[mission: hyrypia] not fare well

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: Everyone
WHERE: The Red Coast
WHEN: MIDDAY :023 - DAY:027
SUMMARY: A half day's journey from the far side of the Finger Maze sits a village of stone against a red sea.
WARNINGS: None! Will add as appropriate. Have something you want noted here? PM the mod account.

HYRYPIA - THE FAR SIDE OF THE MAZE
MIDDAY :023

A SHARP RELIEF
BY THE TIME the shadow of the airship has sailed away from them, the members of the pilgrimage have had time to take in their surroundings. Gone are the acres of endless grasses, and behind them are the whistling cliffs. What lies ahead is rocky highland, not bordered by steep walls of rock but stretching around them and meandering downward. The ground here is mostly stone, almost barren outside of the occasional scrubby tree and the small, hardy looking creatures with rounded haunches and blockish faces that dart behind the scattered stones and into clumps of pale violet grasses that they seem to eat, along with the lowest leaves of the trees.

It's a half a day’s journey to their next destination. The path they follow meanders, and though it's some kind of a road there are far more potholes for the baggage cart wheels to catch and the hardness of the ground comes as something of a surprise after their opulent journey over the Finger Maze. The Envoys are again left to mingle and make their way, the sounds of music and chatter beginning again. After some hours, the scent of the air has noticeably shifted. The sea-salt air is the first sign that they have neared their destination.


HYRYPIA - THE RED COAST
LATE DAY :023

A WARM WELCOME
THE RED COAST does not come upon them all at once. Instead as they continue wandering the twisting stone paths, the Pilgrimage is brought ever downward and the coast's features slowly reveal itself. First comes a view of a dark sea on the horizon, then the shale eventually gives way to reveal the tops of buildings and narrow, winding streets of a small town clinging along the coast. The town - or fief - almost perfectly compliments the landscape which it hugs. The buildings are small and stone, rough hewn or perhaps simply worn down over the ages. The streets, much like the path the Pilgrimage followed from the Finger Maze, seem to wind their way randomly through the town, following the natural curves in the stone down to the shore which is lined with docks.

In the distance across a misty stretch of dark water, a great towering city can be seen. Sky ships fleck the air around it - a reminder of the realities of the modern life of this planet. However here the Hyrypian locals seem removed from that. They populate ancient looking stone and bobbing wood docks and go to sea in vessels made almost entirely of either wood or some kind of hardened fiber. Divers can be seen distantly in the red waves of the coast, bobbing up in the surf then disappearing under the water again.

As the Pilgrimage comes into the town, they are greeted by local Hyrypians which line the sides of the streets. They stand against the sides of their homes and places of business, daily tasks set aside for now to greet their guests. There are smiles and waves. Several locals pass trinkets into the hands of the passing envoys. None of these are quite the same - there are some beaded bracelets and other small jewelry, hair pins, flowers, and small paper figures of animals and boats and Rabadocean-like figures. All the gifts have a handmade feel to them.


A MOMENT'S REST
THE PATH leading to Tyrisson village doesn't actually lead down to the beach, though it may seem to. Instead it weaves out away from the town towards a low manor above the town. Just beside the manor sits a large stone clearing - the most level ground they've seen since the Graze. The courtyard consists of stone bricks arranged in intricate circular patterns. Covering this large stone yard is an almost overwhelming number of identical, simple stone buildings with single entrances covered by cloth and several broad windows similarly curtained. Each small unit is lit and from within there is the scent of food - the walk and the scent of salt piquing appetites. The members of the Pilgrimage's many envoys are lead to these buildings. Each unit houses roughly fifteen individuals, complete with rows of beds and long dining tables - all of which are far simpler than the great berths of the airship.

The Carbauschians are lead to a cluster of three of the barrack buildings and are politely informed that these will be theirs for the length of their stay on the Red Coast. Then they are left to their own devices to unpack and enjoy the hot dinner that has been prepared and left for them inside.

DAY :024

SIMPLE HOSPITALITY
FROM THEIR BARRACKS the sunrise over the shores of the Red Coast is breathtaking. The red sun sits in a red sky, all of which is mirrored by the red water along the coast. Late in the morning, a polite knock at the exterior of each dwelling summons all of the members of the pilgrimage out into courtyard where they're greeted by pleasant-faced and loosely dressed members of the Tyrisson household. The envoys are provided with a breakfast - warm buns stuffed with savory filling. Many of the local Hyrypians seem deeply curious and eye the Carbauschian veils and layers with interest. When the twin heads of Tyrisson house come before their gathering, the assembled servants bow deeply. As on the airship, they deliver their prepared speech smoothly between them:

"Welcome to the Red Coast and Tyrisson village. This place was once the very definition of Hyrypian industry, the very busiest place on the entire continent. Now, we hope you welcome and enjoy what has become a more sedate way of life. With all that's happened in the last few days, we invite you to take your time - to relax - to partake in the history of this place at your own pace and to enjoy the hospitality provided by the people here.

"There might be a special surprise or two to be fished up toward the end of your stay here," says one of the twins with a wink. "But we can promise they're good ones."

With that, the twins step down and the servants file back into the manor house. The guests are left to their own devices. The town below is open to them, ready to share their skills and traditions with visitors. Over the next few days there are a number of tasks for the Pilgrims to take part in, including:

SEA WEAVING - Along the edges of the docks there are a handful of Hyrypians in small outbuildings, open to the sea breeze and light. Inside the artisans - mostly older and with a certain paleness along the edges of their facial crests - weave grasses taken up from the seafloor. Their skilled fingers fold the strands over and under to create baskets, mats, and even the beginnings of the odd, lightweight boats which line the edges of the docks. They are eager to teach and many seem to be delighted by the chance to tell stories of ancient weavers that their younger family members have tired of hearing.

LISTLE DIVING - At the farthest edges of the port there are high cliffs over deep waters. From these, local Hyrypians dive into the red tinted waves and go deep to the edge of stones to pry off clustered, barnacle like creatures. When they are brought up it is revealed that the secretions they use to glue themselves to the rock form translucent resins somewhat like amber which are tinted in a variety of colors. The divers are eager to teach those who wish to learn their skills --which isn’t you. Robes and water don't mix. Still, they are glad enough to talk and the diving is exciting to watch.

FISHING - The lightweight woven vessels are almost all at sea on these fine days, each one occupied by one or two anglers standing on the boats' broad bottoms. They dangle their swarms of lines away from the hustle and bustle of the shore; when they return to the docks with their prizes, the fishermen are perfectly willing to allow a couple of passengers along as they head back out for their next catch. The boats cut through the red waves using long pole-paddles. Once out on the water, the locals are happy to hand over their poles and teach you how to haul in the wriggling eel-like fish that seem to be the most common catch.

JEWELRY MAKING - In the high village there are numerous open stalls, some of which are occupied by jewelers, hard at work turning the resinous listle pearls into beads or hammering the half-hard portions is listle resin into fibers that are then spun into thread for weaving. Sea grass and metal are made into cords and chains. These artisans tend to have focus lines between their eyes and they talk less than many of the other craftsmen, but they will nevertheless hand over their delicate tools to teach the skills necessary to shape the valuable listle resin into art.

POTTERY - While the sea-grass is beloved - lightweight and shockingly sturdy -, it’s not nearly as abundant as the clay from the cliffs. The red tinge seems to be from the microbiol life that has given the water and the coast its rusted color, staining even the ground. In the stalls besides the jewelers, Hyrypian potters shape clay into anything from common flower pots to fine dishes. The off sideways spinning wheels have many open seats.

HUNTING - Where the Gryer and the Elin ruled the Graze, here there are the small scrappy goat-like Ridin. They are fleet and agile, capable of fitting into shockingly small spaces and disappearing behind rocks and scrub and trees. It’s no surprise then that the denizens of the Red Coast prefer hunting on foot with the help of Britt. The britt are small amphibious creatures with a passing resemblance to seals-- if seals moved like whippets. The Red Coast Hyrypians use them to drive the ridin out into the open where they can be brought down with small slings. They ridin are hunted for their meat as much as to keep them out of the small orchard of trees behind the manor where salty-sweet fruits are grown.

---

((OOC Notes: This log serves as a general catch-all for events from midday DAY :023 through DAY :027. Please feel free to create your logs outside of this one and be aware that there may be additional mod-driven posts/logs which occur within the timeframe of this log. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information to find setting information for the Red Coast. 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

barracks / wildcard (day after arrival)

[perroquet]

Well, I for one, am grateful for the feasting break. [ Gildor comments back, pulling the violin case off his shoulders. He's been down in the village, busking and playing wherever he's welcome to. He loves it, but another feast would mean more playing, and his hands need a rest. That, and the alcohol present at feasts is still a problem. He knows he need not mention it - Bellamy is well aware of his feelings and struggles with it.

Bellamy seems in as need of a distraction as ever - his mind is secure from Gildor's prying concern, though there is undoubtedly a sense of stress making the edges of the mental link fray. ]

May I? [ He sits and slips a glove off - lace fingertips almost worn to holes - and holds a calloused hand out to inspect the object Bellamy asks of. ]

[deployed]

[ The quick smile Bellamy flashes at Gildor is accompanied by a warm wash of welcome. The emotional underscoring is meant to cover the gap between what Bellamy is offering in silent reaction and what Gildor can pick up. ]

Sure.

[ Further explanation of why Gildor might want a pass on the feasts doesn't need to be elaborated on. Bellamy's been relieved to see Gildor wake up. He deserves some time to acclimate without having to fight off the effects of alcohol on his body. Bellamy steps over to him and sets the little statue into his palm. ]

It looks like it's probably native to the area. But not very dangerous.

[ Even as Bellamy says that, he scoffs a little. He's fully prepared to be wrong. ]

[perroquet]

[ As is Gildor, though he draws his hands in with little figure to inspect it fully. He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over the body and little carved face, lightly tapping its nose. ]

A dog? Or a cat, though it's tail is a bit short. Or another one of the Seconds' living mechanical beasts.

[ It does feel a bit segmented, though that may just be the carving's stylization. He isn't as concerned with what it is so much as it's purpose, and he's prepared to be wrong on that too. Like all of them, he only has his own world from which to draw comparisons and find meaning. ]

In Henge, an animal symbol like this one would serve as a reminder of a desired quality, such as strength, or wisdom, or patience. Such a keepsake provides a reminder to focus on our life's path to obtaining good qualities of virtue.

[ He turns it over once more, then holds it out for Bellamy to take again. ]

Or it could just be very cute and delightful. Did you find it in the village?

[deployed]

Some of the villagers gave me a few of them when we arrived.

[ Among other things, but the statues were what Bellamy had found most interesting. He couldn't place some of the figures. Both Gildor's suggestion were plausible. Bellamy turns it over in his hands again, considering. ]

I got a few boats too.

[ If Gildor wanted, Bellamy would offer those to him as well. ]

Maybe if I join their hunt later I'll be able to see if it's something native to the area. The weavers hadn't mentioned anything relevant in the stories.

[perroquet]

Little boats, eh? Perhaps they are sea-worthy... or bath-worthy.

[ While he doubts the villagers presented them with bath-toys, the thought of a tiny boat sailing along in a tub is still charming, though he doesn't suggest testing it. ]

Did you spend the afternoon with the weavers? I really should do that too. It's just been so long since I've played, I couldn't resist the urge anymore. Not in a city so like my old home.

[ He pats the side of the instrument case beside him and lets out a sigh, satisfied with the amount of practice he got in around town. At the same time, a similar wave of homesickness comes over him. Gildor feels more longing for the place he's gone from rather than any specific people there. He hasn't left anyone he particularly likes back in Esterport, but the sounds, the smells, the food - it's all quite familiar to him here in Tyrisson. If the air was colder and the sun were blocked out, he could almost believe he were busking on his old streets.

But there's no room for dwelling on homesickness now - Bellamy doesn't deserve a double helping of that from him. So he changes the subject, steering carefully- ]

Did you hear any good stories?

[deployed]

[ Bellamy has no real frame of reference for bath-toys. He plucks curiously at Gildor's mind, the visual coming loose for Bellamy to consider curiously. The Ark hadn't allowed for anything so frivolous. The little boats would have been good in the sauna on the airship, Bellamy thinks, but the consideration passes from his mind to make room for his recollection of the weavers. ]

They told me about their people, [ Bellamy answers. ] Mostly stories about weavers from their history.

[ It wasn't exactly the most riveting recitation, truth be told. Anyone else might have been bored. But this kind of storytelling is what Bellamy enjoys most. The history of a people, especially an alien people, was worth listening to while he'd struggled to mimic the fluid motion of the old weavers. ]

Is this place really like where you came from?

[ Bellamy hadn't thought of the possibility of finding a place similar to Earth. If none of them could return to their worlds, would they have to do their best to find something close to what they were missing among the stars? ]

[perroquet]

[ There is no visual to his memory, but it is given freely - a sense of being smaller, though perhaps too old for toy ships in the bath. The maid insisted on babying him still, and she scrubbed his hair too roughly. He hadn't been rich, but was surrounded by the wealth of the Guild he once lived in, and was well aware of it. The detail in the toys he was given was a level of artistry on it's own, with working strings to hoist sails and chains to drop anchor. His little wet fingers would flip the tiny windows for the oars up and down, up and down-

It fades as freely as it is shared. Gildor stretches out, getting comfortable where he sits and listening intently to Bellamy. Though he doesn't seem keen on recounting any weaver stories, and- well, that's alright. Gildor should go and hear them first hand too. ]

Yes, very much. It's a little bigger than the village I was raised in, but much smaller than the city where I studied. Both were by the sea - one a fishing village, the other a grand center of trade.

[ Tyrisson still has it's differences. The people are friendlier, more open. The streets are cleaner. If he allowed it, Gildor could get used to being here - though he knows they cannot stay. ]

Do you like it here?

[deployed]

[ The weavers were older than most. There had been so few people on the Ark who lived to that age, and it had seemed the same for the grounders. The lapping of the ocean on the dock and the harmony of their voices mingle with the memory Gildor is sharing. They overlap. The impression is passed back to Gildor as if the memory itself were a book Bellamy opened, examined and returned afterwards. ]

It reminds me of a place I visited at home.

[ Luna's people hadn't managed something so idyllic, but her rig had been similar in it's way. People had been happy. The sense of community and peace had been the same. ]

I do like it. I don't know if I could live here though.

[ Luna's judgement hung over his head. Bellamy and his people had been expelled from her rig. War and death clung to them. He wonders if it still does. ]

The weavers might like your music. You could accompany them as they speak. I've seen that done where I come from too.

[perroquet]

[ Gildor muses pleasantly over the idea, imagining the voices of the elders accompanied by violin. It would be nice, if allowed. ]

Perhaps, though I wouldn't want to impose or be distracting. I was lucky enough finding what space I could to busk and earn some coin.

[ He pulls a small leather bag from his hip, and it rattles lightly with pearls and beads inside. There aren't many by the sound of it, or rather, not many left. ]

They seem to prefer trade over coin here, but I managed to purchase a little something for you.

[ He reaches again, this time behind his back for something tucked into his belt there, and produces a small book. It's wrapped in colorful cloth to keep the dust out. Their first meeting comes to the forefront of his mind, when Bellamy mentioned a fondness for books and Gildor made a promise to find him something to ease his near constant worries. ]

Some Hyrypian poetry to tide you over till you are reunited with the station's library. It isn't very thick, but I reasoned that is best for travel.

[deployed]

[ Gina's face comes to mind as Gildor offers him the slender tome. The memory is vivid: a sweet-faced woman smiling as she placed a dusty volume of the Iliad into his hands, fingers deliberately brushing his. Bellamy isn't sure there will ever be a time in his life when the small reminders of Gina aren't thrumming quietly with guilt and grief. He doesn't know if he'd even want them to be anything else. Even so far removed from his world, Bellamy doesn't want to forget her. (Or forget that her death was on his shoulders.)

But she passes from his mind as he takes what Gildor is offering. The book is light in his hands. It's as delicately beautiful as everything else the village has produced for their people to admire. He runs his fingers over the cover before he looks back at Gildor. ]

A small volume is better. I can hide it on me easier.

[ And it'd be less likely to be lost in the shuffle, if they had to flee this planet. ]

Do you want me to share it with you when I read it?

[ Bellamy already knows Muphy's been listening in to him when he reads. Expanding the audience wouldn't hurt. ]

[perroquet]

[ Another vision-memory flashes across the connection, and it's all Gildor can do to keep his expression steady in that moment. The woman's face and feelings attached to her are distant and easily identifiable against his own, but like most of Bellamy's worries, they aren't pleasant. It's his own fault that he feels it, keeping his mind so open to other hosts.

The gift was meant to make him happy. While no blame is placed on Bellamy, there is a small sense of failure coming from Gildor's end. His fingers stay on the book - and under Bellamy's - for a beat too long. He wants to offer comfort. To find him something, a hobby, a brief mental distraction. And not just for Bellamy, but the Nest - he has well-intentioned ambitions for nearly all of them, as his duty as a bard.

He clears his throat awkwardly as he slides his hands away. ]

Oh, yes, if you wouldn't mind. That would be lovely. [ His brows have unfurrowed and he's found his usual easy smile again. ]

[deployed]

[ The urge to apologize flares up. Bellamy knows it likely wouldn't assuage Gildor's sense that he's failed somehow. It's impossible to explain to people how sorrow is knit into the fabric of his life. Even the best moments of Bellamy's life are inextricably shot through with some unpleasant memory. The good and the bad appear in tandem. It was simply the way life was. Before arriving in the Nest, Bellamy had never even considered that it might someday be otherwise. ]

Thank you, [ Bellamy repeats, letting all else settle unspoken between them. ] I'll try to read some tonight for you.

[ On some level, Bellamy suspects it's better to read it all as soon as he can. There's no predicting the way they'll leave this planet and what they might have to leave behind when they do. ]