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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[ Up until the last few minutes leading up to the race, Misato can be found training with the kind of focus that should be reserved for a battle to the death, and not a fabricated hunt for toy buffalos using glorified paint balls.

This time she is trying her hand at using the ornate Sarvat, fitting it with one of the dulled training spears and aiming it at a rock formation some distance away. She knows how to wield it, that much is clear, and the spear flies straight toward her target, but estimating the bounciness of alien steel against Hyrypian stones is another matter altogether. As soon as the blade makes contact with the rock, it bounces off into the air like a runaway albatross before gravity pulls it back down, down toward the only host that wouldn't be able to see it coming.

She takes off toward him in the impossible hope of pushing him out of danger, knowing full well that she won't make it, but her dread precedes her, surging across the field like a deafening car alarm. ]

Look out!

[ Gildor isn't one for seeking out thrills on his own. While the continued emphasis on riding practice makes him more apprehensive each day, he's fine with sitting out the competitions. He would rather spend time eavesdropping on the other envoys as they observe those still training from a safe distance. It's a sparse crowd, as most have already found their seats up in the viewing areas. In fact, he was just about to head that way himself when he hears the clatter of metal against rock.

It all happens to quickly. Suddenly the others around are scattering away from where he is, frantic footsteps scurrying against the ground amid gasps. An alarm goes off in his head - no - someone else's. And then voice he can almost hear in his mind shouts his two least favorite words in succession- ]

What?

[ By then he knows he's being told to run, but the alarm does the opposite of it's intention. Gildor freezes. There is nothing he can feel coming at him from the ground but a single host running half a field away, so whatever it is must be in the air where he can't- ]

SHNK!! [ The spear lands inches from where he's standing, piercing a layer of his draping robes and embedding him in the ground with it. Belated, he yelps and tries to run, but he's stuck - and extremely lucky his robes are so secure, because he's yanked down in the small cloud of dust the spear kicked up. ]

[ Preceding his yelp is her own eek! at the secondhand horror of seeing that spear seemingly fly straight toward his head only to miss, by some miracle that she is sure to pay for one of these days, and merely skewer him onto the ground like a trapped rabbit. She would laugh at him if the guilt of nearly murdering her own comrade isn't blocking her throat from sheer worry.

She busts through his scrambling and his robes and the dust flying which way to try and grab him by the arm to steady him. ]

Shit! Are you okay? Did it stab you anywhere?

[ It takes a moment before he can form words, as he shakily rolls over to his side and begins to push himself up. His staff is missing, dropped somewhere, and though he cannot see it he knows it's close - he can feel it through the ground, though vaguely. His every sense is still on high alert. Some of it bleeds over to the unfamiliar host approaching him, her footsteps still resonating against the ground as she closes the gap between them. Likewise, several Hyrypians are running towards him to check what happened for themselves- the last thing they need. ]

I... no! No, I'm fine, I'm-!!

[ In dire need of a chance to catch his breath, bruised from the sudden fall, but miraculously in tact. He tries again to get up, but the spear through the end of his robes is keeping him pinned. ]

I'm just... I'm stuck.

[ Under these robes, anyone could be a purple-skinned lizard alien or the Emperor of Japan or a blind man, the last of which she figures out only when she spots the telling staff. Her discomfiture is palpable only in the brief moment she pauses and the sense of it bleeding through, before she moves to grab him by the shoulder, firmly, like manhandling a mannequin, to steady him while she reaches over to pull the spear free. ]

Are you blind? [ What is rudeness? ] Did I just almost skewer a blind guy? Damnit.

[ The blunt question is significantly less rude than the sudden manhandling. If she wanted to help him calm down she could just unstick him and hand over his staff, but not everyone knows how to apply common decency around someone who can't see. ]

What? I- yes, I am. Please, just-

[ He pushes her hand away with his arm and shakily gets to his feet. That vibrating sense of awareness continues to leak from his symbiote, painting the area immediately around him in an imageless picture. There isn't much besides the other host, her spear, the dirt, rocks, and the slender shape of his staff on the ground. He doesn't move to pick it up himself - he has a cover to maintain. And to make matters worse for Misato, his cover is that of a Carabauchian priest.

The other Hyrypians close in on them and one bends to pick up his staff for him, pressing it into his hands. ]

Thank you. And thank the Creator, that was-

[ Close. He doesn't need to pretend to thank an alien god he's in tact. He's starting to recover, tingling nerves settling, but still doesn't have many words. Thankfully, or perhaps not, the small group of other envoys do. ]

I saw the whole thing!

You're very lucky-

It bounced off the rocks and went straight for you!

Are you alright?

And you're lucky it didn't hit him! What would you have done if you killed your priest?

Sadegh, don't be rude-

[ For all her talk of making her own luck and beating probability, all that seems to backfire on her the moment the witnesses begin to assemble. Visible or not, the heat in her cheeks begin to rise the more the people comment and criticize and judge, and it becomes more difficult to bite back her tongue, until she lets go of Gildor entirely to stand, feet apart, one hand on her hip and the other pointing the spear like a spectre. ]

It would never have hit him, he's a Carbauschian priest!

[ Her insistence is her own defense, letting them fill in the gaps of what the holy men of her supposed people may or may not be capable of. She has reached places she doesn't belong by striding in with sheer confidence alone, and this is no different. Her outburst settles into a steely decree. ]

Take your ignorance elsewhere.

[ Whether or not the other envoys leave is of little concern afterward when she turns her full attention back to Gildor. ]

( Well damn, they've bought your cover wholesale. )

[ An unsettling silence falls on the small group, though none are so unsettled as Gildor. His heart was just beginning to ease its pounding, and now he's somehow been branded as indestructible by a nest-mate who can't seem to handle criticism.

He has to think and act quickly to dispel that notion - and remember the role he now plays. ]

Oh my dear, even I would never assume to have the Devine eye so closely on me as to consider myself impervious to disaster. However, I do believe the Creator is always looking out for us, and it was by their hand I was spared by yours.

[ It seems like more scolding. He approaches, parting the crowd with a slow swipe with his staff, and stops and in before the accusing and sharp point of her spear. ]

And now that I know it, that ferocious hand is why I'll be betting on you to win in the competition today.

[ He extends a gloved hand towards her, trying his best to keep the shakes from overtaking him again as he reaches both physically and mentally. ]

(I try to blend the truth in every lie we are forced to tell them.) [ And the truth is plain in his thoughts - that he meant what he said about betting on her to win because of what happened. ]

(Please, come away from here with me.)

[ More verbally gifted minds might easily catch on to the many facets contained in Gildor's words, but as it is the convoluted scolding just leaves her confused, settling on the more immediate fact of earning yet another investor in her victory. She is flattered, of course, this is the quickest and surest way to her heart, even as she accepts the compliment readily, as if it is her god-given right all along. ]

And I'll make you proud. [ Too uncomfortable to mimic his talk of devinity. ] Now if you'll excuse us.

[ Complete with a glare around the crowd that absolutely nobody can see, she lets Gildor lead the way. ]

( Why? To ease the guilt a little bit? )

(A little bit.)

[ He opts for honesty, as it's usually the best policy. There's a little lingering guilt from her panicked charge towards him, so if putting faith in her helps take the edge off it, then that's a good thing. If it wins him some kind of service or favor from one of the other envoys, even better. ]

(Though honestly after what you did, that throwing arm of yours is an easy thing to believe in. Perhaps not the best aim, but I'll bet on ferociousness over aim. The hole in my robes is enough to convince me it's more than a decent reason to bet on you, so really, don't let me down.)

[ He takes her hand and twists their arms together until she is the one leading him, or at least it should look that way. He's quite capable of finding his own way back, as that sense of constant vibrating from the ground intensifies with each footstep and reveals the rocks and shrubs in their path. ]

(What is your name, so that I can put it down today?)

( Flatterer! Does that work on everyone? )

[ She bets it does, when it works like a charm on her. Hoods and blindness notwithstanding, her delight is palpable. Out of all things, she prefers to be praised for her strength and bravery, because compliments on beauty is cheap. ]

( It's Katsuragi. )

[ It is the name she has used for all her dealings with the Rabadoceans. Distant enough to keep her aware of the pretense, familiar enough that she won't forget. It is the name that echoes in her head like a feral memory. It is the name that hangs around her neck. A yoke. When he links their arms together, she holds him most firmly, as if he has now become the treasure she would most hate to see slip through her fingers. ]

( But you should call me Misato. Everyone does. And who are you, priest? )

(Not always.)

[ There are a few here he doubt it would work on. Rust, Rust, and... alright maybe just one. ]

(Gildor Helyanwe. And I'm not a priest, but I did spend the last half-decade living with a group of them in a temple. You could say I'm overly prepared to play the part.

I'm actually a bard. Sort of a warlock-musician.)

[ He taps knocks a rock away from their path before she can step on it, as they make their way back to towards the Elin's paddock. If Misato is competing, she'll need to select her mount and ride off soon. ]

( When you hang around a kind of people for a bit, you start turning into them. )

[ In agreement to his choice of cover and in defiance of his kindly warning regarding the rock, which she punts out of the way with a fierce kick to the side. Another boulder rests up ahead, this one too embedded in the ground for a similar stunt, so she hops onto it and steers Gildor to walk around and beside it, before she hops back down. ]

( What do you mean a "warlock" like you do magic tricks and stuff? )

[ He wouldn't be at fault for thinking her rudeness is fully intentional, and maybe it is. Irreverence is the easiest way to pull down facades of decency and, well, incompetence is a proven cloak to hide under. Speaking of turning into people one keeps as company, she has learned from the best yet. ]

[ Gildor smiles faintly under the veil, appreciating the walk-around. He holds onto her hand and allows himself to be guided, giving his other senses a small break. ]

(Some could be called tricks, but no. If you'll allow me to wax poetic for a moment- )

[ He clears his throat, spreads his arms wide with Misato's hand still in his, and recites in his best imitation of an old cleric's voice- ]

We (bards) believe that the universe was spoken into existence by the Divine Creator (or creators - my world has several). Those primordial words of creation still resound throughout the cosmos, and we attempt to harness those echoes in the form of music.

[ A small practice for what could be a sermon. Bellamy has been reading some of the Carbauchian holy texts to him. If he could just put his own lore aside, he might be ready for pose for the real thing in front of a gathering of Rabadoceans. ]

(That's the long of it, anyway. The short of it is, I can mend clothes and heal broken bones and manipulate emotions with music. That and a lot more.)

[ Misato is finding she enjoys this, leading someone without the subsequent paperwork and maneuvering and the stress of knowing that a single wrong step could mean the end. The end. This is nice, nice enough to have her let out a small chuckle and swings their arms once, just once, as children are wont to do. And far enough from the crowd, she opts to speak out loud. The mind is a claustrophobic place. ]

Sounds like the string theory to me. Like you can make the string-- strings? Vibrate in a way that fixes things.

[ It's a talent she has of simplifying complex matters to the point of oversimplification, and it's a crucial one too, when one surrounds oneself with metaphysical scientists and philosophical cryptographers and obscure religious cults, one must have a defense mechanism ready to guard against analysis paralysis. ]

Don't you wonder? If it works here too then whatever you call your "Divine Creator" must've made this universe too, otherwise the same rules won't apply, right?

Edited 2017-09-19 02:00 (UTC)

[ Misato swings his arm and hand in hers, and suddenly his heart races again - just for a second. She's still unpredictable, and he's torn between being put-off and amused. After a few more uninterrupted steps he decides it's fine for now, the gesture innocent enough. More innocent than if she were armed with another spear. If she treats him like a rag doll much more though - he'll have words.

She continues the conversation out loud, and he takes that to mean they're well out of earshot of anyone who would care to listen. Using his ears again is welcomed- ]

String theory? Well, I play a lot of stringed instruments if that's got anything to do with it. Strings and keys.

[ -even if he has no idea what she's talking about. ]

Hmm, well, so far the few spells I've cast have worked here and back on the station. Either the Artist made this universe, or I'm still connected to them through some power... perhaps by the vast power of music itself. [ He doesn't sound certain - it's just a nice thought. ]

[ Now, the question is, does string theory in fact have anything to do with actual stringed instruments? If only Gildor could sense the consternation she wears on her face, painfully apparent for the world to see. Admittedly, she wasn't paying enough attention to Physics 101 or any of its subsequent lessons to know what the theory constitutes, and whether he's making a pithy comment about theoretical physics and its application in music, or if they are misunderstanding each other completely.

She settles for a lengthy, thoughtful hum instead. She has no idea what he, or even herself, is talking about. ]

I mean -- it sounds nice I guess. Do you have to make music to make the magic happen?

[ He only knows what he's been trained to do, so unless this string theory involves actual stringed instruments and the channeling of musical energy from sound to spell, Gildor is just as lost as Misato. But he doesn't know she's lost, and answers her question seriously to the best of his knowledge- ]

Not always. Every spell is different, but music is the best focus when making magic.

[ They're nearing the encampment again - he's starting to hear others and feel other Rabadoceans walking through his range of awareness. Soon she'll be off to join the hunt, and he'll have learned nothing more than her name, her distaste for criticism, and her deadly throwing arm. So he curiously turns the questioning on her while he can- ]

Is knowing string theory your specialty in this collective, Miss Katsuragi?

[ Whatever Divine Creators are out there - help them if it is. ]

[ Such interest in knowing others contrasted by her own self-centered view of the world, in which the knowledge she seeks from others relate directly to her objective at hand, and similarly so for any information she gives out about herself. She curates her stories to her purpose. It would be a major gaffe to mistake her clumsy bearing for an equally clumsy mind.

As they near the encampment, her steps slow, becoming shorter and her gait more relaxed. There is some comfort to be found in crowds. His question has her chuckling, imagining Ritsuko's displeasure. Ritsuko, who is more alive in her head than elsewhere. ]

No, my business is warfare. Battle tactics. Operations . . . Bureaucracy. Nothing as fun as music!

[ If it was ever in doubt: ] And honestly, I don't really know how the whole string theory works. It just sounds like a load of bull to me, but I guess it works?

[ He slows his pace to match hers, lifting the end of his cane so that she guides him completely instead. Or she appears to - he's fairly sure of their direction, and wary of listening Rabadoceans again. Best be careful and play to his cover as they pass through camp, heading towards the place the events will be viewed, and where they will part. ]

You'd be surprised. Unfortunately bureaucracy has worked it's way even into music, or at least in the places that've gone and turned it into an industry. Still a friendlier business than warfare, naturally...

[ And one that near ceases to exist in the heat of war. Suddenly nothing becomes more important, and even young musicians with signs of magical talent are sent to defend those at the borders of the Wylds, or to the highest paying king's guard. If he hadn't run from the Bard's Guild to wander and fight on his own he likely would have served at some point. And if he weren't a bard, he'd have no way of serving the Nest besides moral uplifting support. Music is fun, but the magic that comes with his music is meant to be useful. Useful and sometimes weaponized.

There's no need for that here and now though, just as there's no immediately identifiable battle. Still, he's quick to find value in her once again- ]

That explains the ruthlessness. Your professional expertise must be quite valuable here.

[ Because what is this mission if not a silent battle in larger war? ]

[ Misato drinks in the compliments eagerly, but knows not to make a show of it or even call attention to it. His words are etched for permanence and stowed away, should she ever need fodder for her morale, should she ever waver in her convictions. What may seem to come so naturally from the outside is in fact a well-honed and diligently applied craft. Her confidence is earned. ]

Prince doesn't like it when I call this a war.

[ She assumes Gildor knows who she means. The guardians are always there to greet the new ones. It's clear from the reverent way she speaks that the reprimand was received and taken to heart, even if not without questioning. That she grapples with it means she respects it enough to consider it, where lesser counsel would be summarily dismissed. ]

He said this is about stealth and ingenuity. Actually, you might be able to teach me a thing or two about that instead.

Maybe, but any stealth or ingenuity I have is owed to my skills in music and the magic therein. Without that, I'm a bit of a blunder.

[ He's quick not to diminish his own value, but put it in it's proper perspective. Yes he can be sneaky - with the aid of magic, and magic depends on too many variables. If Misato wanted to learn real stealth she would need to talk to a rogue, not a bard.

Though circling back to Prince - oh yes, he remembers. His one encounter with the guardian was brief, but left an impression. None as turbulent as hers - Gildor is still on middling ground with with the older hosts with a heaping dose of suspicion. ]

His non-highness has an interesting choice in words. I agree it's not war in the traditional sense, but then what else is it? [ A synonym for war at best - cold war. ]

As kind and informative as Prince was when I met him, there are gaps. Things we are not being told.

[ He shrugs, and slowly comes to a stop near the edge of the viewing area for the day's events. ]

At least I think so.

[ It's uncanny, the speed by which Misato submits her allegiance and near unquestioning trust to those she deems worthy based on nothing but intuition and first impressions. Prince is one such, and Cathaway a close second. It is an easier way to life, this loyalty to the ones in power. It would be too difficult to work for those she despises, and she lacks the faculty to juggle many masters.

Even so, her answer is far from terse, carrying with it the generosity of allowing others their own beliefs. ]

He might have his reasons for not calling it a war.

[ Her task at NERV was never about fighting a war no matter how it seemed to resemble one. When one's opponent is one's own self, one's own brothers, the lines are less clear. ]

I keep thinking this enemy of ours is probably more similar to us than we'd like them to be.

I'm sure he has reasons, and perhaps being similar is one of them. Though I would still like to know more... for just as we are adversaries, that does mean we are on the right side of... whatever this is.

[ His mind hums as he tries to come up with a more proper word for it. ] Conflict. Battle. Strife.

[ A defeated sigh. They simply don't know enough about the ones they are fighting and why. ]

Lovely chat, Miss Katsuragi. One we should continue it after you win this next competition.

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

WILDCARD!

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