[mission: hyrypia] i lived on dread

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: Everyone
WHERE: The Red Coast
WHEN: The Night of DAY :038 (man this sucks syntactically, doesn't it? - just go with it)
SUMMARY: The dread returns; the Hosts hatch a plan to ferret out the identity of the Enemy agent and chase down loose ends.
WARNINGS: N/A. Need something added? PM the mod account!

WHALSOME HOUSE
DAY :038 (NIGHT)

GIMME BACK THAT OLD FAMILIAR FEELING
IT'S ONLY JUST FULLY DARK when the nauseating sense of dread - some primal, instinctive fear of the symbiote - triggers for a third time. In the immediate aftermath, a fundamentally commanding voice manifests itself in the minds of all Hosts. Siva'co says:

( Return to our quarters immediately. There is no time to waste. )

In the cramped Carbauschian rooms of Whalsome House, an impromptu and desperate meeting is held and plans are hatched. Utilizing the radiation tracker Pidge spent the afternoon building, a small contingent of Hosts will attempt to infiltrate the Admiral's quarters in the effort to find evidence that somehow links him to the charred circle before the evidence has faded. However, with security so tight and an entire Pilgrimage of envoys milling around in the courtyard out of fear of either being murdered, attacked by some wild creature, or having their stuff set on fire, sneaking anywhere is easier said than done.

Luckily, there are a lot of helping hands ready to change that.


I. THE ONE MAN SHOW
YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT MUSICIANS. It's that they have impeccable timing. Attempting to thin the crowd while more over the top plans can be implemented, Gildor makes his way from Whalsome Home to Tyrisson Town's square. There he'll be staging a Very Enthralling Performance. Unfortunately, the effect only works on those that can actually hear it. Other Hosts will need to help encourage attendance and keep the crowd happy for as long as they can while elsewhere…--


II. OOPS, I ACCIDENTALLY AN ARSON
WHY MESS WITH A WINNING STRATEGY? Setting stuff on fire certainly seemed to do the trick covering tracks made earlier in the day, and that's the go-to plan for the evening. While Gildor's performance manages to contain some of the the area's denizens, it'll take more than sad songs to draw everyone out of the Whalsome Home and thin the guard detail posted there. So let's go big, shall we? The Hosts will compel a Red Coast local deep in his cups to stagger out of the public house to one of the storehouses keeping casks of harvested Garstall fat. There, the Hosts will make sure she makes a very flammable accident.

The storehouse catches fire with all the enthusiasm of a matchstick. With the breeze coming off the water, it isn't long before the fire is raging-- and then threatening to jump to other buildings: neighboring structures containing more Garstall fat, lacquers and glues, and who knows what else. Should those areas be consumed by fire, it's only a matter of time before it travels to devour the rest of Tyrisson Town. The stones won’t burn, but the roofs and the tapestries certainly will.

The immediate and very real danger is enough to drag every able-bodied Red Coast locals to attempt to fight the fire. The guards patrolling the courtyard surrounding Whalsome Home will rush to assist and compliments of individuals from each envoy may be persuaded to help join the effort to save the town. While this won't empty the Whalsome Home or Tyrisson Manor completely (there are more than a few individuals who would rather stay safe in their respective quarters than run down to fight a fire - they have servants to do that), the fire certainly thins the ranks enough to make the mission of the infiltration teams feasible.


III. ONLY YOU CAN STOP DOCK FIRES
LOOK, NO ONE WANTS TO BURN THE PLACE TO THE GROUND. We just want to keep it burning for long enough. Which means hampering fire relief efforts because, as it turns out, the Red Coast locals know how to deal with fire. Bucket brigades are quickly implemented to start soaking the structures closest to the burning storehouses in an effort to keep the flames from traveling; further, it isn't long before the locals are breaking out hoses and technomanced pumps to churn water up from the sea in an effort to douse the fire.

So there's plenty to mess with - whether it's exhausting relief efforts, sabotaging equipment, or pushing people around until tempers flare alongside the literal fires.

Between the Host's efforts to slow the relief efforts and the extremely flammable nature of the Garstall fat, the fire will burn for most the night. Unfortunately, the major envoys in attendance won't be there for the entire night - over the course of the evening, they'll trickle back to their quarters to catch a breather and get some rest. Better be quick about…--


IV. SNEAKY SNEAKS BEIN' SNEAKS
BREAKING INTO TYRISSON MANOR is no easy task. However, thanks to quick thinking to reroute and/or disable the guards and the communication perks of the mental link, a small contingent of Hosts is able to wind their way through the palatial, completely ostentatious rooms of Tyrisson Manor and eventually reach the (comparably) quiet wing where Shee Naraxa and Casiria are sequestered for their mourning ritual. Luckily, the fires seems to have drawn their attendants away from the area; unfortunately getting them to break from their mourning sequester for a quick conversation may be more tasking than reaching them. Further, the demands of the manor's security will eventually trigger a changing of the guard - better to get in and out as quickly as possible before someone catches you in the act. Meanwhile…--

THE ADMIRAL’S QUARTERS ARE UNASSUMING and, at least for the moment, unguarded. That isn’t likely to last long though. The team infiltrating will be able to break in and begin searching through the building for the evidence they seek. It will quickly become apparent that thought the front of the building had little to differentiate it from the standard housing, within the layout of this section of the Descendant housing varies radically from Sam's shared memories. Here, thick dark curtain have been hung to divide the shared room into closed off sections; beyond the last curtain lies a large space which must clearly serve as the Admiral's private quarters, complete with a folding desk meant for frequent travel. This space is dimly lit by several technomagical lanterns, and it is very, very quiet. The desk has several papers on it - the sort that someone would notice if they went missing -, an intricate pen in a stand and a seal, as well as a small dock for an absent communicator, all placed very intentionally.

Pidge’s scanner is working, and with a little Luck it can detect a spot of lingering radiation emanating from a burlap sack tucked away under the bed. Inside it is a set of Descendant clothing soaked in shockingly, unsettlingly fresh blood.* The evidence has been stored hastily - the bedclothes are disturbed and messy in a way nothing else in the room is.

However, it isn't long before the search will have to end. Despite the ongoing fire the Descendant security will return to their posts even if the Red Coast locals and Tyrisson guards continue to battle the flames. The Hosts will need to slip away before that happens and make sure they leave no evidence of their intrusion behind.


V. REGROUP
THE FIRE EVENTUALLY GOES OUT though the air remains choked with smoke and ash, and the lanterns that line the streets give off an eerie glow through the haze of it - sickly red and orange. The envoys are encouraged to return to the Whalsome Home. Exhausted and soot-smeared, the Carbauschians are no different. It will give everyone time to regroup - and report on what they’ve found.


VI. ONE LAST SURPRISE
DURING THE LAST DREDGES OF NIGHT a second interruption arrives at the Carbauschian quarters via a quiet knock on the door jamb of their barracks. It's one of the Red Coast servants and she is accompanied by two clearly exhausted guards. The servant gives the Hosts a short, perfunctory bow.

“We greatly regret the events of the past days, and House Tyrisson feels it would be best for the Pilgrimage to move on from this tragic place as quickly as possible. The House wishes sincerely for you to put these terrible things at your backs as you move on to more promising lands, all with the hope that you remember them kindly when you think of your time here.”

With that message delivered, they depart. The Hosts should be ready to pack their things in the morning.

---

((OOC Notes: This log serves as a general catch-all for the events occuring the Night of Day :038 and the immediate aftermath.

*PLEASE NOTE: The set of bloody clothes found in the Admiral's Quarters belongs to the unnamed Descendant from the 'Short Handed' prompt on the Garstall hunt log; any Host who both sees the bloody clothes and who went out on the water for the Garstall hunt (or who has both these memories shared with them via the symbiote link) may recognize this.

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

I. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1YDcQqaRLk

[perroquet]

❚❚❚❚❚ ENTHRALL (ota / no tagging order)

[ The sense of dread once again aches through the collective consciousness, but this time they must each push past it and get to work. Quick as his excuse for the conspicuous Seviilia's whereabouts, Gildor grabs his violin and heads to the center of Tyrisson town. He moves with a sureness not normally revealed, and a grace reserved for moments such as this. He needs to take the stage, or rather, create one and then take it. ]

( I am going to hold the attention of the townsfolk captive with a spell. I'll only be able to hold them half an hour, maybe twice that if nothing goes wrong, and only those able to hear me will be affected. Still, it should keep some attention away from the manor, at least until something else is done. )

[ Within the meeting and planning, there's a stray thought of causing a fire. While certain it's not his, he's not entirely opposed to it.

He chooses the town square. It's as crowded as a sleepy fishing village can get, and luckily the particular place he wants is currently unoccupied by other buskers - the base of a statue of some founding Tyrisson noble. He'll take that luck and buy them some time. Through pounding footsteps he feels the statue rising out of the paved ground. Setting his staff aside, he climbs the few steps up it's base, cups a hand to his veiled mouth, and raises his voice- ]

Gentle faranas and fair saranas, younglings and elders! Now I cannot see you, but I know I am not alone here tonight. I implore anyone who can hear me to please lend your attention! Gather round now, for I have something to be shared with any willing to listen! [ With that, the spell is cast. His mind remains open to those able to listen through other means, letting them know - It has started. I will try to keep it sensitive. ]

Since my fellow pilgrims and I arrived to your fair city, grief has inexplicably followed in our wake. I do not mean to cast superstitions or drag up painful memories by saying this! I only hope to drive out the darkness that lingers over our journey, this city, and to help the tragically departed souls find their way to the next world. Just as the Descendants mourn tonight, we Carbauchians mourn with them. And we mourn with you, Tyrisson, over the recent dangers plaguing your streets. We have a custom of playing music to help the dead cross over, to purify the land of the living - and personally, I find it eases the process of grieving. I ask that you listen to this humble score, and reflect on whatever grief you may carry, so that we may all come away from this dark time renewed.

[ Most in the immediate area - villagers and envoys alike - have already turned their heads to watch, curiously mesmerized before the first note plays from his fingers. Others don't seem as interested but linger idly, while others still turn away to carry on with their own business.

The music that follows isn't necessarily chosen for it's somber nature, but it's style, purpose, and length. He wasn't lying about the custom - only that it is Carbauchian. It's up to him to pour his own sorrow into it, but oh - after the last several days, it isn't a difficult feat. The difficulty will come in maintaining the magic. That, and performing flawlessly while communicating mentally. ]

( How is the crowd so far? ) [ He asks openly, worried and straining to form fluent thought as he focuses primarily on the mental effort of music making. ]

❚❚❚❚❚ AFTERMATH (ota)

[ Gildor returns to the barracks earlier than most. The fires along the docks aren't all out yet, but he overheard they were nearing containment, and that's good enough for him. He's weary from spellcasting and won't be much help with aiming a water pump. Besides, someone has to greet the other tired hosts as their schemes come to a close.

He sits in a high backed chair, cleaning his violin after a rough performance. Or at least he's trying to - he has to keep stopping to stretch sore fingers. The cut callouses on his first and second finger keep bleeding, and he doesn't want that getting on his rosin. The tent flaps part, and he raises his head towards the sound. ]

So, how'd it go for you?

[ He keeps his voice light, hoping for good news. ]

aftermath.

[detestable]

Just fine, considering I stayed out of it.

[ Which Seth doesn't regret in the slightest. The potential for a fuck up was too high for Seth to sign on. Even as he'd removed himself, the buzz and hubbub of the execution had been a pleasant drone in the back of his mind. It had been the equivalent of having a television on in the next room. Surfacing to find they'd managed to pull it off had been a nice surprise for him. Seth doesn't hate having his expectations surpassed. ]

Shit, your hands. That happen every time?

[ There's a drink in Seth's hand, because of course there is. He doesn't offer it to Gildor, though he sits beside him with the same ease he'd showed on the beach. ]

[perroquet]

Oh, how good for you. Not in a hurry to return the station?

[ The words form a mildly passive accusation, but if he’s being honest and open minded, (and he usually is) Gildor isn’t bothered by Seth’s decision to sit the night out. There was enough going on, and it was managed to the best of their collective abilities. There’s also a stray thought that crosses the connection, an answer to his own question. While he’d like to solve the puzzle, protect innocent lives, and end the mission, he isn’t eager to leave Tyrisson.

He picks up a cloth from the open violin case at his feet, feels it, then drops it and picks up another. There’s a soft one for cleaning, and a rough scrap of stained bandage he’s been pressing to his fingertips. Judging by Seth’s reaction, they’re still a mess. ]

Hm? Oh, no, they’re fine. I’m merely out of practice. Haven’t been able to get the usual hours in, and my callouses are going soft.

[ The scent of a drink is mentally noted, but he pointedly says nothing - ignoring it but, straining to. ]

[detestable]

Joining that clusterfuck isn't the only way to get back to the Station.

[ Admittedly Seth's goal isn't limited to getting back to the Station. It's safety, but it doesn't mean they aren't going to pitched right back out to some other podunk planet to do this all over again. Seth wants to think longterm, but he doesn't really have the information for that either.

But it had been effective. Seth isn't denying that. His reply is mild, critique withheld for the moment. ]

Let me see.

[ Volunteering to clean up Gildor's hands is...practical, but a bit much for Seth. He isn't sure whether or not he regrets it in the moment. It's too late to turn back now that the offer's been made. ]

[perroquet]

[ It's a strange offer, but then Seth has offered so much to him in the short time they've known each other. So it isn't that strange to Gildor, or it wouldn't be if not for an impression left by someone else. A sharp and monstrous attention boring down on him like a thousand eyes and needles.

And impression of his brother. ]

I promise they are fine. I would heal them myself, but then the callouses wouldn't build.

[ He holds out his hand all the same, if only for Seth to inspect. Aside from the fresh openings along his first two nails, his whole hand is slightly bent out of regular shape from years of practice. The edge of his left index is flattened to an angle. The pads of his fingertips are thick with callouses, and little lines mark the skin where he presses down on strings over and over. ]

I have the worst hands for playing violin, you know. [ Small talk, to fend off that unsettling reminder of Richie. ]