station72 | [mission: hyrypia] and when our bottles and all we are fill’d with immortality

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

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 )

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[ Asuka wants to hide away from the world for a while. She doesn't want other people to see her like this, let alone people she (sort of) respects or knows. It's awful. At the same time, there's something soothing about the way that Clarke wraps her in her arms. It's a push-pull of two different reactions, each wanting to go in different directions. She starts to tug away, arms raised against Clarke's belly, but she stops partway through, fingers curling into her robes as she forces the tears back. She's not going to cry. She's not going to cry.

Not here. ]

I'm fine.

[ Her voice is raspy, throat tight. ]

( it feels like trying to hold an ocean in her cupped hands; asuka pushes listlessly at her stomach, and clarke just pulls tighter. she can't tell which one of them is trying harder not to fall apart but seeks to prevent that; grapples with the water slipping through her fingers, and tries to shove down the lump that's risen in her throat. she's looking around over the top of asuka's head, somewhat desperately trying to check off the list of people she needs to see alive. wherever the likes of her friends and broodmates are, clarke can't spot them immediately in the crowd and that just serves to worsen the growing anxiety in her chest. )

Good.

( weakly spoken, lacking any conviction. nothing felt good right now. )

Good, that's good. Let's get you — ( she trails off, the implication of somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere private clear as she finally unravels one arm from around the other girl. her right remains firmly around her shoulders, protective and forceful as clarke makes to usher them both back towards whichever tent is closest. somewhere else, somewhere safe/i> — in order to fall apart. )

[ This won't be the first or last time Asuka cries. She'll do it again later with Lakshmi. She'll be raw and in pain and hurting for hours and days and this is just the first step down that road. She stiffens her shoulders, back ramrod straight underneath the layers and layers of cloth as Clarke starts to steer her. She feels vulnerable and a part of her wants to elbow Clarke and duck into the crowd so she doesn't have to suffer the indignity of exposing her own weakness. She doesn't quite do that, though. She does elbow Clarke, but just enough to let her break away and lead, gaze down as she winds her way back to one of the tents. ]

I can walk-

[ It's sharp and indignant, but it's to cover up something deeper and more hurtful than the perceived slight of being treated like an invalid. ]

( the jab in the side smarts, but is ultimately overshadowed by the residual ache clarke holds in her chest. an ache for a stranger now passed, an empathetic response to asuka's own dizzying anguish. by comparison, being thrown off with a pointy elbow feels like it's happening to someone else; something she is vaguely aware of, but just enough to release her hold on the other girl and press a hand absently to where they connected. her stride doesn't break. clarke continues to be aggressively present at asuka's back as they weave through the crowd to the sanctity of the tent — a tragic rehash of milling through the foreign dignitaries on their previous quest to eat in quiet.

but solace behind canvas and amongst bedrolls won't provide them peace of mind. clarke doesn't try to touch her again, but once they're past the flap of the first sleeping tent and safe to peel off the veils and gloves, the urge to reach out and assess the damage rises again. hands twist, concern boiling over. the desire to help but feeling as useless as she had to prevent any of this from her perch atop a mountain at war. )

You're sure you aren't hurt? Let me look.

[ Asuka won't admit it, but there's a part of her that takes comfort in having Clarke close. In having Clarke refuse to back away. Another part of her screams for her to leave the interloper behind, to find a place where she can be alone and where she won't have to deal with the disgusting presence of anyone else. Where she cna quietly loathe herself and her situation in peace and quiet. But she doesn't. She just goes to her tent and once she's inside, she starts stripping off layers, moving in sharp, short motions, making a noise of frustration as part of her headdress catches in her hair and she yanks on it, ignoring the pain.

A noise rolls out of her. It's not a word. It's frustration and rage and sorrow and she doesn't have an answer for Clarke. She's just trying to get it all off. ]

Stupid, fucking thing...!

( it's a heartwrenching thing to watch. a wounded animal gnawing at its own leg, a hurt person bent on self-destruction of some sort. and while clarke can acknowledge that giving emotional pain a physical outlet is in some sense relieving, that's a distant recognition. and looking at asuka twist and jerk and pull at her hair just tightens whatever invisible hand has found its way around her heart and started squeezing. )

Asuka... ( trailing off, choked and brimming with sympathy. but no. that's no good. from what she knows about the girl, it wouldn't be welcome. tough people don't want to be swaddled and nursed when they're hurt, and so clarke folds that desire into a neat square and does what she does best in times of high stress and tangible heartbreak.

she doubles down. schools her features from open and weepy to stony and composed. and when she speaks, it's a barked sort of command. ) Stop that. ( clarke isn't asking anymore, she's stepping forward to close that space between them and swatting asuka's hands out of her own hair in order to take over and rid the girl of the burden of layers herself — with admittedly gentle hands, that don't yank at hair. )

I can do it-!

[ Asuka objects, still trying to get it disentangled from her hair as Clarke steps forward. A part of her wants to accept that help, to take the offered hand and just move past this, and the other wants to slap it away, as if to prove to her own heart that she can keep relying on herself over all others. But she finally stills, gaze focused downward as Clarke starts to help. It goes quick, even if there's a bit of a pause to strip some fiddly bits away from strands of hair. ]

I can do it.

[ She insists more quietly, hands itching to do something as she starts in on more of her robes. ]

I know you can, ( said with the same timbre as a parent; borrowed from memories of her mother. said like one says it's okay while rubbing the back of the sick, who know they'll be fine but still feel absolutely miserable. there's a well of deep internal strength and perseverance in asuka, it manifests in her independence and resilience. but even if clarke is aware of those depths, the point right now is that the other girl isn't alone, and she doesn't have to. doesn't have to be any of those things, doesn't have to rip out her hair. ) But I'm going to do it.

( twitchy fingers make fast work of the tangled hair and fabric; quick and as gentle as can be. and afterwards, when she's successfully freed asuka's hair from the traps of the headdress, clarke steps back. allows the girl to undress on her own, if that's what she wants, but remains close by and holds out her hands for dusty riding clothes to be piled into. )

Don't-!

[ But the response is muted and her hands drop to her side helplessly, all of the self-reliance drained out of her for a moment as she deals with the wave of helpless grief that threatens to well up inside of her. Why does losing people always have to hurt? ]

Don't.

[ It's quieter, but it doesn't mean anything. Instead she just starts pulling off the dusty garments, one after the other until she's down to skin and underclothes and the sweat can start drying off of her body. She just stands there a moment longer, looking and feeling lost. ]

( the time and space for words has gone. the second asuka whimpers around the word don't, any and all empty attempts at comfort die in clarke's throat. in the wake of waves of emotion — bitter, tragic, empty — her resolve only strengthens; that residual ache in her chest shoved down even deeper so as to become the rock in this desperate situation. she pays special mind to keep her features firm and composed, but not unkind; open and understanding enough that if asuka wanted to cry and scream about just how unfair the world was, clarke would listen intently and feel for her.

but that doesn't seem to be the type of person the girl was. not when it really mattered, not when screaming so loudly her voice shook the tent canvas might actually help ease the pain in her heart, or shake the numbness from creeping up her fingers. clarke's own hands twitch, and she busies herself collecting asuka's dirty riding clothes and stooping to lay the collective bundle somewhere off to the side of the nearest bed roll. and coming up with a blanket instead.

the sweat would dry, then cool. and while a far cry from a shock blanket, the weight of being wrapped up in constricting fabrics could be enough to keep the world from tilting off its axis and plummeting through space. sometimes, at least. clarke returns to asuka's side and hefts up the quilt over the younger girl without preamble or explanation; tucks it around her shoulders, and uses the motion as an excuse to take her gently by the shoulders and guide her next to a bedroll, then down into a sitting position.

and clarke settles down next to her as well, close and present. one arm still draped across asuka's shoulder blades, physical contact playing the role of an anchor between reality and all consuming grief.

she still harbors the burning desire to seek out her friends and fret over their well being, but that could wait. )

[ Asuka's told herself so many times that she shouldn't cry, that she can't cry, that it hurts to let the tears out. Even if she's always failed on that account (it's easy to say that you'll never cry, quite another to always hold the tears in). But the tears still show up, hot and running down her cheeks because it hurts and it won't stop hurting. She'll cry again and again and then again before this is all over. She'll be cradled by different people, helped through this by different sets of hands, but Clarke is the first.

Lavellan was her first broodmate and the only one she opened herself to. She showed him why she hurt, why Misato couldn't be trusted, why the pain of that moment was so intense. And she'd trusted him to be there, to be a rock for her in this strange new world and now he was gone and he'd gotten himself killed and there was a void torn in her that she can't fill, will never fill, and instead there's just tears and a fresh, gaping wound.

Another scar for her to try and hide.

Her hands grasp at the blanket as Clarke drapes it over her and the objection that wants to spring to her lips dies in her throat, because there's nothing there but a pained sort of sobbing sound and she knows if she opens her mouth, it will be a wail, so she keeps that noise bottled up. She doesn't need to be any more ashamed of herself than she already is. She doesn't need to hate herself that much more for feeling emotions. Instead she curls up, allows Clarke to wrap her arm around her, and just weeps, hating herself for every tear and choked sob and hating Lavellan for dying.

Hating everyone for no good reason except that they were there. ]

( that could wait, that could wait, that could wait...

clarke recites the mantra with increasing regularity, and each time the thought passes through the hazy shallows of her thoughts, it becomes a little less effective at battening down the desire to bolt from the tent. objectively, she knows who has passed; not one of her friends, not one of her broodmates — someone else, someone she didn't know. but that doesn't mean she's not still scared of what could have befallen those she did. and as she sits, arms wrapped around asuka's sobbing form, the crushing wave of grief rolls off the other girl and all those beyond the privacy of the tent; pour over clarke until she's begun to shake, and tears have begun to well in the corners of her eyes.

she could wait, she could wait, she — can't.

she has to move, she has to go. despite how bitterly wrong it feels to abandon the other girl in this, her hour of need, clarke physically cannot sit still anymore. she has to know how badly lexa was injured, if bellamy was bleeding. she has to make sure they're all alright, and she's unraveling her arms from the blanketed crying mass to her side. )

Asuka, I'm sorry. ( she means it, too, for all the good that does for this apology that ultimately feels flat. clarke's eyes are wet, and her nose is stuffed. she sniffs. ) I'm so, so sorry, but I have to —

( words fail her for a moment, but the girl is perceptive; use to abandonment. she'd get it. clarke wants to cry for her inability to be in two places at once. )

I need to know they're okay.

[ It's not nearly long enough for catharsis or any kind of relief and after Clarke is gone, Asuka will seek out someone else. Another tent. In the moment, it still feels like a betrayal, though. For Clarke to leave her for someone else, for her to selfishly follow her own pain rather than to indulge Asuka's for a little while longer. A part of her knows that she can't expect that. People have their own pain. Their own truths. She saw that during her part of Instrumentality.

That doesn't stop it from hurting.

It does stop her from pointlessly lashing out. ]

Just - go.

[ She's scrubbing at her eyes, feeling drained and tired and sick, but she still hasn't emptied out her tears. Even if there's a moment where she's not a complete wreck. ]

I can come back.

( that seems like an important straw to grasp at, an important offer to extend. a declaration of loyalty in the face of watching what little trust she'd garnered from the other girl slip away into catatonic grief. clarke stares at her face imploringly, even as she moves to pick herself up and gather her scarves about her face. )

I will come back. If you need me.

Do whatever you want.

[ It's not quite a rejection. It's also not quite an embrace. It's something dangled for Clarke to grab onto. Not an offer. It's too selfish to really be called an offer. Deep breath. ]

I'll - be fine.

[ She really won't. ]

( no, she probably won't. but sometimes...

sometimes you have to accept the facts that are presented to you at face value, so as to be able to continue on with life. and even as the voice in the back of clarke's head urges regret, and she hates herself a little for continuing to pull on her gloves and edge towards the tent flap. )

I'll be back, ( she pauses to assure right before the entrance, voice edging to the hysterics her torn and tortured soul embodies. self hatred would be leaving asuka, and self hatred would be not seeking out the rest of her friends. clarke wants to apologize again, but clamps down on the words. bites her tongue.

and dragging the veil up over her face, steals out of the tent into the dying sunlight. )

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

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wrap this soon?

sure!

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