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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"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.

"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.

"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."

"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?"

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.

Ah, perhaps this is the future Kaji spoke of? She doesn't dwell on it, save to deflate her some. Even so -

"I am not surprised you prefer fire arms." It's teasing, light, nothing too heavy for now. "Especially not a shotgun."

Her eyes lower brief in the warmth of her laughter. "A shamsher," a sword translation and memory supplies. "It's light on the swing, heavy on the blow. Cleaves well to muscle, almost as well as a Talwar once you have the strength to swing it. But slices just as well if you cannot." She could talk on weapons as well as horses to the same effect: happy to do it for hours on length.

"There aren't a lot people using swords in 2186," Shepard opines, studiously ignoring the few who might. She wasn't going to concern herself with the details of walking corpses, "I got this, though--"

She lifts her hand, a smooth motion, and in a flash of light the Omni-tool springs into action, all heat and orange fizz, fabricating in a second's time the long, wickedly sharp omni-blade. It's brittle enough, but then it doesn't have to last; once is enough.

"Does the job. D'you like pets?"

She could ask a thousand questions just for that alone. But it is not the same, but it is just as much. "I use both, and there will never be a better weapon in close quarters than a blade. That-" she lifts her hand to gesture. "-proves that."

As for the next, to that she laughs, endlessly warm, oh yes. "Since I was a child, yes. When I was married, we kept, oh - cattle of course, as was our duty to protect them. But our stables had some of the finest horses in all of Bundelkhand, though my husbands pride and joy was our elephants. We also kept deer, dogs, cats, a great many of others, like they were our children."

Each word is effused with warmth, a joyousness. A practical zoo they had kept, left to wonder around free, and cared for. The laws of Asoka that were kept still.

"Okay, that's not pets, that's a farm."

This in a tone of high amusement. Holy fuck, Lakshmi, you have too much money. Elephants? Elephants?? Plural.

"I keep fish. And a space hamster," Not that she had one at present, but-- details. It wasn't like she could jst replace Boo, after all. He'd survived something like two wars, a suicide mission, and a retrofit, he wasn't just a rodent, he was family, "I had a robot dog, once. And a Varren, sort-of."

Not really. But it had felt like Urz was hers.

"It is important for royalty." Is the mildly indignant response to all that. But she's glad to know that it was a shared loved.

"Fish... need no small amount of water, Commander. Does your ship have ponds?" Alright that might take her a second to process - trying to fit the beautiful fountains of the inner courtyards of the Rani Mahal, but against the images Shepard had given her before, of the sleek metal and pure efficiency - she struggles to fit them together.

"Tanks. Not exactly my first design choice, for a military vessel, but nobody asks me."

What they do is, they consult her extranet history, her private journals, he rpersonal effects. They look at the remnants of her inner life, scraps and bones and dreams unfulfilled, and they make these changes without asking for permission. And then they let her find those details without a warning; the visceral, unwanted pleasure of knowing exactly what you want, and getting it. But not like this.

On the other hand, the eight year old child in her always did want a giant tank taking up the whole wall, so in the end Shepard had become practical about it; she loved fish, and the tank was there.

"I've got a couple running up on the Station, right now," Shepard shrugs; shcroedinger's fish. Are they alive, or dead? There's no time to tell, "Twenty-gallon tank, a simple little VI set up to manage the PH-balance and food while I'm in the field, it's good. Besides, who keeps fish in a hole in the ground? I wanna see what I'm doing."

She sighs, terribly, like somehow given how half her conversations go, it is to be excepted. Who keeps fish in a hole in the ground? Her response is emphatic: "Nature itself, seems to find that suitable to its purposes," and for that matter... the, an afterthought. "That is an appalling waste of glass and water. Our elephants also carried us into battle at least."

But even so next question then. "Least favorite field of combat?"

"Alright, Lakshmi Bai," If that is your real name, "First of all, it's not glass, it's plastic, which is cheap. Secondly, the only natural thing to do in space is die. Just surviving long enough to get up in the morning is a fuck you to nature."

appalling waste of glass and water she called it, and in the same breath mentioned Elephants. Shepard agreed, it absolutely was a wasteful use of water, but could see without thinking that the end of that phrase was 'for mere ornamentation,' and not 'for any reason whatsoever.'

Jokes on you, no one gets to find out her first name. There is a very, almost childish want, to poke her tongue out at her - but rather than any of that, she snatches at the edge of her veil as she begins to laugh. A warm earnest sound that is - delighted, rather than put out. As quick to her goodwill as she is to her rage, her face turns away with it out of habit more than anything. Not so much at Shepard, nothing so cruel as that, but at it all.

Space - honestly. If it wasn't happening she would think Tesla was dreaming up fantasies again.

"I asked my next question, off you go, if you are quite finished."

Shepard makes a face, one hand lifted in exaggerated disgust at the notion. A large part of her training had been about making her comfortable in any combat situation. It was specialists who had the luxury of opinions, people with long rifles, like Garrus.

"Hospitals," She quipped, "I've heard good things about fighting through classy antique shops, but in my experience it's not all it's cracked up to be."

What kind of qeustion was that, Lakshmi?

"Streets. I'll take an open field any day." Something she hasn't quite clicked isn't common anymore - pitched fields, the open roar of canons and scream of horses. An image that flickers in her mind: the racing line of horses and elephants, the boom-thud of heavy artillery. The pitch of an animal beneath her.

She blinks, picks out a thread, and carries on. "Your turn."

"Oh no-no-no, go back. All urban warfare? You're kidding," Shepard's ingredulity is unfeigned. How can you hate what must comprise... "Shit, I can count the number of open fields I've had on my fingers. And that's my whole career."

Not a lot of open space in space-- at least not that you want to be fighting in. Most encounters involve what amounts to tunnels, at best large rooms. Almost any enemy will refust to engage you in an open space when that space has almost nothing in it, atmosphere included.

"That's crazy."

She starts to laugh, their differences and similarities could not be more pronounced. "I had that in a series of a few months, Commander. Outside of the breaking of siege, all war is done in such a form."

Lakshmi shakes her head - "I rode the cavalry line, granted, so I must acknowledge my own preference to that. I do not think you would enjoy that much either." Her eyes lift, brief and bemused, teasing lightly. "But fighting in streets, I only knew of it in the fall of cities themselves to how I was taught my forms. For many years... it was considered dishonorable. I only began waging campaigns in them... once I became aware it was the only place I could fight what was happening."

A memory to flesh out just what she means, the streets of London, not beautiful clean areas of royal family residence: but the mishappen walls of Whitechapel, with the spider like metal railways that were screeching over it. How hard it could be to see in the thick mist - worse still in the dense smoke left over from the coal burning in many homes. The stench of shit and mud that wafts up from broken underfoot cobble streets that never seemed to dry from their damp. When you could never be sure what was about to come lunging out of the corner and lunge it does.

She wrinkles her nose. "So many civilians underfoot? Preserve me from it."

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

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