[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. :(

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((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.))

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( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[calhar]

[ He can feel the withdrawal, incomplete as it is. There's a flush of guilt and shame in response. Mat doesn't act on it, though he's starting to realize how little that means when people can see inside his head. He's too used to brushing things off to change the habit now.

But two weeks is nothing, and that at least earns some straightforward and indignant sympathy. He nearly starts in with twenty questions — she'll likely feel it, the grim curiosity — then haltingly settles on one. ] How much blood?

[otrazhenie]

[ She notices his emotional reaction, but it falls flat of doing much to soothe the damage done. Not that she has any inclination that was the purpose of it, of course. It's easier all in all to focus on that question, to hold onto the curiosity she feels from him, and provide him with the answers he's looking for. ]

I don't have to kill people, if that's what you're asking. [ Maybe it is, but maybe it isn't. The latter is why she continues. ] I don't need much, not enough to really hurt someone with the loss.

[ After a moment's pause, she adds: ] You can ask other questions if you want. We're all connected, you might as well know about what I am.

[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?

[otrazhenie]

[ Elena looks down for a moment, her fingers tracing one of the designs on her costumes while she gathers her thoughts. Oddly, it makes her feel a little better that he is continuing to ask questions, because at least he's not pushing her away or ignoring her. It's not acceptance, but it's not rejection either. ]

Enhanced speed, strength, agility. Stronger senses, really fast healing. Vampires can heal almost any kind of injury, and we can heal others with our blood.

[ That's the one thing she likes about being a vampire. The singular benefit she can find to her present state of being, that she can help others. ]

[calhar]

Burn me. [ There's a flicker of strong memory — a man in a plain gray coat, snapping a woman's neck like a dry branch; someone's torn throat, transformed into a raw spray of blood. He'd never seen the gray man drink blood, but he wouldn't have been surprised by it. He had felt its strength, seen its speed, watched as it ignored a knife in its side.

Mat absently reaches beneath the scarf at his neck to check for the medallion there. It isn't cold, but it hadn't been with the Gholam, either. But to Elena's credit, he seriously doubts the Gholam could heal anything — that sets them apart, though it doesn't stop him from wondering whether or not she has any bones.

Seems like a rude question, vampire or no. ]

If you were looking for an edge, you could've just trained in bloody swords.

[ Assuming she became a vampire on purpose, maybe also rude. The delivery's light, a little distracted. ]

[otrazhenie]

[ Everything about Mat has Elena frowning, worrying that she's giving the wrong impression, that she's messing everything up and letting her own dislike for what she is color her responses. She doesn't hate vampires, she just hates being one. But-- ]

Me? I didn't choose this. I just didn't want to die. [ a pause ] Again.

[calhar]

[ That's worse, somehow. It keeps things messy. If she'd traded in her humanity for power it'd be easier to dislike her or write her off, but as is— well, she's just a woman with terrible luck.

Mat sits up, hand dropping away from his scarf. He's still distinctly uncomfortable, but now it's got the taste of awkward pity. Memories of monsters are half forgotten, half deliberately stamped out. ]

And now you can't go out in sunlight. [ Bringing it back around. It sounds like a poor trade. ] Sorry. People choose, I think— where I'm from.

[ He hopes. Now that he's thinking about it, he's not entirely sure how human the Dragon Reborn's meant to be, but that's a slippery slope. There's a pause while he grasps for something more conversational, shying away from the heavy topics they're stumbling into. ] Are there a lot of you?

[otrazhenie]

[ There were certainly those who had chosen to become vampires for power - her birth mother was a prime example of that. Elena never wanted any of this, though. What's the point of living forever when your loved ones will grow old and die without you? Sure, some would then argue that you should just turn them too, but... It's a neverending cycle of pain. Just look at what happened with Damon and Stefan. ]

A lot of vampires? I think so. It's hard to tell, the ones I know mostly keep to themselves or stay in small groups.

[ There isn't really a family or loyalty structure among vampires in her world, nothing to tie them all together. It's sad in a way, but at the same time she's grateful that things aren't even more complicated than they already are. If she'd ended up with some strange bond to Damon because of his blood being what turned her, things would be so incredibly awkward and difficult right now between them. ]

[calhar]

But that's back in your world, isn't it? What are the odds another bloody planet's got the same sort of— [ He stumbles a bit on the right word. Creature crosses his mind, which isn't meant to be uncharitable. ] Folk.

[ Talking about different worlds isn't as odd as it should be. 'Planet' is still a bit new, but he's a quick learner; quicker when he's sharing brainspace with people who have a broader perspective.

If the idea of 'a lot' of vampires showing up here bothers him, it doesn't look it. He splits his focus slightly, fussing at the sleeves of his shirt. Checking the daggers he's got hidden near his wrists, falling into idle routine. ] We've got Shadowspawn. You'd be hard pressed to say they'd ever been human, though— I'd never last in a conversation with one, for starters. I've never heard of any of them living off of blood, though I'm sure the flaming bastards would drink it for fun of it.