station72 | [mission: hyrypia] then the holy paths we'll travel strew'd with rubies thick as gravel

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

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 )

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[ The cup is taken with little resistance, though for half a second there is an urge to clamp down on it. To yank it back with liquid sloshing and hold it closer to his face just to inhale of scent a little longer, he promises not to drink-

Luckily Bellamy is swift enough to remove it before his hand has time to react, and sudden relief takes the place of that urge. ]

(Thank you.)

[ That relief is tempered by the fact he can still smell it permeating the food tent. There are a hundred other smells, but the grassy alcohol fills his memory so strongly there is room for little else. It's a moment before he answers the second question, distracted by it. ]

(No, no poison.)

[ Not in the literal sense. ]

[ The distraction feels like a haze to Bellamy. His perception of Gildor's mind had been tangled up with the low vibration of a cello, and the sharp focus on the sickly sweet alcohol is a diversion Bellamy hadn't expected. He lets the glass drop and spill, stepping back to avoid it splattering across his robes. It seems the best thing to do, even if Bellamy doesn't understand the root of Gildor's reaction. ]

( Adra doesn't like it either. )

[ But Adra's aversion to alcohol had felt different. It had been exasperation, rather than the shaky tangle radiating from Gildor now. ]

( What's wrong? )

[ He hears the liquid pouring out somewhere behind him, and for another second he's angry. Just for a beat, like an hard hit to a drum. It's a side of himself he's even more unhappy to recognize. ]

(Nothing's wrong. No, no, it's better this way, it's better on the ground than in your head-)

[ He's mostly talking to himself, putting up a strong mindful effort to keep calm and grounded. The smell is still permeating through his thoughts, and it carries a powerful temptation with it.

Gildor fumbles to find his staff again, knocking it over before he can stand. Foreign curses run through his mind, barely crossing his lips. Instead he inhales sharply and speaks aloud, not trusting his brain to form another sentence through the symbiote. ]

I need to leave here.

[ Bellamy had slipped through life largely untouched by the kind of problems Gildor was facing. He had been isolated enough on the Ark that he'd never seen people with too much of a taste for alcohol, or who would thieve whatever Nigel wanted for a different kind of high. Gildor's reaction isn't something he can place immediately, but it goes far beyond a simple distaste or aversion to the scent of alien liquor. Bellamy sets a hand on his back, trying to steady him. ]

Alright.

[ He can see Murphy, and Lexa at a glance. A prickle of discomfort rises at the idea of leaving them, but Bellamy doesn't waver. ]

I'll go with you.

[ But he bends to retrieve Gildor's cane first. None of them should go anywhere on their own. Regardless of the fragile truce that seems to be holding three factions at peace, Bellamy knows how easy it would be to break that anyway and he knows that the Enemy is at hand. Their people are safer in a cluster here than Gildor would be making his way back to their tents by himself. ]

I'm fine, I can-

[ His anger has subsided mildly, but Gildor still isn't completely in his right mind. He stops himself from saying he's fine anymore, but switches to showing Bellamy - in a sense.

A completely alien sense.

Bellamy places a hand on his back, and suddenly Gildor is very aware of his presence. Every movement, every inch of him is felt through an inhuman ability he has kept shielded in the darkness of his mind. A hypersensitivity to the subtlest of vibrations paints an imageless moving picture of not only Bellamy, but the entire dining tent. Despite being unable to see them, Gildor is aware of Lexa and Murphy, the table they sit at, the servant that walks past them, the chairs, even the rug laid over the ground. Everything within at least thirty feet is plain as day to him, and there's even the sense that it's all somewhat dulled through the layers of disguise.

All this combined with the smell of alcohol is a sensory overload, but he'll feel bad about accidentally sharing the load with Bellamy later. Right now he is 'looking' for the exits. ]

Thank you. If you would please... lead the way.

[ He's already located one flap in the tent, and though he wants to, he resists dashing straight for it. He still has a cover to maintain. ]

[ This is not the first moment sensation has bled from one host into Bellamy, but it is the first time it's hit like a hammer to the temple. The tent is abruptly as unbearable for him as it must be for Gildor. ]

Here.

[ Bellamy's hand moves from the small of Gildor's back to his elbow, better for steering him out of the tent. His mind is aching. It feels like a headache, except Bellamy knows it's nothing so simple. Everything from the conversation to the peals of laughter from the occupants of the tent are grating, and he rips the tent flap open to catapult them both into the night air. ]

Is this going to pass?

[ At no point does it occur to Bellamy to try to block Gildor out. It might make his life easier, but Bellamy very rarely does things on purpose to make his own life easier. ]

[ He allows himself to be steered, at least until they both stumble outside. The cool night air is sobering, even when breathed through the veils covering his nose and mouth. It's less stuffy and clear from the smell of that accursed drink. He frees himself from Bellamy's grip and staggers forward a bit further, stopping to breathe in a few deep breaths and lean heavily on his staff. ]

What? Oh-

[ The imageless moving picture of the ground, of Bellamy nearby, of the tent and the activity still inside - he wraps it all back up in the darkness of his mind, effectively hiding it away from the other host's senses. It's not a wall, he doesn't like walls - at least, none like the other hosts have.

As his mind settles back to all encompassing darkness, Gildor pulls himself up on his staff to stand straighter. He breathes out a long sigh and turns his head over his shoulder towards Bellamy. ]

The craving... yes, that will pass. I'm so sorry to have troubled you... thank you again.

[ The urge to reach for him again presents itself. As Gildor staggers, Bellamy's immediate thought is to worry about him falling. But he doesn't. Bellamy has the sense that he should keep him talking, distract him and allow him to put some distance between himself and the revelry sealed away behind the walls of the tent. ]

You aren't troubling me.

[ And it was impossible not to be troubled by other members of the Nest. Bellamy's walls are far from impermeable. He is bothered, whether he wants to be or not. ]

Is it always like that, when someone hands you a drink?

[ At least half the purpose of this pilgrimage seemed to be about eating and drinking together. It might pose a problem, if Gildor was tormented by it each time. ]

[ He knows when he's being a bother, and right now he's entirely certain he's being a bother. No need to try hiding it when they are so connected, but he will take what Bellamy says over what Bellamy feels for old time's sake. For keeping up appearances and fretting the old way, before they were all hooked at the brainstem.

Gildor twists the staff in his hands anxiously, pushing the end of it into the dusty earth, grounding himself. ]

Not always. Though I'll admit it's worse now, being...

[ A dark tendril of thought reaches out and connects with Bellamy again, though it delivers only two words- ]

(Like this.)

[ The other hosts don't hold themselves back with alcohol the way he has to. They don't need to, and he doesn't wish them to stop themselves for his sake, but it does make resisting so much harder for him. ]

( Everything is worse like this. )

[ It's become second nature pass an answer between minds, rather than draw breath to voice it. Bellamy's observed the instinct, but no matter how many time he resolves to break out of it, it's remained ingrained. ]

There will probably be more feasts before this mission is over.

[ And it will probably be alcohol at them. Oddly, worrying about Gildor having to bear up under those festivities is refreshing. It's a break from worrying about this mission on a much larger scale. Bellamy is still concerned about their chances of surviving it at all. ]

If you have to be present, is there something I can do to make it easier for you?

Being physically removed from it is best, but if I have to be present...

[ Bellamy is right - the likelihood of there being more parties with alcohol and drinking hosts all around is quite high, and if there's some sort of grande finale to all this, he'll have to endure it.

And while Bellamy finds the distraction from the bigger mission refreshing, Gildor finds it exactly as that - just a distraction from the bigger mission. He takes a few moments to think, staff still twisting between anxious hands. He isn't proud about asking for help in this, but aware enough that not taking it when it is offered could lead to a bigger misstep that puts them all in danger. ]

I hate to trouble you, but there might be a fairly simple distraction you could help me with. [ He pauses to clear his throat, a little embarrassed ] If there is any music you can remember... it would be nice if you thought of it then. If or when this happens again. My mind tends to latch onto music it hasn't heard before, and it would be a comforting distraction.

[ 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. ]

Thank you, Bellamy. Singing is just fine really, just... anything musical, even an old remembered hummed song.

[ He's not sure why he just referred to something so specific as a hummed song. For a second he thought he heard one somewhere between the black spaces of his connection and Bellamy's, but no, it must've been an imagined thing. ]

Otherwise distance will do it. Which, I think I'll create now by retiring to our quarters early tonight. Would you care to join me, and perhaps... elaborate, if that was something you'd like to talk about?

[ He's not going to hide the sad curiosity at the mention of bombs, and the bitter tinge to Bellamy's surface thoughts, but now may not be the time. He'll let Bellamy decide. ]

[ It's a kind invitation. Bellamy hesitates over it for a moment, but ultimately his thoughts shift back to the festivities; he's left Murphy and Lexa and Clarke alone in them. While no overt signs of sabotage have surfaced, Bellamy doesn't like the idea of leaving them completely to socialize and drink with other factions. ]

Not tonight, [ Bellamy tells him. ] But thank you.

[ Since it feels like the kind of invitation that should be declined with gratitude, politely. ]

I don't want to abandon my post.

[ But he does want to talk. Even the edge of curiosity doesn't quell that desire. ]

Next time, alright?

[ Gildor inclines his head in acknowledgement. The least he can do to thank Bellamy for his help tonight is offer a listening ear, for it seems like something that troubles him. He'll do so at a time of Bellamy's choosing. ]

I understand. Next time, then.

Thank you again, Bellamy. Goodnight.

[ He clumsily pats Bellamy's arm before turning and slowly making his way back in the direction of the tents. ]

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

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