[mission: hyrypia] i am not there; i do not sleep

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :019 - DAY :020
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in the void between multiverses, a fresh clutch of Hosts hatches; down on the planet Hyrypia, a Host is laid to rest.
WARNINGS: Mentions of character death, funerary services. Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

STATION 72
DAY :019

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and the universe with you in it is suddenly different. --No. That's not right. You're you, the universe is as it's always been, and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or coming up from the darkness of some wine dark sea. Nothing is different and yet everything is.

Here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small, faintly hexagonal chamber with a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been calmed. There's something peaceful about waking up here - like you belong. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. A matching dread. An easy comfort. Maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party happening behind a nearby closed door.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone. There are a handful of you here, somehow intimately familiar to each other.

Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room it's quiet and still, feeling for all the world like a shell for some vast dark thing.

Eventually, a sensation manifests out of the black. It says:


PREPARE YOURSELF
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD is sound and sensation: a warm shaft of sunlight through smoky glass - a gauzy curtain twitching in some summer breeze. It says or feels like:

( Come meet with me, won't you? )

Where exactly this meeting is supposed to occur isn't immediately clear, but head in the direction that seems correct and eventually Station 72 gets you where you're meant to be: a circular briefing room with tiered seating, empty now, before a woman with a sheet of graying hair and something focused in her expression. It's been some time since she's spoken with a young host - since she's done one of this briefings. Apparently she's feeling something like her usual self. She smiles and it's very warm.

"Welcome to Station 72. Unfortunately, you won't be here long but we'd like to answer as many of your questions as we're able before you leave this place."

[ooc note: please see here for the catch-all briefing thread]


THE STATION
WITH A LITTLE UNDER 24 HOURS before it's time to make the trip to Hyrypia, this is as good an opportunity as you're going to get to familiarize yourself with Station 72 before you leave it. There's plenty to see, but a distinct lack of people to make conversation with. It's lonely and quiet and there's a sensation of dust gathering even where there is none. Maybe studying the briefing files on your databank is the most proactive distraction, but if not? Well there's plenty of places to get lost...

In the simulated morning, a strange archaic ship has arrived on the Hangar. Its very alien pilots unload two heavy trunks, then dole out a series of kits to the new hosts. One of them - the pale female alien who her calls herself Rhan - cheerfully announces, "Get changes and buckle in. I'm afraid we've some grim business ahead of us today. Funerals, you know. But chin up, my darlings. One uncomfortable day and then we'll leave the matter behind us. --Oh, but do be gentle with the others. I suspect they might be tender for a few days yet."

You leave the Station. If you're lucky, you might one day make it back.

HYRYPIA - THE GRAZE
DAY :020

THE FUNERAL PROCESSION
A SHIP DESCENDS from the iron colored sky early in the morning on Day :020. Before it even pierces the planet's atmosphere, its cargo should be obvious to the other Carbauschians: a new batch of Hosts, freshly hatched and just in time for the grim festivities.

The idea is simple: that they are part of a mourning delegation, only here to briefly oversee Lavellan's funerary rites. Luckily (...) there's plenty of comatose Hosts lying in the tents to trade places with the newcomers.

Better get to know your new friends quickly - there's plenty to be brought up to speed on (such as, uh, the recent death of one of the elder Hosts), and likely enough work to be done that the new spare hands are welcome. Or maybe the state of nothing-like-faux mourning is a good excuse for some alone time on a strange new alien planet. You're all so very, very far from home.


BURIAL RITES
THE FUNERAL has been arranged to the Hosts' precise specifications. Each and every single request they've made has been met, carried out by two soft-spoken, contrite Hyrypian servants who had come to them not long after their return from the hunt. Perhaps because the members of the other envoys are unsure whether it's permitted or welcome to attend, the site of the funerary pyre is hardly full to bursting with onlookers. Or maybe the burning of corpses goes against some obscure tradition. Or maybe some of the minor envoys simply don't care much and think the Carbasuchians are best left to their grief alone. Still, while it's hardly the entire encampment in attendance a notable selection of diplomats and their respective entourages and several of their Hyrypian hosts have turned out for the ceremony. It seems the Descendants in particular have turned out in some force, including the very hunter saved by Lavellan's quick thinking.

When the time comes for the rites to proceed, it's left to the Hosts to light the fire and say their farewells to their fallen comrade - the first and hopefully last to be lost in this strange land.


A SOMBER CELEBRATION
ASH SCENT HANGS HEAVY STILL over the encampment. Or maybe that's simply the perception - after all, the breeze still blows in from over the Great Flat. Surely it's just a memory of the smell which lingers, as circumstantial as the mournful note the wind sighs as it cuts across the Graze and into the tangled Finger Maze.

However, matters of the universe don't pause for the tragedy of the loss of an envoy - and there is so much riding on this Pilgrimage. To their credit, the Hyrypians have done all they can to provide for the Carbauschians in their time of grief (including a visit from the Matron Bassita herself, pale and full of sympathy and apologies), and as evening falls what clearly was meant to be a carousing party to celebrate a successful hunt and completion of the Pilgrimage's first stage has been considerably tempered.

The drinks still flow; the food is still plentiful, rich and lavishly spiced - but the music being played is soft and careful and of the hundreds of small technomanced insect lights the drift over the encampment tonight, a considerably portion of them are dedicated to lingering around the charred skeleton of the funeral pyre as a sober acknowledgement of what has come to pass.

Give it a few hours and maybe the mood will lighten slightly. On the other hand, there's nothing like an uncomfortably close tragedy to bring people together - and as Rhan suggests, maybe now's exactly the right time to ask a few pointed questions. Or to get hammered with new friends. Or to take a nice long walk while everyone else is consumed by the muted festivities.

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch, the arrival of new Hosts on Hyrypia, the funeral of Lavellan and the supremely awkward dinner party meant to wrap the first stage of the Pilgrimage. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find a more detailed overview of the host hatching process HERE and additional setting information about the Station HERE. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information if you're brand new to the game. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • GAME CALENDAR • MISSION: HYRYPIA • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

npc catchall | day :020 | ota

[onemind]

((ooc: Been wanting to have an IC interaction with some of the local color? Now's your chance to ask questions and make use of everyone feeling and little guilty about the death of a visiting envoy. Ask questions, press for information, get someone a little drunk (or take advantage of someone who already is to get some new intel). Make friends, or enemies, or small talk.

How this works: the world is your oyster. Write your character approaching an npc of your choice (literally, this can be anyone currently at this location - a bodyguard, a notable envoy, a second, the random guy carrying drinks on a tray, the young servant running a message, someone named or mentioned in previous logs/interactions, or someone entirely new. Write an IC starter for who your character is aiming to talk to/how they're approaching them/where they're finding them and we'll hit the ground running.

Please be aware that to accommodate everyone, our tags may be fairly short. We'll do our best to boomerang to be sure these threads are completed in a timely fashion.))

[There's nothing quite like a funeral to bring down the mood in the room -- or, you know, the entire encampment. What was originally clearly meant to be a boisterous evening of celebration to draw the first stage of the Pilgrimage to a close has transformed itself into a fairly subdued gathering. There's still music, but it's significantly less jovial; there's still plenty of deliciously spiced food, but those serving it are wearing their best sober expressions. On the plus side, what may have promised to be an evening of typically stale, clinically pleasant conversation now might afford the opportunity for a little more honesty.

Sympathy (or guilt) is a hell of a thing.]

( My, this looks like a golden opportunity - doesn't it? ) [Rhan's voice, pleasant and right there in your ear.] ( Better not waste it. If I'm not mistaken, we finally have ourselves some stakes here - someone out there thinks they're winning this thing and feeling very comfortable. And someone else is starting to worry and might do something very silly indeed. Why don't you go find someone and ask a few uncomfortable questions, eh? Never hurts to know who's getting a little desperate, darlings. Sometimes those people sing like birds. )

[greentech]

[ Despite her lethargy and muted sadness, Pidge is still trying to figure out how everything around her works. She can't really stop. None of them have the time to. She's been watching the camp and she's picked out a particular Second - one who seems young and enthusiastic and she almost (does) feel a little bad for the fact that she's going to have to lie to him, but she still ends up approaching him anyway. It's partway through the celebration, drink and food are flowing and even with the muted atmosphere, there's still a healthy buzz of conversation. She throws herself right into it, taking a free spot next to him, carefully balancing a plate of food in one hand and a (non-intoxicating) drink in the other. ]

Oh, uh, hey. You're... one of the Seconds, right?

[ Good job, Pidge. ]

[onemind]

[The young Second is easy enough to wind into conversation - after all, he's really not participating in much of the talk happening at his end of one of the long tables. He's certainly playing close attention - is attentive and eager to listen -,
but seems somewhat hesitant to cut into the conversation at hand himself.

Maybe the Carbauschian settling into the seat beside him and talking directly to him rather than simply in his space is something of a relief.

He certainly seems more than happy to pivot in his seat toward the heavily cloaked stranger and away from the young Hyrypians surrounding them.]

Oh, uh. Yes. And you're a Carbauschian, right? Don't worry, I won't ask for your name. I know that's rude.

[greentech]

Oh-

[ Pidge has to remember that happened. Word of that did filter around, but it's not something she's been actively thinking about. She clears her throat and presses on. ]

Don't worry about it. Coming here... it's been a learning experience for all of us.

[ She tries to be a bit upbeat, but it's hard with the funeral still settled in the back of her head. ]

Um. It's sort of why I wanted to talk to you. I've seen a lot of your machines and we don't really have anything like them back on Carbausch.

[onemind]

[He sits up considerably straighter, the metal pieces braided into his long dark hair and in the sleeves of his robe clinking gently against one a other.]

Oh? How do you care for them?

[There's no disguising his interest.]

[greentech]

Oh, I think they're actually really cool!

[ And her enthusiasm is on display for a moment as she starts to talk again - a bit too quickly at first before she reigns herself in. ]

They're almost like actual, living creatures! I just wish I knew how you guys actually built them! They seem like they'd be... uh. Useful. On Carbausch.

[ Yeah. Yeah, that's the ticket. ]

[onemind]

[The young acolyte's pleasure is immediate and obvious, dark eyes bright with enthusiasm.]

I'm so glad you like them! The technomance Elin were my favorite as a child. They're so technically complex - just masterful. Really beautiful. Their interior mechanisms are really gorgeous too. Have you seen one under the exterior plating?

[You've apparently opened a can of worms, Pidge.]

[greentech]

[ GASP. He might actually be able to see her eyes sparkling behind her veil. ]

I haven't! I've wanted to take a look at how they work underneath all of that plating, but I didn't really think to ask...!

[ Because that might have been suspicious. ]

[onemind]

[He literally puts his cup down.]

I mean we could go look right now if you cared to.

[And then he pauses, seems to recall that they've quite literally recently finished burying a Carbauschian, and abruptly all the excitement drains from his face. His expression schools itself into a very severe line.]

If that's appropriate, I mean.

tries not to tl;dr, fucks up totally

[shri]

[ She holds her silver prayer plate through the whole ceremony, mild murmured as she walks through the crowd in even steps, offering the same wordless movements to anyone that stops her - to be mysterious, at least, comes easy. Easy to be removed, when the grief is still so thick. But from where she stood to begin with, to where she walks now, it is not so mysterious as all that, she has a simple goal.

A real misery, but oh yes, she'll use that, take them for everything they're worth. See what she can pry out of their commiserating misery, until that sweet guilt turns back to foul pride. The set of her abilities, without stepping into it until she needs it, is held, even if what she feels is no more than hurt, ripped open grief, a need to pour out into anything, do something.

Rather in her own structured ritual, habits of a long passed home that she means but oh used like a knife now. She keeps an eye for - an envoy, to begin with, watching the first group of high ranking envoys that comes to attend as her mark, another amount of time longer, to ascertain who seems to have the highest rank of the group before she approaches them, and speaks to that one - first and directly. ]

Thank you for attending. [ and where her veils hide the slide of eyes, she sweeps wider, across them in a turn of her face. Open, more animated, to give the acknowledgement she wants. ] You honour his passing with your presence.

[onemind]

[For a mark, it appears that she has chosen well. The farana in question's rank is shown more through the deference of those around her than through her dress- almost identical to her companions, differentiated only by a certain intricacy to the embroidery around her high collar. She seems ill at easy, her long fingers straying to the necklace around her throat, the simple varnished wood that all descendants wear.]

It is only right. He saved the life of one of my family. A debt not easily repaid.

[She removes her fingers from the necklace- with a jerkiness that suggests she had not realized what she was doing.]

She would be here as well, but she is taking part in the traditional Hyannian mourning ceremony. She expresses her sympathy through me.

[shri]

[ She lowers her head to a bow of regard, thanking for the honour her and her family took. That at least, is meant - a guilt she remembered. A guilt that just poured forth. ]

It's not an easy guilt to lift when so much is owed, but so little can be done when the dust is settled.

[onemind]

It is not guilt that I feel. Such would disrespect a noble action.

[She speaks the words with some confidence, but there's an edge of tension there. Not guilt, perhaps, but still uncomfortable.]

I am to understand your people do not always share their names, but if an exception is made now, I would appreciate knowing who he was.

[Her fingers lace together, twisting in front of her, but she is otherwise still. Patient.]

[shri]

[ To that at least: she has compassion. ]

I may, but not... here. His name is kept by his closest for the mourning period. To speak it in open settings is against our customs.

[ I knew nothing of him, save he was part of my breath, my body, like he was us all, and I will use our misery for something. ]

Perhaps an exception might be made in return. We have a... ceremony, it is not performed often for outsiders, so it would be private to your... family. But it is to help the passing of one of our own, to relieve the presence for those left behind. [ The consumption to the role, is held in the pause like she isn't sure as her head lowers a moment - if this really should be done, not by custom, but the press on when her face turns back up again is an action decided - this is right.

Maybe she even means it. ] I would like to share it with your family, if I may, to offer her and you all, some relief.

[onemind]

We would be honored, only- [A pause, her hands untwisting and coming to rest again at her sides-] When would this ceremony occur? It is my understanding that tomorrow we leave this place, and the daughter of my sister must remain sequestered until the sun rises again.

[As honored as she may say she is, there is a careful emphasis on the word must. Quietly emphatic, even in the face of possibly causing some offence.]

[shri]

[ - Blast. Well. ]

Of course. Perhaps another date might be better - do you know when might be best with the next part of our pilgrimage? It would not take so long, but I would not want it to be interfering with our next tasks.

[ Polite, but there's an edge to her words - worry, concern, about moving on again so soon. When they have lost one of their own in this place. ]

[onemind]

I am afraid our hosts have not been very forthcoming with their upcoming plans.

[While she doesn't sound bitter, there's a slightly artificial tone go the pleasant tone of that statement. It seems that she, like many others, is not entirely pleased with the set-up.

She shifts slightly, raising her hand to touch to her chest, not quite on the necklace.]

I should not wish to delay you in your own- rituals, but if you find time to do it after we have left this place, you can pass word to me. We will do our utmost to attend.

[adamance]

[When Lexa approaches the Hyrypians, there's tension through her body that she only hopes can be read through the layers of cloth. She has played their games for the last few days, and she feels that someone from their group is entitled to some anger. For her people, anger is a powerful tool—when the Commander speaks out of anger, it shows that someone has broken a certain wall down or made certain to shake some boundaries. Perhaps their group should be anything but angry, but she knows anger is a byproduct of grief. It isn't a byproduct of grief for her, but she they aren't in her head like the Hosts are. They don't know how much this purposeful stride through their tables is both a show practiced countless times for her coalition and a result of her agitation from the day's proceedings.

She counts on that, right before she approaches a table full of ... more significant nobles from Hyrypia. She knows that they've allowed some of their less important fight in their games. If she was in charge, she would do the same. But this isn't about speaking to those participants, and rather, to those who watch and guide them along as if they have a right to make them play these games. It occurs to her that she could say her piece here in front of all of them, but she knows better. She is one against many, and she'd be making a show. There are already eyes on her back. She knows better.

Even if the Hyrypians shared their condolences, she feels less inclined to care. Lexa relies on grief to explain that away as well, as this is a show of her acting forthrightly, when she has been quiet, observant, and controlled since she first arrived.

She asks to speak to one of the heads of the four major houses in privacy, but with guards close. And once that privacy is obtained, she speaks:]

On the first night here, we all listened to the speech about how we could be one after this. When will we have done enough to prove ourselves as your equals? Every action we take is one that is done with the reminder that your people hold all the power. I ask that you reconsider what you ask of us moving forward. We suffer the losses. Not you. [It's risky to be here, to act in anger, but the swell and certainty of her voice is there just the same. She only wishes she could meet them eye to eye, but she's nothing short of limited at this time. This is a gamble, but one she hopes pays off.]

[onemind]

[The Hyrypian who has granted her a meeting is familiar- in a way. She has been with them since Naerstone. A member of the Circle- but not from one of the four great houses. Of course, neither her bearing nor her appearance betray it- she is perhaps more elegantly dressed than Ysiddia, her robes accented with metal pins and beads that match those in her hair. She is usually accompanied by a half a dozen servants- missing now, in the relative quiet of the dim tent. It is quite a gesture on her part- one she seems to quickly regret.

Still, while she opens her curved mouth almost immediately, she seems to rethink her words, pausing for a long second before she responds.

The Pilgrimage does not change. It is the same now as it has ever was- the same as it was when I took it and the same when my ancestors first walked the path. It is a great honor, one that none but Hyrypians have known, until now.

[She presses her fingers together, a slight click as her rings touch] such a great honor that I cannot imagine anyone in their right mind would question it. So it could not have been questioned. It must be a fantasy, a dream brought about by loss. As it did not happen, I cannot imagine that it would need to be discussed with your Envoy. I do not imagine that those who serve for your leaders care to hear about bad dreams.

[adamance]

[Explaining it away as if it's a dream, an occurrence that never happened, only irritates Lexa. It sparks a burning anger inside of her that is only hidden by her robes and the fact that this woman has no ability to reach inside her mind.]

Have you failed to hear the uncertainty from others? Perhaps we're all experiencing the same bad dream. [Lexa does not correct her in saying that she is presenting as one of her leaders, as it feels like a waste of time in terms of technicality.]

I apologize for the offense. [Said only for diplomatic reasons, nothing more.] But if this is meant for Hyrypians alone, do you know why your people have chosen to include us now? [It's hard to knock the arrogance from her tone, but she evens it out the best she can.]

[onemind]

It is no secret.

[She seems almost baffled, expressions flitting across her face swiftly before she manages to steel them- even as much of a seasoned diplomat as she is, the question throws her off.]

When this Pilgrimage is finished we will have chosen the Envoy that will become our sworn ally. All the rest- [She pauses, her chin lifting to display even more of her long, elegant neck, the beads in her hair chiming.] I am sorry, is it possible you don't know your own people's reason for being here?

[adamance]

We're realistic about our people's reason for being here. That's why it's difficult to suffer such a great loss. [These words come after a roll of Lexa's eyes. The condescension is tiring. It makes her want to move, to strike, but she knows that there is no cause for that.

At least not yet.]

Unless you mean that our fears should be even greater? [Than they already are.]

[onemind]

You are under no obligation to walk this sacred path. While I regret your loss, if you cannot understand that such opportunity for enlightenment comes at personal risk, may I suggest that in the future you merely observe?

[The words are cool- confident. The reputation of Hyrypians- of being too prideful considering the relative power of their Empire- shines here, perhaps more truly than it has since the beginning of the pilgrimage.]

It is not a path that all can walk. You may lack the necessary elements to complete the Pilgrimage.

[adamance]

We have no intention of showing ourselves as weak. If you think I speak personally, then you are sorely mistaken, or only willing to look down upon my people as if we don't belong here. What do you think will become of those who don't become your allies? I'd like you to say the words.

[Lexa takes a step closer, body tensing. She almost wishes she had the tools upon her to force the words out, as if her symbiote ability would grant her that.

Instead, she merely has the tools that have to do with the mission itself. They'll have to do.]

[onemind]

[She raises one elegant hand, flicking her fingers dismissively and moving to walk past Lexa, back towards the entrance of the tent.]

I suppose that very much depends on who we chose, doesn't it? [It is not said with any malice- but perhaps the lightness of the words- the dismissiveness is worse.]

Please do enjoy the festivities.