[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

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ It's not his fault; sometimes you just go to an alien planet and end up taking a couple of birds back and - yeah, all right, there's a chance he might actually be a disney princess.

There's a soft huff of laughter, amusement flaring across the link. Of course that's her plan - honestly, Sam isn't even surprised. ]

( My plan involves getting physical, too, only the kind that's a little more personal. )

[earthborn]

[Sam, come on. Be cool about the unprovoked murder of an inconvenient innocent would you? Be cool. Be-- wait a minute, is he suggesting what she thinks he's suggesting?]

( Now? ) [She's gonna have to have a discussion with him about timing. But that doesn't stop the little curl of aroused incredulity from winding its way across the bond between them. Oh yes, now.] ( Hell yeah. )

[She likes to live dangerous.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ LOOK Sam learned all his spy moves from James Bond all right, this is what he's got.

Well. James Bond and Clint Barton, but there's not really much of a difference except one of them is a suave British guy and one is a disaster with killer biceps.

...and a little bit Natasha, but she mostly taught him how to kill a guy with his thighs. ]

( No better time. ) [ By which he means holy shit he definitely heard the sound of soft voices and footsteps, and they have absolutely no excuse to be here rooting around in people's shit.

Except that it's private and out of the way, and Sam's just gonna pull his hood down a little more to hide everything better, tug his scarf down so his mouth is free, and tug her in to kiss her. ]

[earthborn]

[This is part of her day where Shepard finds herself being thoroughly deeply, meaningfully kissed, made blind in both a literal and metaphorical sense, while standing in someone else's bedroom. And not the man she's kissing.

Sense would dictate a certain decorum about this situation, given the relative danger involved. That even when licking your way into Sam Wilson's mouth, you ought to maintain at least a minimum of situational awareness. The mental link, the bond between them throws any such plan into total disarray. Shepard makes a sound, formless but not without meaning, and clutches him under their mingling robes, to emphasize her appreciation.

Behind her eyes, something else is mingling, psychadelic and strange. This isn't like it is with Annie, or Lavellan, or any other Host. Anyone can separate sex and love, and... and this is anything but separate. Even the too-bright slant of sunlight across the two of them is not enough to distract her.]

[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. ]

[earthborn]

[The sound Shepard makes for that is like the sound a cat makes when it's to large and deep-throated to purr; a definite growl, where affection might prompt some other sound. She gives up on softness, hauling down on him with arms and shoulders while throwing herself into the motion, a mutual fitting-together of bone and curve.

Open-mouthed and wet, unthinking, alightly askew, and it's a voice that pulls her out of it. Not to sobriety, never that at this late hour, but Shepard whirls at the embarrassed exclamation at the tentflap, on fist upraised, wreathed in blue light, ready to--

Woah, girl. Easy.

She's panting, red-faced, veil mussed too far for safety, and absolutely ready to seek violent retribution for the interruptions. It's only the reflexive, startled way the Rabadocean at the entrance had jerked away from the sight of them that had saved their cover. Her fist is still curled around the collar of Sam's cloak, anrchoring, tethering, leashing him to her physically.

The mental connection grips much more tightly, roots and tendrils still stroking idly through the singing bond between them, tracing out the shape of Sam's personality, his mind, his self with all the casual intimacy of a lover tracing the musculature of his bared chest.]

Sam.

[Her voice is hoarse. She would clearly rather dosomething other than talking]

We should go.

[Back to their part of the compound. To a tent. A bed. Somewhere private, or a version of private where this can continue. Fuck these stupid information-gathering bullshit jobs, anyways.]