she lets it sit loose in front of her. "I do not know if my father's second and my half brother survived, by I am a daughter and sister as well to them, respectively."

She might be miserable, if it were someone else that - did not know war. That was not familiar with the notion of these stories end. But they simply are.

[wille]

[ Impatience is an easy mask for her to don. Hooded faces only conceal so much, where her posture and the way she crosses her arms and huffs in disapproval betray her fretfulness. Again, to Ilya Mor, lest her attention drift, with a pointed gaze fixed at Rust: ]

It's a boon, if it all goes smoothly.

[ She can be the greedy one. The overeager one. The one who overpromises, and the one too bold for her own good. The others can take their roles as suited. And so, she takes one step forward, coupled with a nod toward the young Meradan. ]

I must admit -- it would be hurtful to our standing if you were to reject this exchange we offer, so I hope you understand why we must request privacy, at least in the interim.

[onemind]

[He deflates visibly.]

Ah, politics.

[What a tragedy. Gathering his heavy fur lined cloak around him, Ilya Mor leans forward in his seat and touches his partner's hand where it's draped thoughtlessly across his thigh.] My wind, it seems I've made a terrible mistake and now have obligations. Forgive my absence?

[Gris Syn tips her head toward him, still clearly listening to the conversation she's in the middle of. Her bead black eyes give the Carbauschians a swift evaluation, then diverts back.] I'll see you tonight.

Lovely. [He sweeps her hand from his thigh, kisses it, and tucks it cheerfully under the edge of the thick blanket draped across her lap. Then Ilya Mor sweeps upward, his heavy cloak swirling about his legs and the beetle shell embroidery of his coat glinting in the brazier light. Two other Meradan - bodyguards of some kind, or young officers minor enough to find themselves in possession of the duties of one - separate from their company when they spot him rising.]

Come along. It's colder than I like here anyway.

[It's a quick jaunt over toward the Meradan tents of the camp. The tent Ilya Mor and company leads the hosts to is large, and sectioned into two chambers inside: something that's clearly a casual antechamber, the rest some mysterious private chamber that takes up half the tent and is hidden behind a heavy curtain. It's warm here, humid even thanks to boiling water, and the Meradans all shed their heavy cloaks with great cheer. Chairs are provided. Drinks are poured. Ilya Mor doesn't sit, but only because he seems tired of being so idle.]

Now, what's this offer?

[deployed]

[ Bellamy almost asks: what about things that come in hundreds? Hardship and death seemed to be all that had waited for them on earth. Seeing it all rooted in a number just seemed too easy a cause. ]

No, [ Bellamy admits. It's not a hard truth to divulge. ] She hasn't given me trouble.

[ Which isn't to say Misato hasn't butted heads with other people in the Nest. ]

Should I be expecting her to?

[earthborn]

"I'm from Earth."

For a moment, that seems to be all she'll say on the matter of location. Shepard regards the ceiling of the tent with a thoughtful squint, however, and after a few second's thought...

"...Might be...American? I never really cared about the place-names, back then. Grew up on the streets, no family, no parents, got in line at the recruitment office as soon as I could," She shrugged, vast and uncaring. If you can gloss over that much detail, so can she, "I had a good mentor, he got me into an officer's program; I studied in London, did the N-school training, got a command position-- that's a whole other story."

A long one. She shrugs again; sorry, Lakshmi.

"Your turn."

[deployed]

[ Bellamy hesitates, looking at her. He squeezes her shoulder tightly, casting for a way to prompt her. They feel close to something. Progress, maybe. ]

Never mind what?

[ Try skips through his mind, pressing where Bellamy stops short. ]

You can tell me.

[ By which Bellamy really means he won't think less of her for whatever she's holding back. ]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ It's something he hadn't counted on. This plan was haphazard enough as it is, a pair of soldiers playing at being spies, and there probably wasn't ever a chance that they weren't gonna get caught at it, but he hadn't counted on the way their mental link blooms with color.

His mind knows hers, just as hers knows his, and he should have remembered that physical contact makes the connection stronger - but somehow he'd slipped that little detail. Or maybe he just hadn't cared, hadn't put any thought to it. Honestly, he's not putting all that much thought to it now.

How can he, when Shepard's making appreciative noises under his touch, and his mind hums with his own appreciation. His hand presses against the small of her back, holding her close, and he is - no, he's definitely not paying attention to the sounds he'd heard that made him think someone was coming. Instead his teethe graze her lower lip as he nips at it. ]

[shri]

"An American?" She sounds - keen, excited almost. The flicker in her mind with the word is - gun totting, hat wearing, horse riding wild men. Battling to keep their cows. The stories out of the far west. Invasion, certainly, but something else to the romance of survive, she supposed. Still, she's sure to clear her throat, press along more seriously after a moment.

"Very well - your preferred weapon?"

[earthborn]

Shepard laughs. Cowboy movies? Really? Her own mind supplies the counterpoint, vivid with the sense-memory of childhood, greasy streets puddled with filthy water, a drizzle born of steam and the close fog that clung to the world when the atmosphere was forced to dwell in the close confines of cramped buildings and too many people. The ominous shapes of patrolling men, both legitimate and less legitimate authorities, and the bitter, bitter winter cold. Shepard knew, dying of hypothermia wasn't the worst way to go, but watching someone do it sure left an impression.

"Shotgun," she replies, cutting across the dim-lit grey of her own recollection, and nods her chin towards a strange-looking pod, as if to indicate this as the weapon in question, "Nos Astra makes this beautiful Asari shotgun, the Disciple. It's based on a Justicar model, and having had oppourtunity to compare the two, I've gotta say it's pretty damn close. Light-weight, lots of capacity, good accuracy. Definitely the favorite."

Ah, shop-talk.