[mission: hyrypia] and when our bottles and all we are fill’d with immortality

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: The Barithian Hunters (and anyone sneaking along)
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Finger Maze
WHEN: DAY :018
SUMMARY: The barithian hunt leads into the depths of the Finger Maze.
WARNINGS: Violence. Animal slaughter. Character death. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

THE FINGER MAZE
DAY :018
IN MORNING'S PRE-DAWN GRAY the camp is far more subdued than on preceding days. There's no music, breakfast is a quiet and simple affair, and the servants are hushed as they go about their duties. Before the sun has even fully risen, the members of the Envoys participating in the hunt make their way to their mounts. When they arrive they are given a speech that seems practiced - likely only a slight modification of something that the Elinmaster has said many times before. The group - just under forty hunters kitted out with all of the weapons and traps they have had time to learn in their days on the graze - is brought to the fenceline running parallel to the technomagical barrier which guards the mouth of the Finger Maze proper. In the fence is a plain gate. Once the hunting party is gathered there, it opens. A slash in the technomagical barrier disintegrates before them and the smell of ozone evaporates or is carried into the twisting depths of the Maze by the wind howling mournfully inward from off the Graze. The Elinmaster leads the hunting party through the gap.

Once on the other side, the party draws pauses until the technomagical barrier rises once more behind them. No crowds today. No onlookers (unless they're being especially industrious). Then the Elinmaster brings a familiar sounding horn to their lips. It's long, low wailing note echoes down into the maze and splinters down the endless twisting pathways. With that, the hunt begins.

INTO THE LABYRINTH
I. THE STAGING GROUND
HERE IS HOW YOU HUNT A BARITHIAN, explains the Elinmaster. First, a field of battle needs to be chosen - and it's always better to know the ground you're fighting on than to be caught unawares in unfamiliar territory. The hunting party will need to establish a fall back position inside the canyon that's advantageous to them, at which point it will be lain with all manner of traps. Memorize it. You'll want to know every nook and cranny when you return here under duress.

Plan your routes and lay your traps. You do remember how to set them, don't you?


II. BY THE TAIL
WITH THE STAGE SET, only the star is lacking - or the villain is. But the Finger Maze is a vast labyrinthine space that stretches on for miles. Finding the Barithian, even as large as it is, presents a challenge - perhaps the second greatest challenge of the hunt. It is time for the hunters to separate. Some go off alone, some travel in small groups. Each is equipped with a small version of the horn that had summoned them to this work in the first place. Their task is simple and herculean: to search the maze for signs of the beast and locate it, then to draw its attention and lure it back into the staging ground. Lastly, they must send out the call to summon the rest of the party to rendezvous meet them where the chase will end. However, only one route leads to the barithian. Perhaps--

a) There were signs - a bone, a tell-tale scrape on the canyon walls, a corridor of felled coral. It was difficult to tell from the back of the Elin, so it made sense in the moment to dismount and check more closely. --At least, it made sense right up until now when you suddenly hear something. Something-- big. Its footfalls shake the floor under your feet; its heavy breath snorts out of its multiple sets of nostrils with a wet visceral sound. You can’t go back the way you came - the trembling footfalls seem to come from that direction. Luckily, there's a narrow cave opening in the canyon wall right there.

Inside is dark. The cave goes very deep indeed - so deep that after a time you can smell the promise of fresh air again. Maybe there's another exit? Which is good, since the way you entered is no longer an option: the beast is there, it's massive forepaws clawing into the stone on either side of the cave entrance and its huge mutli-nostriled nose sucking in big, gulping breaths.

b) ((OOC NOTE: first come first serve)) You find the Barithian. Even with its great hulking back turned to you, it's awe-inspiring. Terrifying. The Elinmaster's assistants had described it on the way in, but their words failed to convey the details. It's disturbingly massive - mammothian, even -, its six legs coiled tight with muscle, and strong, sharp claws on each of the massive paws. You have to get it’s attention. How you do it is up to you, but you know that the moment it turns its massive head toward you with its beady eyes hidden behind a broad, triangular face plate and its multinostrils flaring with a horrible groaning noise that it's time to get a move on.

c) Your search has turned up nothing - but that's not surprising is it? The maze is huge. Not everyone could strike gold. Hell, not everyone would even want to. It’s almost a relief until you hear it: the low, moan of the signal horn echoing through the maze-like canyon. You need to get back to the staging ground and you need to go fast - or risk leaving the other hosts to face the beast alone.

III. THE BATTLE
THE HORN DOES ITS JOB. By the time the hosts unlucky enough to have the tiger by its tail come riding back into the staging ground, many members of the hunting party have already returned and are armed, if not ready, for when the creature comes barreling in behind them. It shakes the brittle bone coral with the weight of its galloping footfalls and makes a deep, low sonorous noises that echoes down the stone walls. With its ire raised, the barithian is even more fearsome than it had seemed from a distance. It’s size and strength are undeniable up close. The creature tears great mounds of earth up under its clawed feet and there's a mesmerizing, horrific quality to the flash of filtered canyon light off its sharp teeth.

The riders are now tasked with the last phase of the challenge - kill or be killed, using the weapons and techniques they have learned in their time here. And hey, maybe you have a few non-Hyrypian tricks up your sleeves you can play with some subtlety. Fighting fair seems less than ideal when one of those huge paws comes swiping right at you.


IV. THE FRUIT OF DIPLOMACY
'DON'T GET CLOSE TO THE HEAD,' had seemed like an easy to follow rule back on the Graze, but the reality of facing down with the barithian is far more complicated. And despite being slowed by the environment, the traps laid for it, countless spears jutting from its dense marbled hide, here in its last moments the great beast is at its most dangerous. Maybe someone gets over confidant. Maybe it's just general exhaustion. Maybe it seems like the barithian is staggering when really it's turning for one final, deadly snap of its ferocious jaws.

It bowls three riders from their Elin with one swipe from its massive paw - mechanics twisting and bursting with brilliant flares of released technomagical energy - then lunges for the felled hunters left in the wake of their ruined mounts. A Descendant throws up both arms in some lunatic, useless defense mechanism. Beside her, Lavellan drives the blunt end of his spear into the ground and braces the shaft across his knee. The Barithian drives itself down on the point of the spear, snaps down on his arm by reflex and then recoils - tossing him clear like a horrifying rag doll as the great animal thrashes.

There's an immediate, palpable, indescribable POP! A ship being hulled and all the air sucked out of into into the vacuum of space. A glass bauble splitting into a hundred thousand pieces on some distant stone floor. A seam splitting. A branch snapped across the knee. And then there's nothing left at all except the frothing barithian snapping out those nearest i to it.


V. THE RETURN
THE RIDE BACK TO THE CAMP seems to take twice as long as the one they took to the Finger Maze - though it hardly seems long enough, knowing what lies at the end. Certainly the other Hosts will have felt Lavellan's death, but you know what they say. Seeing is believing.

It doesn’t matter. The camp awaits their return regardless. As they ride through the gate again one of the massive technomagically driven wagons passes them, headed into the maze to retrieve their kill. Once they reach the edges of the encampment, the atmosphere there remains subdied. While the other Envoys and Hyrypian hosts might not know the nitty gritty details, the certainly seem to have considered the possibility of things going badly. There is food, drink, and eventually even some gentle, sober music, however the evening is quiet and many of the envoys retreat to their own tents rather than remain in the public spaces.

Some victories are not celebrated.

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers the barithian hunt and any relating events that take place on DAY :018. You can find information about the hunt and ask event specific questions HERE.

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

nobody expects the zombie inquisition: the lavellan retrieval

[miscreant]

[There are few times that Seviilia could count that she was without armor when she needed it. All she had been able to fit under her veil without looking conspicuous had been her chestpiece and her bracers. It means she is much more responsive, to the point that she feared she might draw too much attention with her attacks. Nevertheless, she is right in the thick of the fight with Lavellan and a few others.

Seviilia alternates between spear and sword, Icebringer gripped tight in her off-hand, Frostreaper tied to her back, and collection of spears fastened to her waist. As far as she could tell, the fight had been going well. Her veils were appropriately flecked with the barithian's blood, Icebringer is coated in it, and her supply of spears is nearly drained.

Then it happens. The beast in a last ditch effort to save itself rears and out ripples the unfortunately familiar pop-tear of another host snapping away. It's the only thing that seems to slow the death knight down, like a club at the back at her neck that nearly throws her from her mount--

Focus. Fight through it.

Lavellan's body slams into the ground a distance away like he had never been anything at all. It hurts, it stings, it feels like she is without air (she understands that sensation now) and she knows what it means, but even through that pain she could not forget the danger of discovery, their unknown enemy lurking nearby. If Lavellan's body was left to be found, it would be the end for them all. She thinks of Murphy, of Asuka, of The Darkling.

Vision blurred but mind frightfully clear, she reaches out to the hosts nearest her with an echoing snap that commands attention.]

( Fall in, now. I am going after him. Get its attention! )

[She doesn't wait -- while the beast turns, she urges a protesting Elin forward towards where Lavellan had fallen, unbuckling the last of her spears for someone else to collect and use. She would have to be quick if she didn't want to be suspicious, and the twin runeblades would be of more use to her in close quarters.

Discreetly, shadow magic coalesces on free hand and runes on her blades come to life. The echo of power is covered up by the collective thundering of Elin and of the barithian, but it bolts like lightning out from her briefly and forward in a swift motion, disturbing the earth beneath the elf's corpse. And just moments after Lavellan had hit the ground, his bloody body begins to struggle to stand.]

[wille]

[ Her first thought at seeing Lavellan's body flung aside is that they would fail the entire mission should his hood slip even a little to reveal his face or a sliver of bare skin, and that failure would mean death to all. It's cold, callous and necessary, or so she tells herself.

The sting in her mind like a wound left gaping is as undeniable as it is easily distanced, boxed away, set aside. At Seviilia's call, she rushes in without pause. Pain gives way to a purity of focus, the same as fear does, and she uses both to arm her with the courage necessary to drive her Elin right into the Barithian's side to have its mechanical legs snag and tangle the many nets and chained spears already launched against the beast, which tries to free enough of its limbs to snap its jaws at the automaton, mistaking it for a living thing.

The challenge is getting off her steed before the beast make a snack out of her, which is predictably the part she gave the littlest attention. As such, she swings her spear at it to ward away its face, keeping her eyes peeled for a chance to escape the death trap of her own creation. ]

ota

[adamance]

i: preparations (in lexa's tent)

[Unlike the previous events, Lexa chooses to make more of a ceremony out of this one. The finality of it is what drives her toward that mindset. Though she knows that her face will be covered, concealed out of necessity, some part of her wants to feel like she did back home, at least for a short while. Because her people don't make face paint out of things purchased at stores, she's able to gather enough of what she needs to do it for herself. For the first time in months (literal months, since before she woke up for the first time), she paints her face around her eyes, stretching long long until it reaches her temples. Jagged lines seem to "drip" underneath her eyes.

Lexa once had someone to help her prepare in this way, but she's not unaccustomed to handling it herself. She had once been little more than a warrior of Trikru before one of the acolytes found her and brought her to Polis. She can return to those days now.

Should anyone prove curious as to what she's doing, even if they're familiar with the paint (or whatever she's using as paint), she'll respond when she feels their attention on her:] I intend to feel like myself today. We're so rarely offered that possibility.

ii: the staging ground

[It doesn't take long for Lexa to speak, almost amused by the ignorance they displayed before as a result of Misato and Gildor's journey near the barrier. If only they had realized what that could mean for them, if only they had seen it as anything more than just a threat to their people. She's amused by herself, as well. It's not that she was altogether right (she certainly wasn't), but people treated it as if it might come out of nowhere. Their journey inside proved that that wasn't likely.]

( It seems their barriers were more secure than we imagined. Take note of this, everyone. )

[If it seems like Lexa is being unnecessarily condescending, it's because she is. Someone as agitating and annoying as Lexa is unlikely to waver in that mindset when she feels she was at least partly right. If nothing else, their initial preparations to fight the creature seem, well, displaced.

The hilarity being that she still thinks they're all prey waiting to be devoured by this experience. But Lexa has always been a hypocrite. What's new?]

iii: hunting and its lack of fruitfulness

[As much as Lexa is a warrior and capable of hunting, it would be a total lie to say that she's been at it a great deal in recent history. Being a Commander does come with its perks. She had handmaidens, a lovely bedroom, and food brought to her when she required it. She grew up hunting, but certain skills do get rusty. Her experience here has allowed her to tap back into it, but that doesn't mean she's the best of the best. Indra would be embarrassed by her leader here.

Hell, Lexa's embarrassed by herself.

Should one of the hosts draw close to her, she'll straighten up from her previous crouch and inhale deeply, calming herself. Frustration with herself will not lead to victory.]

Have you had any luck in finding the creature? [Some part of Lexa knows it's risky to seek it out diligently. That same part of her doesn't give in to that urge. She'll send other people to die for her, or to spy for her, or to do any number of things. Here, however, she knows she wants to prove her strength somehow—even if it's just to herself.]

iv: the aftermath

a: immediately following the fight

[The fight itself shows two parts of Lexa fighting within herself. On the one hand, she has been raised to survive. She'll dart out of the way to let someone else take a blow, and she'll take advantage of that to strike, trying to drive a weapon deep within the creature's flesh.

Then there's the other side: the part of Lexa that had believed that there was life after death, that her spirit would live on. It's the part of Lexa that she's been trying to excise for weeks now. She knows that by coming here, she removed the chance of her spirit "living on." She knows that her life doesn't continue unless the Flame ends up within someone else's body (and therefore in someone else's hands). She knows all of this—but there's still an uncanny peace within her mind when she's about to take a blow from the Barithian, trained as a result of becoming the Commander. The other hosts may or may not recognize that for what it is before she fights off that peace, drawing forth anger within herself (possibly at herself) to clamber out of the way to safety in the brief moment of time that one of the other hunters captures its attention, thus saving her life.

In the aftermath, a part of Lexa feels like it's died, as it has the other times that hosts have been lost. There is no chance of one of her brood dying, not now, but she still hates the pain of someone lost. And if it had been her, as well, it would be two for one battle.

She moves around, mind still, as she tries to help other hosts to their feet. It's time to return to life, so long as they can live it.]

b: after returning

[Following everything, Lexa feels as if she requires space. Her body is sore, but she doesn't request any help with healing. The aches and pains remind her of where she fought and what she lived through. Once again, she looked death in the eye and managed to survive. It's beginning to feel more and more like something she can do without feeling as if she's allowing herself to live on for too long.

As it is, the space isn't found in the tent, but near it, where there are few sitting. She keeps her food and drink by her as she looks out into the eerily silent night. Many died there. Perhaps many were going to die.

If anyone wonders if they should bother her or not, her mind sends off a sense of being inviting just before she adds:] ( Join me. I'd like your thoughts on what we just experienced. )

["We" instead of "I." Lexa's unlikely to tell anyone about her issues with her mortality unless they push. And she assumes few will.]

i. / ish

[deployed]

[ The cool, slick sensation of paint lingers as Bellamy dresses. It's just one more strange aspect of preparing for this event that he can't manage to shake. They're so very far removed from how Arkadia had geared up for battle. Bellamy isn't sure he'll ever be able to acclimate, but he's hoping after this final task they'll be able to wrap up the mission quickly. As he tugs his robes into place, he wishes for the tactical gear from Arkadia. He's still thinking about how difficult it is to move freely in these robes when Lexa crosses the tent to him. ]

Ready to go?

[ Though he suspects she was not waiting for him to finish pinning his veils into place to exit the tent. ]

ok here's the doubletap / aftermath

[deployed]

[ There had been no time to brace against Lavellan's death. It happened quickly, and like so many deaths Bellamy has moved past in the heat of battle, the pain of it doesn't hit until later. Even if the momentary, intimate agony of Lavellan's dying moments had nearly crippled him when it happened, Bellamy doesn't manage to process it until after the monster is dead and no longer a threat. And he isn't the only one reeling.

His own shell shock is amplified by Lexa's reaction. She'd closed her fingers around his wrist, a single point of steadying contact in the chaotic aftermath of the battle, and Bellamy had touched her mind instinctively. Lexa feels numb. Bellamy isn't sure whether or not he envies her that. But he stays by her side as they make their way back. Technically, they were triumphant, but no one is really celebrating. Bellamy doubts they'll end this with the same kind of lively feasting all the other events had been capped with. ]

We need to find our people, [ Bellamy says finally, underscoring the first and most obvious shared priority between them. ] They need to know we're safe.

[ Murphy and Clarke's faces are foremost in his mind. The red-woven link between him and Murphy has been stretched thin, and Bellamy can't tell if he did that or Murphy did during the worst of the fighting.

But it turns out they don't have to go looking. Bellamy catches the narrowing focus of Clarke's mind and turns towards it instinctively the moment he's certain Lexa's steady on her feet beside him. ]

[redheadcarrier]

II(c). The Invisible Beast

Even with the slightly subdued tone of the morning, Asuka's been in relatively high spirits since their little group set out. She's glad to be out and doing something again, completely confident in her (their) ability to find this stupid thing and kill it. Their hosts kept talking about danger, but how dangerous could this thing really get? The only problem is that she hasn't been able to find anything. The samll group she's traveling with is still winding its way through the maze-like canyons. Her head is back, peering up at the line of open sky above them as she frowns to herself.

"How long do you think it's going to take to find this thing-?"

And just as the sentence leaves her lips, she hears the distant call of the horn. It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up and she turns her Elin about, mechanical hoove picking over rock, "Did you hear that?"

She's not going crazy, right?

III. All of You, Fight Like You Want to Live

later, much later, Asuka finds herself in a fight for her life. That's not entirely new. But before she had armored plate an an AT field in between her and certain death. Even if they were a false sense of security, it's much, much different to be on Elin-back (or foot) and fighting something the size of a small ship. She's barely managed to duck out of the way of a massive claw-swipe and she jerks her mount back out of range. She's already hurled one of her spears and she glances around for something else to use, shouting, "Let's get above it-!"

Her eyes fall on someone else and she motions upward, along the slope of the canyon wall, yelling to be heard over the sound of the chaos, "Hey, you! Follow me! Before this thing decides to pay a little more attention!"

She's already urging her mount to try and take it up bounding onto a rock and swaying in the saddle. She's not waiting to see if she's being followed or not. She just assumes they will.

IV. It All Comes Tumbling Down

Her adrenaline is running high, eyes wide behind her veil as the fight drags on. She's exhausted and sweaty and it feels like no matter what they throw at this thing, it doesn't want to stay down - or even go down. She's cursing to herself, scrabbling in the dirt for another weapon - even a rock - when she glances up and spots the familiar form of Lavellan bracing his spear as the giant monster comes bearing down on him and a Descendant. She has a half moment to wonder what he's even doing there. He's only got one arm, he shouldn't be trying that, has another half-second to start forming a thought, a mental shout at him to stop being an idiot and move and then it all happens.

It all comes apart.

One moment he's there. She can feel the beat of his heart, feel the fear and exhilaration and determination and life of her broodmate and then it suddenly tears itself away, as cleanly and as smoothly as a hot knife cutting through butter. There's a rush of darkness, a dragging feeling as her mental link strains to keep the connection and threatens to snatch her into oblivion (she recognizes that feeling, recognizes the rush of nothing) and then it's gone. He's gone and she feels as if she's going to be sick, because it's as if she's lost a limb. There's no longer a 'Lavellan' to reassure her or to joke or to be huffy about stupid things. He's just

gone.

There's an empty, hollow, sickening wound in her head where there should be life and noise and her mental scream echoes in time with the one that rips itself out of her throat. It's not a word or even a concrete thought. It's just the sound of loss. While her verbal scream is lost in the noise of battle, in her mind it echoes and it grows and it keeps going, a cacophonous tangle of desperation and pain that threatens to overwhelm anyone tuned into her on their mental link as she starts to try and scramble towards the broken, ragdoll form that's lying on the other side of the canyon.

V. Try to Live

Back at camp, Asuka is quiet and swithdrawn and shrunken, huddled on her Elin for most of the ride and not willing to speak to much of anyone. If anyone comes looking for her, they'll likely find her in the tent she's been sharing with Shepard and Seviilia for most of the trip. Whether she'll want to talk is up for debate.


[ OOC: Mental link on the deathprompt is open to everyone! More of a first come, first served thing for physical interactions. Feel free to wildcard some stuff at her as well. ]

IV. IT'S TIME

[unsea]

[ this isn't the first death he's known, among the nest. he can't recall whether or not asuka was a part of the whole, when aoba left them as well ( oh, he resents that creature - so selfish, so cruel; he took two minds with him, when he went, and denied the darkling something ). asuka, he barely knows. she was a partner to him in a race, fierce as she was red of hair, and in silhouette, she reminded him of the young children he knew and trained and sent to their own deaths. war-ready, eyes up, blind to the horizon.

the fey one, lavellan perishes, and he can feel the bleakness well inside of asuka.

immediately, he turns his mount towards her, and runs her down. a hand reaching down to seize the back of her robes, fisting tight into layers and layers of cloth that are the only protection they have in this place. what weapons he holds are slung over the width of the elin, and she's soon to join it, as he ( seizes, with smaller hands, black as night, pouring from him - fragile, new - clutching at the shadows of her attire ). saints, but he won't be able to scoop her up from this angle.

he drops to the ground, one hand fisted in the elin's antlers to steady himself as he shifts his grip. hooks his arm around her middle and holds. ]

( I know, I know. You can't. )

[ the beast is still there, and very dangerous ]

v / mental link

[deployed]

[ Maybe Asuka doesn't want to speak. Bellamy barely knows what to say to her, but he reaches out anyway. His presence comes to nudge against the edges of her mind, offering warm comfort and commiseration and apology. He's sorry for what she's feeling. He wants to take it away.

But he doesn't need her to acknowledge him. Asuka wouldn't be the first person he'd met who preferred to grieve alone. ]

V

[sistershoggoth]

[ She knows Asuka is having a bad time. Dead hosts was a nasty business, feeling someone die from inside their own mind was nasty, worse still when they were part of your own private wavelength. Annie knows she'll lose her fucking mind if she has to feel Noctis die. She's not real fond of having felt Aoba and Lavellan die. There's an obvious answer for that, a medical application of inebriation.

She's calm, mellow, when she approaches Asuka. ]

Came to check on you.

[shri]

A hundred years past her times, a child that has seen too much still looks the same. What had Kaji said? Only the table manners had changed. The misery, the unfairness of it all, never had.

So she elects not to speak unsure so much if Asuka would take it if it was offered, but if the embrace was given regardless - perhaps it would take the hardness of choice when growing out of it. She sits on the floor beside Asuka, her hands coming up to sweep across her hair in the mimicry of how she had tended her before. This time, it's careful, this time it's a silence and a embrace before she's sure and settles with a easy open arm, that says no more than, here, little brave one, come here. I've got you.

v

[skaikru]

( it feels a little like being gutted.

atop the cliff face, clarke had exhaled sharply and suddenly — one gust of air to quantify a life known, then lost. like blowing out a candle before taking into account how darker the world would become for it. whoever it is that dies out there, she doesn't know them. but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. old wounds reopen, knees wobble and threaten to give-way. there are tears in her eyes that turn to a solid determination, and she scales back down the coral finger with a reckless sort of desperation.

back in the camp, there are no cheers, no calls for drink and food and festivities. she isn't necessarily searching out asuka, but as the riders trickle in and dismount, the girl grabs clarke's attention immediately. someone familiar. maybe not bellamy, not lexa. but a member of the nest all the same. they don't have to be connected as closely as broodmates for clarke to feel the absolute misery that hung about her shoulders.

she's on asuka in the blink of an eye, practically barreling into her with a whirlwind of pressing concern and a choked sort of grief of her own. ) Oh — ( is the only sound that escapes her mouth. but what good are words here? what could she say to express her relief, to help ease the knot of grief, to quantify the very selfish need to count her acquaintances and reassure herself that those she cared for most were unharmed? nothing.

so in place of stumbling, useless condolences, clarke's hands just shoot to asuka's shoulders, scrabble for a moment with the folds of her robes, and pulls the girl into her shoulder tightly. )

[shri]

I. I WON'T PLAY FAIR WITH YOU THIS TIME. ( HUNTING PATROLS)

A hunter she was not, but a soldier and a rider at least to make up for her failings otherwise. So she falls back on the standard habits there of. Stiff watchful, and there she has some relation to the task, if only for being hunted instead.

Poor creature, she realises for the thousandth time in her laugh, that she must do what she has no love for. But it lingers only as a aniseed regret, easy on the mouthful, bitter on the swallow.

But it was their task, regardless. So she falls to plain habits. Simply, to be ready for anything, to take any order she might be given. Until then, she keeps pace evenly. Hand to the knives they had been given at the slightest sound. The set of her attention to whoever is more proficient in the task. Riding the long pathways of the maze with whoever joins her on this round of at least her a utter inability to ever stay still too long.

But to one thing, she does benefit over others, a far too keen sense of hearing, that place between quiet and loud that leaves her slow to speak or engage until she needs too. Until her head turns, pushing up to a poised moment, head turned up to - something. Her breath comes in quiet.

"Do you hear that?"

II.IT'S MY NAME HE'S GOT TATTOOED ON HIS ARM. (CLOSED TO RUST, MIRFAC BROOD)

at this point, there is a certain inevitably to it, when on just one more patrol, one more pass, one more teasing round of questions - don't tell me all Americans don't ride as well as you, Master Cohle?

Until she hears the noise, doesn't think he needs her abilities either when the stones rumble and clatter and they're out on the open, the high walls of the maze rise damning and wide either side. It might be ideal if it wasn't just the two of them, if they had been kitting it - but as they are?

Her heels dig in and her voice pitches loud and sharp, practised to it - "Move -!"

Doesn't think he needs to be told twice as she takes off, where she had been positioned behind him in the pattern, her body hunkered low to the Elins speed.

III. WHEN SHE BLED, AND BLED, AND Bled. (AFTERMATH)

Once it's over and she's done whatever duties pertain to it, she takes time to set aside what little there is for herself. Enough had happened she supposed to warrant that silence even if - if she does not know to be in it. Even if it alikens to something better left behind.

Nyx, the one she did not know but if nothing else, she cared for Asuka, and Rust's reaction confirming some deep frustration she has had since she arrived, a miserable frustrated loneliness that as she goes to take up her sewing because doing something, anything must be better than this. But her own irritation means it is no more than a second before the thread snaps in her fingers when she yanks forcefully on it. The beads threaded to the stitch going skittering out.

"Piss and blood." it's barked out, irritated, she drops it all to the ground. Forcefully pushing it away from her.

i

[adamance]

Lexa doesn't respond to Lakshmi's question with anything but a shift in her stance, hand raising up and reaching to the sword strapped to her back. Even wearing these clumsy layers, she maintains what feels most comfortable here. If anyone cares to ask about her sword or her choice of it, she'll explain. So far, she's been lucky; the other envoys have only been curious from a distance. That means less distractions. She'll answer questions later.

Assuming, of course, that she somehow lives through this.

The sound itself is slow, barely audible, before a moment later where it seems as if it's someone announcing themselves and their presence.

"Other hunters," she says, offering a possible conclusion. "Or this creature is far more subtle than I was given to believe." Lexa has little experience with shuttles outside of her time in the Nest, but she doubts they could be this silent and swift, ready to pounce.

III

[huntsmachines]

Aloy can feel the weight of everyone's emotions pressing down on her. The hunt had been... grim in it's conclusion. Liek everyone else she had felt Lavellan go, and had known with a sickening certainty exactly what that tug-snap sensation meant. She hadn't been close to Lavellan but it's hard to ignore the sudden true absence. With her brood, they weren't exactly gone--they were like a word on the tip of her tongue, just out of reach. With Lavellan, it was more certain. There really was nothing there. Lakshmi's curse catches her attention and she turns, then moves to settle down next to the other woman with a loping, easy motion. They'd spoken to each before, hadn't they?

"You dropped your sewing." It's simple, matter of fact. A silly observation, really, but she needs to say something, it feels like. She reaches out to pick up the bundle of cloth and looks inquisitively towards Lakshmi, groping out awkwardly with her mind. How do you comfort someone you don't know over the death of someone else you don't know, but still miss terribly?

"...You alright?"

III

[wrackful]

Physically and mentally, Murphy's been avoiding the other hosts. Withdrawn, mind curled around the ache of older scars pulled on by the recent death, he's been staying nearby but keeping from being gathered in, surrounded by any number. As if physical proximity might have some influence on the bleed of pain spreading between all of them.

He's almost too attuned to it, what he's trying to stay clear of. It's how he picks up on the flare of Lakshmi's frustration, moving past her tent. He pauses, hesitates on carrying on. Then turns and lifts the flap to enter.

Inside, stopping a step away from the discarded sewing, the woman herself, he doesn't really know what to say. Words of comfort have never come that easily to him, and what good would it do now, anyway? They were all feeling the same pain. But she'd been kind to him. He can at least try to offer something close to that.

"Want to get some food?"

remember me???

[aluminumandash]

That he might die, that was always kept close. Closer, in Alaska, than the heat rolling off his body. At her shout, the rhythm they'd settled into—clattering hooves, his breathing and the ring of her voice—breaks and Rust urges his Elin on.

His breath hot and harsh under the hood. His thoughts the span of the maze, his Elin veering as he yanks the reins, digs his leg into its side. Dodging the rock jutting out at him.

( Right, get to your right. ) His mental voice is immediate, exhilarated.

[shiro2hero]

1) PREP WORK
[Deep breaths. Steel yourself. You don't know exactly what you're getting into. But it's for the good of the team. You can do this.]

[So before he heads out, he's going to make sure certain people staying behind know where he's going. What he's doing. He's not going to surprise people this time -- hey, at least he's learned his lesson from the last mission. Don't go out on a sudden mission and shock the people important to you.]

[If you're one of said important people, expect a mental knock, before he comes and finds you.]


2) ON THE HUNT | before the monster
(Did you hear that?)

[He's riding along with the others. Slowly. Carefully. Keeping his eye out. He'd have liked to turn on his hand. To illuminate the area around them, but doing so will, undoubtedly, attract too much attention. More than ever, he wishes he'd been able to smuggle his armor on under their disguises.]

[So instead, he keeps his eye out. His ears open. For that sound those going beyond that "barrier" had described.]

(Do we have any kind of concrete idea of what this thing looks like?)


3) THE AFTERMATH | post-rage power, post monster
[1st scenario: the dead weight of someone run into unconsciousness by his symbiote power. Possibly wounded from the monster. But breathing. Alive. He's definitely alive, and definitely unconscious. He won't be coming to any time soon.]

[He's just going to have to be dragged.]

[2nd scenario: is back in camp. Still unconscious. Still out cold with nothing more than cold starlight as his mental backdrop. Whatever injuries suffered aren't as important to him now as sleeping is. He's probably been deposited in a tent. Give him another 10 hours or so. He'll come around.]


4) Wildcard
[Hit me up if there's a thread you'd like! The actual "Rage Beast" symbiote power use is in Sevillia's retrieval thread, and Bellamy and Lakshmi are bringing him, back, but lemme know if there's anything specific you'd want!]

wildcard/leading up to aftermath

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ He knows that Shiro thinks of the monster that lurks inside him as something separate from himself, but Sam doesn't, not really. It's not as distinct of a cut as it with Bucky and the Winter Soldier - and even then, it's messy and complicated and something Sam only loosely has a handle on - but the point is, it's still a part of Shiro.

It's just a part Shiro doesn't like very much.

Granted, it ain't like it's ever a good sign when it's starting to come out, if only because it only happens when some really, really bad shit's going down - like now.

Feeling Lavallen ripped from the Nest so violently like that, it's - the last time another Host had died mid-mission was Skywalker, back on Concordia, and Sam'd never even met him. This is worlds different, this is someone Sam knew and liked and cared about -

And he knows it's someone that Shiro cared about, too. Sam's still reeling from the feeling of a piece of himself being cut away like that, fighting to keep himself reaching uselessly out for the feel of the connection where his friend used to be - when he feels Shiro cut himself loose, too, feels the surge of his anger and the lose of control.

Sam floods his mind immediately. He knows the feel of Shiro's rage now, got a taste of it back when Lakshmi threw a sword at him, and he doesn't try to mitigate it. He's just there, a solid presence in the mind of the rage, curling around to steady him.

And to shield the rest of the Nest from the outpouring of rage as best as he can, opening their connection up wide. I'm here, you're not alone. ]

[sistershoggoth]

STAGING GROUND
[ This is, at last, something she feels comfortable with. Throwing her life recklessly on the line in the name of fucking violence. Her usual sprawling, wild mind has sharpened down to a precise point, warm with anticipation. She has made no plans to hunt with a group, she is ready to be off the leash.

She waits through their instructions, receives her horn, but then she's gone, silent and swift. ]

BY THE TAIL
[ She's not looking for the Barithian as she enters the caves. What she's looking for is way deeper into the earth, for some way to get closer to the veins of Nectar and perhaps find a way to communicate with its energy. It's telepathic mumbo jumbo, but as the sentience of a world herself... Well, it seems like an obvious thing to try to her.

But what she finds are mostly corpses, none of them fresh, their bones split and picked apart, cobwebbed with dust and grit. She kicks through a few, but they don't even have any gear on them... The fuck were they doing in here without any equipment?

The remnants of a fresh campfire among all these ancient bones is also suspicious, and she's just bent down to investigate when she hears you. Obviously another host, and yet... She hears more than that. Too many more footsteps. ]

( How many people are with you? )

THE BATTLE
[ Another fucking host bites the dust, and for a moment all Annie can think is why not me. Why did everyone else whittle away around her while she remained. She grits her teeth, clamping down on the scream that wants to come out of her mouth, and the screaming that wants to ring out of her head. Being a little drunk helps, it takes the sharp edges off of it all, makes her thoughts more malleable, easier to shove them all in a junk drawer and slam shut.

She's not thinking about anything at all as she goes in after the Barithian again, spear raised. She hacks at its back haunch with all the strength she has in that little body, giving a grunt of effort every few swings. She keeps at it until she gets mule kicked into the wall of the canyon.

For all her otherworldliness, she's still stuck in this human body. She feels her brain and her organs jumble around inside of her from the impact, the crack of bones.

Good job, you stupid bitch... ]

THE RETURN
[ No one is in a good mood, and she's not inclined to do anything about that. She just slinks off to smoke somewhere on the edges of things where she can take her hood off for a while. ]

The battle

[shri]

[ breathless with combat, Lakshmi tumbles after what she can only see to be anotjer downed host with a searing rejection of the loss they all now feel. Better perhaps best this way for it. That her body rejects a loss that feels like her own limbs. That her stomach heaves and her head swims and the only - only - thing that makes sense to her is the weapon in her hands like it has done for decades. That she runs, kicks hard against maze wall, a ugly scream war cry that demands the attention of Shiva himself to guide her hand that tears out in the effort of making herself one loud, annoying distraction.

Where it might even look towards where Annie hits the wall to follow its kill, she snaps, bringing her sword down hard. Digging in sharply and giving it reason to retreat. It pulls back, she steps further out of striking range to put her body between it and Annie, in a broadening of shoulder and where she's turns wrist out in the hold of her weapons. Hoarse with dust, she offers her spare hard when she wrenches on her heel back to Annie. Every movement a weight of training and muscle memory, she moves with ease of familiarity. ]

Are you hurt?

ota.

[deployed]

( i / preparations )

[ This event has more gravity attached to it than the earlier ones. The band does not play, no one sings, and everyone is talking so quietly that it feels like disaster is about to strike. Bellamy was aware of the shift in mood as he dressed in the tent, and he wishes again that he'd brought the guns Murphy got for him. It had felt foolish to hide them on his person, like an easy giveaway, but without clear knowledge of what this final event holds, the extra security would be a comfort.

Once he leaves the tent, he doesn't go very far until the participants are called to their Elins. He'll ping at the minds of each passing Nestmate, just checking in. It's early, and sleep still clings to people's minds as they prepare. Quiet dread is simmering beneath the surface of Bellamy's mind, though all he ever asks to those who stop to speak with him is: ]

Are you ready to mount up?

( ii / the hunt )

iia.

[ Find Bellamy by the staging area. He's been helping a cluster of Meradans secure traps, and circulating through the few Carpathans he had familiarized himself with at the Naerstone House. He's nervous, which is obvious to anyone who touches his mind.

He'll circle back to any members of the Nest to check on them and their progress, or if they ping his mind accordingly. Pester him, or for spectators, link into his brain now. ]

iib.

[ The groups split. Bellamy's group finds nothing but dead end after dead end. It's uneventful. Whether or not that's a good thing probably depends on which member of this hunting party you asked. Bellamy's palpably frustrated, and he draws off towards another member of the Nest. ]

( Do you think they have a plan for if we aren't able to flush it out? )

( iii / aftermath )

[ It had been a while since Bellamy had gotten truly banged up like this. He'd emerged from Concorida and Waypoint relatively unscathed. Sparring on the Station never escalated to the point of drawing blood. And he's aware he's been lucky. None of his garments have ripped, but his entire body is aching. There's places where his robes are sticking to his skin, and he suspects he's either bleeding or sweating. There won't be a way to tell until he starts stripping down. Having seen Lexa and Clarke back to each other, he moves blindly for the first tent belonging to their people in his eye-line. Asuka's grief is raging to near-blinding levels in the back of his head, compounding the adrenaline and terror of the fight itself.

He needs to lay down. But what he has are shaky hands and helpless, useless anger of his own. Bellamy remembers Anakin being swallowed up by flame. That had been just as excruciating as feeling Lavellan wink out of existence beneath the crushing weight of their prey. In the moment, Bellamy had felt like he were dying. It had been impossible to separate his own consciousness from Lavellan's.

Inside the tent, Bellamy takes a few deep breaths, chest heaving, the kicks the nearest bedroll across the tent. No expletive can really express what he's feeling. Pain and displaced grief and fury are choking him. His hands are clumsy when they rise to his veils, curses muffled as he tries to get it all off without tearing. ]

>> aftermath

[otrazhenie]

[ The one good thing about her past? Elena's used to things trying to kill her. Not giant monsters on alien worlds, of course, but the adrenaline rush and fear had been just the same. But actually feeling the loss of a member of the Nest? That one's new, and coping with it is something she's trying very hard not to do at the moment.

Pain and grief are everywhere, though, filtering through so many of the connections in her mind that they are impossible to ignore. She chooses one that she recognizes and follows that link to one of their tents, stepping inside carefully with a wave of concern heralding her arrival, followed by Elena removing her own veils. ]

I'm not gonna ask if you're okay, I already know that answer. But are you hurt?

POST-BARITHAN

[miscreant]

[She wants a drink, but Seviilia did not go through the trouble of raising a corpse to give the Hyrypians reason to question. The corpse that is Lavellan is half dragged, half puppeteered back to the camp -- if it hadn't been clear to the others in the camp that something had gone wrong, it would be perfectly clear then. She is covered in the elf's blood; she imagines Misato and their elin are too -- she hadn't been paying close attention, just enough to get out.

It might have been callous, but they had the body, and now the rest of the camp could see what their pilgrimage had cost the Carbauchians. She dismounts first, then helps Misato and her minion. Now that they were back in camp, they would need to figure out their next move. He was Asuka's broodmate, and she had seen her losing control for just a brief moment as she pass the battlefield. So, once they are in the safety of the camp, Seviilia makes a simple gesture toward her tent, hoping that Misato will understand and follow with their 'badly injured' comrad.

The others would be following shortly.]

( You did well. )

[Misato, of course, followed her on the battlefield as well as she could have expected -- perhaps better. Praise is an easy way to fill the awkward and painful void of silence they all feel as she peels back the entrance.]

i do what i want

[sistershoggoth]

( Good thing you grabbed his ass, otherwise they woulda done it. )

[ An idle update of information. Annie is healed but still limping slightly, her muscles and nervous system not as willing to relax as her bones were to reknit. And she's not fuckin' drunk enough yet. She'd had a bit before they'd gone out, and it had done her some good: made her nice and bouncy when she got slammed into the canyon wall. But now she's dry and unwilling to be. ]

( CLOSED TO CLARKE + MAT )

[wrackful]

[Climbing the cliffs had been a hell of a lot of work for relatively little gain. Far below them in the maze, the hunting party could move a lot more freely - and quickly - than the clifftops allowed them to. But it was better than nothing. Binoculars from the packs in hand, sprinting here and there for better vantage points, they at least had some view on what was going on. More than they would've done left down on the ground. And if there was any chance they could spot the Barithian with enough time to give the other hosts an advantage, they were at least in the right place for it.

Still, that doesn't stop Murphy from complaining as they have to run to another spot, mindful of the uneven rock beneath his feet and the edge of the cliff close to one side, coming to a stop to peer over and check where the party was.]

Should've forced one of those fake deer to come up here with us.

[He has vague recollections of vids of goats climbing mountains. If only alien machine horses were as useful.]

[skaikru]

Hindsight, ( clarke huffs in response once she's skidded to a stop a few meters away from murphy. it'd been an effort and a half to scale the cliffs, and running all over the place in the name of keeping up with the party below was even more exhausting. but there is something reassuring about being up here; about trying to help, however minorly. it beats standing among the excitable crowd and just waiting. so despite the blooming aches in her legs and the burn of each breath in her lungs, clarke's as exhilarated as one could be whilst simultaneously filled with those pessimistic worst scenario thoughts she so often carried with her.

beneath her boot, a few small pebbles skid to the edge of the cliff and fall soundlessly to the maze floor below them. with the binoculars in hand, it's easy not to think of just how high off the ground they are, and a mark of how far they've come that clarke isn't expecting a shove off the side or a knife to her throat (charlotte had fallen silently too). no, she's completely absorbed in the viewing, perhaps colored with a little frustration that she can't pick accurately pick out and track any one particular host with how swiftly they travel, and how many twists and turns they dip past.

or spot the beast they all hunted. )

Do you see anything?

rhan + lyr | ota

[isorropia]

rhan.

[After a certain point, there's simply nothing to be done. Logically, she knows this. Sometimes these things are just best left to lay wounded in the darkness for a time - to scab and scar before they're brought into the light for any measure of examination. Rest and time is, Rhan hears, sometimes the only way to manage particularly cruel cuts.

But honestly, she doesn't sit terribly well at the best of times. Moments of difficulty tend to exacerbate that instinct rattling around under her skin. Best to walk it off, hmm?

Which is why long after the hunting party has returned with it's morbid trophies - some especially so - that Rhan can be found walking the camp in the evening. To any casual observer, she is merely a lone Carbauschian in typically heavy garments, but to any host she is a faintly humming awareness at the edge of the mind as she sweeps along with enough momentum that she might very well be on the way to perform some errand or task. It certainly doesn't look at all like troubled wandering and should she cross paths with similarly restless Hosts, she doesn't sound disturbed:]

So much for a quiet night, hm?

lyr.

[The fourth of the elder hosts has made a reputation for himself by merit of his absence. He doesn't speak much, doesn't prod into many conversations, and generally seems to have very little interest for the Hosts around him. Tonight, despite everything that's happened, seems to be much the same. Once all has been said and done (and doubtless, there has been plenty of both in the intervening hours between Lavellan's death and this moment), Lyr is remains as an inert stone in a weather cold puddle. He sits quietly in his designated corner of the tent he shares with a handful of the other Hosts and writes in a book balanced on his knee. Outside of the Carbasuchian disguise, he is a prematurely graying young man with a dreary expression to match the sensation of his mind.

Do you best to maintain your composure, won't you? Otherwise--]

Must you do that here? [It's a mild indictment. Scratch, scratch, scratch goes his pen in the book.]

RHAN!

[wille]

[ Misato refuses to be comforted. It feels too indulgent, not nearly as punitive as she deserves when she had been given all the pieces of the picture and still failed to piece them together in time to prevent a death -- that would have been so easy, so easy. But well, this self-flagellation is just as indulgent. 

When she sees Rhan passing by, she follows quickly to fall in step, close enough to speak in low voices. ]

Rhan. What was the point of all this?

[ That her tone is accusing is clear, as if Lavellan's death can be blamed on Rhan, on herself, on the Hyrypian for setting up such lethal games -- because it must be so. Someone or something is responsible for it. What she wants is a clarity of cause and effect, purpose and the cost of achieving it. ]

[skaikru]

I. group therapy ( alnitrashed bros )

( she both does and doesn't mean to find them.

the instinct to count heads, to gather all those dear to her close and assess the damage done to them was curbed by the strings in the back of her head — running from brain stem, to rib cage, to mat, kaji, and rust in a crisscrossing web of interconnectivity. clarke knows rust is alive, relatively unscathed. she knows mat had been up on the clifftop with her overseeing the whole race. she knows kaji didn't even compete or scale vertiginous heights to watch. but in the wake of death and despair, those strings tug regardless.

her feet carry her without much conscious thought, drifting through the somber encampment of their own accord — bring her up just short of her broodmates and a bottle. something between disgust and disapproval colors her mood, a striking and sober interruption to announce her presence. )

Really?

( color clarke unimpressed with your coping mechanisms, boys. )

II. cuddle therapy ( lexa )

( a while later, she's still feeling the effects of the drink. be it solely through osmosis or the potency of a few sips of alien hard liquor in her stomach, the world has taken on a hazy filter. the walk from brood to sleeping tent feels longer than it should and means there's plenty of time for clarke's tightly lashed armor to chip and rust away. she doesn't weep openly behind the curtain of her veil, but the remnant of grief that flitted through the hivemind intensify, and she's at war with herself; wonders almost aloud why this death feels different, why she mourns someone she didn't even know.

there's an easy explanation when she finally pushes back the flaps of the dark tent and her gaze snaps immediately to lexa's form beneath blankets. because it could have been her.

it could have been bellamy in the depths of the maze, it could have been murphy up along the clifftops. it could have been any of them, symbiote abilities or none. they were mortals, and lavellan's death was a stark reminder of the dangers on this mission that had begun to feel a little monotonous. it could have been lexa who'd died today, and clarke — breaks a little at the thought. her nose congests, her eyes well up. a raw lump that has nothing to do with how the alcohol had burned going down starts to form in her throat. and with the tilt in the world, the grief in her chest, and darkness to lubricate her actions, clarke obliterates whatever line of decorum they'd drawn in the sand.

if there are other people asleep in the tent, she pays them no mind. doesn't even bother to strip out of her costume pieces, or remove her hood and veil. there's little graceful about the way she drops to her knees and crawls into the sheets alongside lexa, save the careful quiet of every movement — like maybe if she didn't rustle the bedclothes or say anything, she could wrap her arms around the other woman without waking her.

could push her covered face into lexa's hair without them needing to have a conversation about what losing her the first time had felt like. )

III. w w w wildcard

( if you need to grieve/be "i told you this shit was dangerous so"'d/just want to get at clarke griffin, come to me ♥ she was on top of the cliffs for the race, made a mad dash through camp after It Happened, and if there's a funeral pyre she'll be there, brooding and remembering. otherwise accost at will! )

I

[aluminumandash]

[ A sour sensation, in answer to her reproach: he knows. He's past coping—this is his ticket to oblivion, a way of effacing every one of his carefully plotted lines. ] Lavellan. That was his name.

[ Rust's mind, usually honed, has an altogether different feel. Overextended. Clinging, like a scent more than a touch. Lavellan's flung body, the barithian's dying howl—he forces the memory on her. As if he could hold her, face down, in the reality of it.

He's hunched in on himself, one hand wrapped around the bottle. He lifts his head, a slow, shaky process. His expression of course hidden. ] There you fucking go.

[aluminumandash]

I. some day we shall get up before the dawn

[ That morning, that early, early morning before the sky's had a chance to resolve overhead, finds Rust back in a familiar mindset. He's returned—that's what it seems like, not memory—to days of waking not to voice or touch but a shift in the air. Pulling his boots on in the dark. A law of nature: if pops leaves without you, you have to catch up.

He's quiet on the ride out, at ease on his mount but watchful, sizing up the group's weakest riders. Anyone who's stiff in the saddle or struggling with their Elin will draw Rust's attention—harsh but impersonal, like sun in your eye. The underlying emotion harder to pin down, a grim cross between nerves and torpor.

Once they've settled on a fall back, he takes stock of their chosen site and goes to work setting traps. Again, he picks out anyone who's clumsy or at a loss. ] Giving you trouble? [ Mild, the words caught in the slow churn of his drawl. He resumes working as he waits for an answer. ]


II. and find our ancient hounds before the door (tag him during any point in this, but please only one person give him a ride!)

[ Inevitably, necessarily, he breaks off from the group. None of them can track like he can—that's not arrogance. They weren't raised to it.

He rides at a decent clip, the return route more complicated with every turn. The air grows humid as breath. Time sags.

He starts seeing markers—a dislodged coral shelf, an array of smaller tracks. He dismounts to lead his Elin through a high narrow passage; on the other side, it's as though the ground's been mauled. Rust crosses to the wall and his senses cross too, the coral's stark white humming electric on his tongue.

As he watches, the hollows—their shape like pomegranate flesh picked clean—in the coral expand, deepen until it's as if he's staring into eyeless sockets.

The wind sounds forlorn, trapped there in the maze with him.

The Elin's ears prick up. Rust turns and it's silent a moment then loud, the wind itself drowned out by a groan. He scrambles for his mount, has a leg thrown over it when the world slants into shadow. A claw swipes the air, the wall crashing down. Rust's tossed from his Elin. A noise like a scream turning to static.

By the time he stands up, the animal's dead, buried in rubble. Its head caved in. ]


III. and wide awake know that the hunt is on

[ He makes sure they're all accounted for. Down to the reanimated fucking corpse, why the fuck not. Then it's wander into the wilderness or crawl into a bottle and why he chooses one over the other he couldn't say.

It feels like—but comparison gives out there. No like or since for this, no horizon. The truth is he never stopped mourning Sophia, grief just a name for the shape the world took around her absence.

He gets his hands on something, Rabadoceans passing him around until one of them produces a clay bottle. Potent, is all he says of it, and that's good enough for Rust.

He's directionless, once he has his bottle, swigging from it openly before retreating into a dark corner somewhere. Maybe he bumps into you, maybe you seek him out, or maybe he musters the wit to recognize you as one of the hosts who stayed behind. If the latter, his mind lunges toward yours. ] You wanna know what happened. [ It could be a question. There's the sensation of Rust pulling himself together, and it borders unnervingly on the literal. ] ( I'll show you. )


iv. stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more

[ Wildcard me! ]

I

[wille]

[ Misato has her arms buried in a tangle of ropes and bendable metal poles. Her frown could put the Marianas Trench to shame, her utmost attention sunk into the seemingly hopeless endeavor of salvaging the bundle of nothing into a rig that might trap something other than her own limbs. But her mind is abuzz with excitement, no trace of defeat here, and she is so certain of herself when she hands him two ropes. ]

Take this. Pull it really, really hard when I tell you to.

[ Only after he accepts would she walk over to the other side to pick up another identical pair. ]

Ready?