MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone who wants to attend
WHAT: THE GRAND TOURNEY
WHEN: Bloomingtide 20-27
WHERE: Wycome
NOTES: We'll be rolling one or two events per day, in the order listed, and posting the results here! That's also where you can find your diplomacy or espionage assignments and their results. There will be a second log post in about five days regarding the end of the tournament, to give people a place to RP about the competitions' results once they know them and to react to some other surprise developments, so leave some room for dessert.

The Grand Tourney is one of Thedas's greatest spectacles--all the nations of the world and plenty of others besides turned out to compete in this edition of the famous test of arms. The Duke of Wycome has granted the use of a broad plain outside the city, a vast open span of grass bounded on both sides by minor forks of the Minanter making their way to the sea, and split down the center by another. Scores of the duke's men have been hard at work since the announcement, constructing stands and arenas, the rough wooden rails and benches of the commons and luxurious boxes for the more exalted spectators, lifted above the masses and shaded by awnings, draped with bunting in Wycome's brilliant purple and gold.

Between and among the competition grounds are stalls and roving vendors selling anything and everything, most popular the vast open-sided tents filled with trestle tables and benches and neverending barrels of ale and wine as tall as a qunari. Stages of various sizes dot the grounds, hosting musicians, dancers, tumblers, performers of all kinds. Others wander through the crowds, putting on impromptu shows wherever it looks like there are enough people with free coin about.

A half-dozen new wooden bridges span the central river--more like a large stream, really--and connect the competition grounds to the camping grounds. Tents in all colors and styles are arrayed in rough groups, marked out with the banners of knights, houses, mercenary companies, kingdoms. The Inquisition has sprung for new tents for its delegation to make sure they look the part, dramatic black as a backdrop to the Inquisition banners that fly atop each of them, housing two to four people each. Nearest are some Orlesians with an array of brightly-colored silk structures, and on the opposite side, a mercenary company called the the Grizzly Legion, a particularly rowdy outfit, with banners market by a giant red bear, and bonfires and revelry late into the night every night.

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

The general atmosphere of the tourney is raucous and celebratory, but the rivalries inherent in the occasion seem less good-natured than they might have in past years. Nevarra seems divided into two camps rather than one, with a (not-yet-literal) line down the middle of their encampment and their crowds that's bridged only by the brave and slightly awkward few who still haven't chosen between the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams. And the Orlesians, despite rumors that the Empire is still struggling in the wake of its own civil war, seem particularly delighted to see their rivals teetering on the brink—some are even taking odds on how soon they'll be able to get Perendale back. But, of course, no one can rival Tevinter for smugness. If there was a fancy sword awarded for that, they would win it every year, and there's no sitting near their delegation without "overhearing" an unnecessarily loud conversation about the sorry state of the rest of Thedas.

Of course, not everyone is caught up in the affairs of surfacer empires: there are delegations from both Orzammar and Kal-Sharok, each apparently pretending the other does not exist, and the odd Avvar and Chasind who seems to think everyone else is being a bit ridiculous about everything. The most isolated attendees are those from the Anderfels, who stick close together and rarely speak to anyone else—not that anyone else seems much inclined even if they did want to. At the other end of the spectrum are the Free Marchers; this is the one occasion every-few-years when they look to one another as brothers, rather than distinct and often competitive nations.

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

The Grand Tourney's official competitions are scheduled to take place over five days, culminating with the prestigious Grand Melee and awarding of the Celebrant. Before then, the tournament progresses day by day through unarmed combat, archery, armed combat, and jousting competitions, each heavily attended by delighted spectators cheering for their countrymen and any foreigner who strikes them as particularly charming, plus the odd equal-opportunity heckler. A few extra fights break out here and there when tempers flare, between both competitors and observers, and when the alcohol flows more liberally at night the chance of trouble rises. But for the most part, the competitions are fair and the mood around them is celebratory.

Away from the main grounds, a few additional staging areas have been provided for events focused on magic—these are more sparsely attended, due to their unofficial nature and the fears of much of the populace that they might catch a fireball to the face if they wander too close, but enough people's curiosity trumps fear to form a thinner, quieter crowd. The two events open to mages, combat against fade-touched creatures and a version of the melee with teams that allow mages, take place in the early mornings, when they won't be competing with the official events for attention, and are most heavily attended by Tevinter mages who are very, very certain that they can't be beat.

Comments

Nathaniel Howe

[pinprick]

I: Archery

Nathaniel nocks his arrow, draws, aims, angles upward, and lets fly. It hits the target just shy of perfection, so he curses under his breath. He will get frustrated with himself later. Right now, he must remain in the zen of shooting. It's a beautiful day and he's at the Grand Tourney shooting at things. It's not going to get much better than this.

He glances over at the archer to his side. "Don't be nervous," he counsels whether the other person looks nervous or not.

II: Espionage

Whoever you are, Nathaniel claps his hand on your shoulder and gives a tight smile.

"I'm going to ask you a favor." He's oddly congenial, and dressed very oddly--in no armor at all, only a slightly faded tunic, trousers, and hood. You may regret getting involved.

III: Partay

No games are more fun than actually competing, until you add copious amounts of alcohol and sugar. Nathaniel didn't find the merchant with the amazing cakes they had here when he was a squire, but there are numerous treats that are just as good. If you want to have dinner with him, he is sitting on the grass crunching through a pork knuckle. Or later, you can find him tipsily tossing rings at pegs, perusing vendors' wares, or lounging on the grass listening to beautiful music with a massive grin.

IV: Wildcard

III

[justice_is_blond]

Nate is a little drunk. Potentially more than a little, if the way he's missing pegs says anything. Anders comes over, smiling warmly... and then puts his expression back in check. He can't be Mr. Howe in public here. His smile is still there, but it's far more polite as he joins Nate.

"Having fun?" And then, just in case, as Anders doesn't know how much Nate's had today, "I'm Theo Howell, the mage sharing your quarters for this trip. I think you missed your shot. And the last one, too."

Christine

[aceso]

{ in the stands }
Christine hadn't known what to expect on arriving at the Grand Tourney. With nations or powerful families quarreling, it had the potential to be a hotbed of political activity and underhanded plots. And yes, there have been whispers flying around to that effect, but the overall atmosphere is so lively that the rest seems like it can't have any ill effect here.

Sitting up in the common people's stands, she's prepared by bringing a blanket to sit on and has even brought her little dog Ponce, who sits easily on her lap only occasionally, since the rest of the time he's trying desperately to get away to smell everything new. She has a leash on him, and a firm hand keeping him in place, so he's not going anywhere.

As she watches each event, she gets more and more into it, letting out "Ooo"s and cheers along with the rest of the audience and discussing what they're witnessing. Of course, being who she is, she tends to worry about the injuries that might or do take place more than others might, and that's often something she comments on.

{ walking around, playing games, etc. }
It's entirely possible that Christine will gain ten pounds and empty pockets from all the delicious food she's been buying during the Tourney. She can be found walking her dog, sometimes on Church's arm, sometimes not, and taking it all in with fried food on a stick. She's quick to come over to Inquisition members she recognizes to see how they're getting on, and to ask if they've tried the fried such-and-such yet. Eventually she discovers the games and tries her hand at winning a prize. Christine could probably do with a cheerleader, tip giver, or someone willing to watch her dog while she plays.

{ wildcard: aka write a starter or hit me up for plotting something else! }

In the Stands

[circleprodigy]

Inessa and Garahel make their way over as the unarmed combat portion of the tourney begins, with treats to spare. Ponce is offered doggy treats if Christine assents, and she stops the vendor long enough to purchase some lemonade and roasted nuts, offering to share. She is relaxed and chatty until it's Kain's turn, upon which she become utterly focused on him and his opponent, some woman she doesn't recognized. Every blow at him provokes a wince, and every time he counters, a proud grin forms. When the other combatant is the victor of that first round, she claps politely as Garahel pouts.

"Oh, well. He'll do much better in the armed combat, I'm sure."

Minka

[trashlife]

{ carnival games }
Minka is trying to be wise with her money (since she tends to hoard it like a dragon), but she's also easily led and easily fooled, so it doesn't take much for the game vendors to draw her over with promises of fabulous prizes to be won if only she'd purchase three attempts or some such thing. And it turns out playing games is addictive, because she keeps forking over more and more of her Inquisition pay to try and win.

After another miss with throwing hoops onto glass bottles, Minka growls in annoyance as the vendor tries to get her to buy more.

"Stuff it, nug humper!" she says, stomping away to get something to eat and nearly bumping into someone getting into the food line. She almost yells at this person too, but she doesn't want to risk getting beat up, so she frowns and crosses her arms, waiting to order something.

{ wildcard: aka write a starter or hit me up for plotting something else! }

[inagutterson]

Yngvi is that person eating.

And probably at least he's not one of the worse options (nobility, the gentry, an already hurt loser spoiling for it maybe with some drink in them, a merchant because sometimes they can be the worst) but he swears. Spits out a mouthful of mystery meats in even more of a mystery sauce before the whole bargain goes down the wrong way.

"Watch it!" Wheezed out, muffled from him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while he turns, clocks a dwarf he recognises from passing and not worse options. "Could've come at you like a pissed off bronto."

But there's not enough heat in it; Yngvi's enjoying himself here so he waits until his throat is less strained to keep going. "What's got your knickers in a twist?"

Korrin Ataash

[gatheringstorm]

I. Meet the Parents

Korrin barely gives enough time to set up the tent and set things up properly inside it before she's off again. There's so much to see and do that she won't be back to that tent without one of two things happening; Araceli seducing her, or returning bone-tired and collapsing just long enough to stave off some of that. It's going to be an exciting week, and she's determined to miss as little of it as possible.

On her way to check out the tourney ground before training, she perks up and beckons to the first friendly face she sees. "C'mon, let's go exploring--" But she doesn't get to finish before a well-muscled, bearded qunari man approaches from several paces behind. Scooping Korrin up with ease, he grins and envelopes her in a strong embrace before she can do more than register his sudden appearance, croaking out a response as best she can. "Dad, air--"

A tall qunari woman of roughly the same age as the man though presenting a much calmer appearance, strides over and speaks up, her voice deep. "Kadan, put her down. I prefer our daughter breathing." Despite that admonishment, her eyes crinkle in amusement as Korrin is finally set down, gulping for air. Thanks, Dad.

II. Carnival Games and Vendors

When she's not training or competing in the big events, there are other games to be won. Korrin knows that plenty of the games are rigged and the prizes are cheap, but that doesn't stop her from spending her hard-earned coin as she pleases and treating it all like serious business. That stuffed sea dragon won't win itself, and so she'll try her hand at that marksmanship game. Or maybe you find her wielding a large hammer to compete for who can swing it hardest. The pot of coins keeps growing, and no one has won the grand prize (located in a mystery box) yet. And so on and so forth; anything that requires a good aim or strong arm and she'll be there. Help her out or cheer her on, or if you're a familiar face wanting to join in, she might spot you some coin.

III. Partying with the Grizzly Legion

One of the reasons Korrin doesn't get nearly as much rest as she perhaps should is because of a certain rowdy crew with banners marked by a giant red bear. Having found her kind of people, the party-loving Vashoth will join early and stay late into the night as often as she can manage and still be in fighting form for her events. Any familiar faces joining her will be met with a wink and a big tankard of mead, ale or 'what the hell is that and why is it so strong', depending on what she knows or suspects they can handle.

"Go head, have some! And then we're dancing, this beat is too good not to move to it."

Later on during the evening, when a break is needed, Korrin is a willing pillow by the bonfire. She'll only be nudged from her spot if someone's ill and needs help back to their tent. Otherwise, she'll keep celebrating until the party winds down.

IV. Cheering Section

Though she's not participating in the non-mage events, Korrin still attends almost every event. If a friend is taking part, it's practically guaranteed, as she'll put her booming voice to good use and cheer on her friends or boo their opponents (if they're people she doesn't know/care about). She's also helpful for clearing some space if someone wants to join her antics, waving over a vendor to get fresh candied apples or whatever else they'd want.

V. Wildcard Hit me.

i Meet the parents, slightly tweaked if that's cool?

[foxsays]

To say Araceli's nervous would be something of an understatement.

The tourney isn't something they'd have in Castileos, the sort of distraction the Inquisition needs (and even if Araceli has an assignment, there's less at stake than there would be at a party, a chance to breathe, to try to unwind away from Kirkwall where Lux is guarding the office with some of the staff being paid extra to check in) and she's enjoying it. But not so much knowing that she's long overdue meeting Korrin's parents. When she already stayed with her grandmother that time in Rivain when she was off studying.

But she's celebrated three First Days here, and the first one was when this became official, and Korrin's told her parents, it's not as if they don't know but it's been a long time of Araceli being here, being part of Korrin's life without ever meeting them--

"Sirena," a quiet urgent sort of hiss from Araceli as she adjusts her coat yet again, settles the dragon's tooth she's been fiddling with it unless anyone's said something to her about, "What if they don't approve."

(Which is ludicrous, they sent gifts, they raised Korrin, and if Korrin's turned out as she has because of them then Araceli would already know, and Korrin wouldn't care, or she'd tell her not to care, only meeting the parents isn't something thieves usually do. Leandra's mother doesn't count.)

Colin

[keenly]

I: Churro Stand

Before the stall opens, Colin isn't sure if he's ready to be surrounded by this many people in a huge plain from which there is no escape. But when business gets going, he finds his brain and body both remember what it was like to help his mother run her stall in the market district, hawking the food she made for the day and charming customers into the fold. Soon, he can't make churros fast enough. By the end of the first day, he has sold thousands of them.

Thousands.

Which totals to, like, three sovereigns made. Which most would consider a fortune for a single day's work, but obviously business is slower on hot days and busier on cool days. The sheer foot traffic of this event is what guarantees good money is being made by vendors here, especially food vendors. Especially especially drink vendors. And Colin's churros are delicious. For that, he sends credit, and a kiss, from his fingertips to the sky, a gesture he learned from someone special.

Grazie, Mamma.

II: Shopping - Day 3

When his stall closes at last and he has ducked into his tent for a bath, he emerges feeling fresh. His feet are killing him, but closing early means this is his chance to actually see the rest of the festivities. They are expansive, of course, far more so than he could ever explore in one evening or in several, but he's going to do his best. First, he gets a half-frozen wine from a nearby stall and then he makes a beeline for pretty clothes so he can spend some of his hard-earned profits. Find him at a stall trying on brightly colored tunics, one scarlet and dotted with gold, one hunter green and embroidered, one a stunning royal blue jacquard. All fit closely in the torso and come down to his knees, with a split skirt. Any longer and they would be too much like robes to interest him, but he loves the elegance and richness.

III: Tavern - Day 3

After a fancy tunic is purchased, he can be found lounging at one of the many tavern-like spots, drinking and listening to music. He listens to stories, laughs, and eventually lies on his back in the grass to watch the sky. It's incredible. Five years ago, this would have been unthinkable for him, a mage, to be here and under the open sky listening to music. One year ago, it was impossible to imagine, as he shut himself in his quarters and shook at the thought of speaking to people. Last week, he hadn't even believed all the nations of Thedas could come together peacefully to play games and share food. In a world at war, this event is an extraordinary thing.

If you don't find him and join him while he's upright, you might trip over him when he's not.

IV: Wildcard

SHOPPIN'

[coquettish_trees]

"With your colouring? The green." The advice is delivered bright and confident in an airy Orlesian accent by a woman whose elaborately coiffed hair, tumbling in curls from beneath a beribboned sun hat over the bodice of a gown far too nice for the dusty market streets, suggests she knows what she's talking about. "The others look well on you, it is true, but request too much attention be given to your dress rather than the whole of your person." Her smile, accented by carefully painted lips, is brilliant, and too perfect to have not been born of a lifetime of practice. "You seem a quieter sort, and the green is quiet as well--but strong. Commanding. Fitting for a man of courageous conviction who needs not parade around to show his worth."

Nahariel

[nadasharillen]

I. Market Stalls

When she's not in the stands to cheer on the friends she's made in her time with the Inquisition, Nari is out in the market with an eye for quality. Despite her ears and vallaslin-- and sometimes, when it comes to curious craftsmen who would very much like to talk about ironbark, because of-- she can often be found leaning casually at one booth or another talking animatedly about this craft, or that material, or appreciating with endearing forthrightness the skill in making or discernment in choosing the goods that are displayed. By and large the elf leaves smiles in her wake, and her list of who to contact on the Inquisition's behalf in the future grows.

Writing while moving is a difficult concept sometimes, however, and she'll run full-on into you while going from one stall to the next. A surprised yelp and a quick apology issue forth before she even looks up to see who it is.

II. Inquisition Camp [evening]

The sounds of raucous merriment are ubiquitous; drums, horns, loud drunken revelry in every pitch from low and booming to high and tinny. It permeates the very air-- has been doing so all day-- and with that and the stares and whispers she's caught directed at or about her all day, Nari is all shemmed out (except, perhaps, for you) and can be found seeking as much peace as possible at the Inquisition's farthest campfire. She's whittling away absently at something and tossing the resultant curls of wood into the flames and looks up at your approach with a welcoming half-smile.

III. Sportscasting! (for Myr) although they're in the stands so feel free to overhear whatever 8)

"The grass on the pitch is still green, although the footfalls of so many hopefuls have tamped it down; even those who leave without reward will be remembered by the ground until next year," Nari says, her head turned and voice pitched so that it can be heard clearly by the blind mage seated beside her. "The breeze that just ruffles our hair is stronger up high, snapping the brightly colored pennants back and forth as if they're as excited as the crowd to be here to witness the contest. Beneath their dance are the nobles in their boxes, decked in finery and as pleased to be seen as to see." Some gentle humor, then, "they mean to appear nonchalant, but they're every bit as excited as the commoners below, who are a riot of color and noise all the way down to the children climbing whatever and whoever they can to gain a vantage point. Arms everywhere are thrown to the wide blue sky, everyone near bursting to cheer full-throated for the first valiant warrior to emerge.

And ah," she says, taking on a gently teasing lilt, "here one is now. Tall and broad and dark, with a grin bright enough to vie against the sun that even now strikes his armor to brilliance."

"Ser Simon Ashlock, Templar Knight of the Inquisition!" calls a page, his young voice ringing across the pitch.

No-one could deny the man's the very picture of a knight come walking out of a chivalric romance. The cheer is deafening.

IV. Wildcard (Or, if you want a prompt just for you, hmu!)

Pre-joust, wherever armor is [for Cade]

[nadasharillen]

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a jousting knight in possession of a good set of plate armor, must be in want of a squire.

There were several about; young men and women scurrying from the tents of their knights to the pitch and back. The Inquisition had its own set of youthful hopefuls, spending the time before the joust began tightening buckles, hoisting heavy shirts of maille, checking lances, and the like.

Nahariel is not a squire. She is, however, wearing Inquisition regalia and had, as was her wont, done an exhaustive amount of armory research to better enable her to quickly judge the differences in fit, style, and wear so as to report well to Commander Coupe on what might benefit the outfit of the Inquisition forces, so she knows what goes where and how it ought to sit, and is currently involved in securing padded bracers over the wrists of Cade's equally padded gambeson.

She also has what might be termed a particular vested interest in the task that has little to do with the resultant glory the Inquisition might gain today.

"If I had to wear all this," Nari says conversationally as her nimble fingers make quick work of the lacing, "I'd not be able to move a step."

Kylo Ren

[letoldthingsdie]

Spectating

He had debated signing up for at least one of these events but decided against it. His newfound mistrust of the Inquisition made him wary of drawing attention to himself. He didn't want to put a larger target on his back than he most assuredly already had after his outbursts on the network. Still, he's fine watching events unfold and he's even starting to get into it after a while.

It starts subtly, his eyes lighting up during matches where he finds familiar faces competing, and then he lets out a soft cheer here and there, beginning to enjoy the show and enjoy each match. When he catches himself lifting a fist and letting out a bit of a cheer he clears his throat, hoping he isn't caught doing something so embarrassing.

Carnival Games/Market Stalls

While he wasn't competing in any of the tourney events, he was getting a bit competitive with some games in the carnival. If anyone fancied trying to best him at a ring toss or skeeball, they were welcome to. He wasn't going to take defeat laying down and would probably try for best two out of three.

While not playing games, he walked the faire grounds with Caedus on his heels and food in his hands shared between himself and the sweet mabari who was already growing quickly in the short time Kylo had him. The pup was likely to stop and sniff everything, from people to people's food if they weren't careful, and Kylo would bring him to heel as best as he could. The setting was perfect in helping him relax and not be so tightly wound up.

Dancing

Unless you were Rey or another familiar face, Kylo could be found standing off to the side with a drink in hand, staring from face to face as others enjoyed themselves dancing and drinking and partying the night away. He was never terribly good at raucous gatherings such as these but he wasn't going to shy away into his tent the rest of the night either. Should anyone be brave enough to ask him for a dance he would need some serious convincing.

Even so, he was dressed cleanly for such an occasion, looking ever the part of a prince as was his heritage on his mother's side. Despite being in all black and looking as somber as ever, he wasn't a terrible dancer and was actually quite adept on his feet for one so tall and lanky.

{ market stalls }

[zombra]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a puppy will get a woman cooing over it as soon as she spots it. And so the pattern holds when Tessa sees Caedus trotting along beside his master.

"Oh my God, look at you!" she says, wearing an ear to ear grin. "You are just the cutest thing." Sorry, dude, but she's talking to your dog. Looking up at the puppy's human, she asks, "Is it okay if I give him a treat?"

SIX

[swordproof]

TRAINING / WARM UPS

[ Six is not fool enough to think that she can enter any of the events without some more practice under her belt, even if she is fresh from a venture into the Deep Roads with her life intact. She's quick to take whatever space she can and draw her greatsword, going through what are clearly familiar motions to make sure there's no muscles that need extra care or anything that might be close to spraining. It's a huge thing but she lifts it easily with both hands, her eyes set and intense as she pushes herself through her exercises.

Eventually, she puts her greatsword to one side, placed gently and carefully beside a very carefully wrapped pack, and goes through similar motions without. She has to strip off her armour for this one and she's wearing little more than a simple cotton shirt and a pair of breeches, her hair tied up into a bun as she stretches herself and gears herself up.

She's signed up for everything she can, the symbol of Sarenrae blazing on anything that she's wearing, the necklace for her God around her neck. She might not be able to hear her, but Six is entering on her behalf anyway. Perhaps someone in Thedas could learn more about her from seeing her light. ]

IN THE STANDS

[ While she's signed up for a great many of the events, there are some that she's unable to take part in; anything magical, for one, and archery, it not being her area of specialism. During the downtime and when these events are taking place Six can be found wandering around and near the stands, taking an interest in whatever is going on. Her skills lie, formally, with using a sword and using her hands to put anyone she needs to down, so other forms of combat are something she is very curious about.

As a Rifter, she's unconcerned about the nature of magic fireballs to the face - she's had her fair share of close calls in her time - and so she watches the magical events with a careful, critical eye, more curious about learning of the nature of magic in this world than anything else. She has very little awareness of the political landscape of Ferelden versus Tevinter mages; all she does is drink in the sights, the tactics and the power.

She's not always the most forward of people, but standing a little taller than six foot makes her stand out, especially with her usual stern expression in place. If anyone is willing to approach her she seems more than willing to enter a conversation. ]

MARKET STALLS / DANCING

[ Throughout the time where she isn't competing or observing, Six wanders through the markets and investigates everything that there is to offer. It reminds her of the fair that used to travel through the village when she was a child, one of the few fond memories she has of her home. She seems to have a more childish delight when it comes to the sweets and the indulgences, and as the days go on she swaps her plain cotton shirt for something a little more exciting, but not by much.

She spends a little bit of time hovering around the knights and mercenary companies, making friendly talk with the people there - they were her people, once, and they share stories of their work and ventures. Noticeably, however, Six steers clear from anyone with ale or wine in their hands, giving them an incredibly wide distance for as long as she is tied up in conversation with anyone. If she's offered a drink she turns it down, polite but firm.

There are a few people that seem to attempt to encourage her to engage in the revelry but she's not having any of it - she watches, with her flask of water, declining most invitations to dance or celebrate, her mind focussed more on the events ahead than drinking and wasting her hours in a stupor. ]

stalls

[wythersake]

She's not the only teetotaler about, nor the only people-watching killjoy. What a day it's been, to be personally insulted by the rich and powerful — practically old times —

Leaned against the rail nearby, Isaac glances up from a letter in idle comment:

"If you get tired of them asking," To dance. "A crutch will do the trick."

Alexandrie

[coquettish_trees]

I. Games

With a glass of iced wine held daintily in one gloved hand and the handle of a fine lace parasol in the other, Alexandrie makes her way through the tournament market looking just delighted at the rough and tumble simple joy of the common folk. Nowhere-- save the stands-- was this more readily apparent than in the corridor containing all the little games of chance and skill. Victories, defeats, ah, what high emotion!

A member of the Inquisition! She'll sweep up gracefully beside you after a win to bat eyelashes over big blue eyes and exclaim profuse praise for your skill in a light and breezy Orlesian accent.

II. In the Stands (the Nice Ones With Awnings)

During the events, she can be found arranged gracefully on a padded bench (with precisely enough room to be joined), creating a lazy breeze for herself with an elaborate fan of ivory and lace and watching the matches with a artfully carefree enthusiasm.

III. Partaaaay (the Mercenaries Next Door one)

Having styled her hair and wardrobe enough to further resemble an ever-so-slightly more couture version of her twin-- useful for plausible deniability-- Alexandrie has joined the Grizzly Legion at their charmingly coarse escapades. She holds her drink like a champion despite her slight figure, causing her to immediately become somewhat of a mascot, and partnering her as the music starts up is consequently fought over. Once it nearly comes to blows, but a placating kiss for both combatants and a heartfelt plea for gentility calms that right down.

At the moment she's resting, a bit breathless after her last romp around the fire, but the sparkle in her eyes suggests she'd be pleased if you asked.

IV. Wildcard

When you're ready come and get it ♪

i

[tactical_alert]

With so much at stake as far as reputation goes, Malcolm has attempted to squeeze in as much last minute training as he can. But this spectacle is merely spectacle, and at the end of the day, it's fun and money and honor-in-name-only rather than a life or death situation.

So a few games can't hurt. They might even help. While he'll only make it to the second round of archery, his aim is still nothing to be scoffed at.

When a woman is suddenly dumping her praises on him, he has to give her a double take. That...can't possibly be Geneviève. And yet. "Ah-" How does he want to approach this? "Surely my lady will find better skills at the arenas than in mere games."

KARA LINE

[pati]

I - ABOUT THE PLACE ( market stalls/carnival games )

( In Kara's world there's no end to entertainment that's meant to not only distract but fully immerse the people in anything that's not their day-to-day lives. Kara's used to sensory overload, but with it comes a generic quality of the same thing being relayed in different fashions. Whatever tastes you might have, it exists in the shallowest of forms.

So the tourney has Kara completely enthralled. It's not generic or shallow in the least bit. It's full of life and commerce, bringing so many people together rather than giving them a place to indulge alone. She flits from stall to stall. Still new and with no quite so much accumulated coin, she doesn't look to purchase anything. She just looks at all the brightly colorful and unique and sometimes fierce items laid out in perfect condition for sale.

a. Kara can often be found peering over clothes in particular, especially anything brightly colored. Her eyes go big in particular when she finds bright blues. She always puts everything back gently and as close to how she found it, meaning she folds it as best as she can before laying it back down. b. Or she can easily be spotted cheering on people playing carnival games. Especially when someone seems to be on a streak and has yet to leave the game. )

II - WATCHING THE SHOW ( in the stands )

( Kara's already signed up for a few events, despite seeing how great her competitors seem to be. While winning is always fun, she's just thrilled to be a part of something in general. So when she's not participating, she's eagerly watching from the stands. She tries not to jump up too often, so she doesn't block the view of those behind her, but occasionally she finds herself on her tip toes trying to see everything happening on the fields.

Often she can be heard muttering things to herself, usually along the lines of "damn, that's amazing" and "oh shit! people can do that?" There's almost no end to her excitement and appreciation of the skills of others. )

III - GENERAL MERRIMENT AND DANCING ( grizzly legion part )

( It's hard not to be lulled in by a loud and raucous group of people enjoying themselves. Kara is quick to throw herself into their revelries, and there's no amount of shyness when it comes to dancing. The music is entirely like nothing she's ever heard before, but that doesn't seem to stop her. Sometimes she dances in her own style from home, and sometimes she tries to mimic the dance of others.

As the night goes on, she may even make the mistake of challenging people to drinking challenges. Whether it's other mercenaries or other Inquisition, she doesn't seem to care who she challenges. Though, it's clear that the drink has already started to get to her head, and she probably shouldn't find this idea so appealing. )

IV - WILDCARD

( open to any and all other starters! )

II

[swordproof]

[ Six has been taking part in the observations for a while now, watching the rest of the competitions that she isn't in for as long as they're on. She's a little bit scuffed from her own adventures in the unarmed combat but, more than anything else, she seems energised and excited by it all. She's just tall enough that she feels a little guilty about being anywhere near the front - being over six feet will do that and she doesn't want to upset anyone by standing in their view - and as she moves around to make space for herself she bumps into someone.

Oh, shit, people can do that? Six almost smiles. ]

Forgive me. I wasn't looking where I was stepping.

[ She doesn't think there's a need to ask if she's alright - it wasn't too hard a bump - but her eyes scan the woman over quickly anyway. ]

Morrigan (& Kieran)

[arcaneadvisor]

Tourney sightseeing/shopping;
Thirteen going on fourteen isn't too old to be excited about the Tourney, and if Kieran has dug out one of his very best shirts (from Gwenaëlle) and a slightly faded sash in a fetching shade of raspberry (from Ruby Lucas, slightly alterations made by Morrigan to allow for teenage boys) then maybe don't mention it unless you're one of the two individuals that can get away with it without provoking a sullen boy to appear.

Morrigan, for her part, is less disgusted than she might be in Orlais. Happy to trail around with Kieran, it's a more relaxed Morrigan further from Kirkwall; a Morrigan who might be happy enough to stop and talk when she isn't shopping for things that can't be picked up elsewhere.

Who can resist interesting trinkets or baubles, after all, especially the jewellery? Or sending a boy off to go investigate on his own while she inspects something that might make a good gift or a new shirt, fabric and archery gloves (thank you Alistair for bringing more weapons into her life) held up with an equally critical eye.

Cheer squad (for Alistair);
Of course at a tourney you're there to actually watch what's going on even if Morrigan would rather not watch two grown adults smack each other with sticks on their horses, and really, if you turn the wrong corner anywhere you'll see a pack of fools clubbing each other or grappling in the streets with about as much finesse if she's any judge.

Only there's one person she actually cheers on as much as Kieran. No sarcasm, no eye-rolling, no muttered curses under her breath.

Alistair.

(Do feel free to call her on that one if you happen to catch her. Also please avoid those flailing teenage boy limbs, more lethal than anything you're watching she can guarantee.)

Coconut shy;
There are many roads one takes through life, but the one that lead Morrigan here to stand before some puffed-up stallholder demanding far too much coin for her to throw a ball at overgrown hairy nuts (All the way from farthest Par Vollen, Serah, he'd wheezed, though perhaps that had been the look she had levelled at him).

"All of this to win a stuffed nug," she mutters to herself. It's a very cute nug, someone clearly sold their soul to get the little hand-feet down just right.

Wildcard;
Or pick your poison and I'll roll with it. (Just say if it's Morrigan or Morrigan & Kieran!)

coconut shy

[dirth]

There is something terribly enjoyable about watching Lady Morrigan struggle with something that children enjoy in their free time, all because she has someone she wants to give a gift to. Solas isn't quite above the nastiness of watching someone he's not entirely fond of suffering needlessly, but he does acknowledge that at least she is trying. She is more successful than some of the patrons that he's come across so far, at least, and that's to her merit.

Dressed a little more finely than he has been before - a shirt of fine fabric in a pale grey, high-collared, with a motif embroidered around that collar that clearly took its inspiration from his jawbone necklace - Solas approaches casually, striding up to stand before her and stare out at the coconut shy, as though his interest is in the game alone and not the woman trying so valiantly to best it.

"I did not take you for the type, Lady Morrigan."

Yngvi

[inagutterson]

Bad tourney food tour;
If there's one good thing about tourneys that aren't all the people there ripe for the fleecing because tourneys turn up the weirdest mix of people who should never be put in the same space this side of the Inquisition, it's the food. Probably (definitely) terrible for you but Yngvi loves it. The times you get a hog roast and there's some Orlesian fainting because Comte Prissyknickers can't deal with the smell of rendered fat this close, or watching someone get dared to try anything that sounds mild, unassuming, benign, only to turn the most interesting shade and run screaming.

Which is why wherever Yngvi is - generally underfoot, on the lookout for a certain Comte if he's honest because he's not a complete bastard and he'll buy a sad old man a drink - there's food. Quite frankly terrible food. Food bigger than his own head.

This is absolutely how you prepare for fights too, old dwarven secret. He's a dwarf, he'd know, come ask him about his training regime.

Boneflayers reunion/spectating;
Maybe the best thing about the Tourney is that The Boneflayers have of course made an appearance, finally winding their way through Nevarra and Orlais into the Marches to make it. Yngvi spends the first day lost in their company catching up in their tent where he ends up for the duration because he might be their representative for the Inquisition but this is his family.

Some of them are off doing things in the tourney, the rest of them are relaxing, catching up, planning new jobs, and it's good. They're a friendly bunch who don't mind meeting Inquisition folk or catching up with those they've lost touch with since departing Skyhold from the time they were there before.

"I swear," Yngvi is saying to a dwarf that has to be the illustrious Gunnar (not nearly as illustrious as Yngvi but who could ever hope to match him, a pale reflection of the glory the Inquisition gets to behold up close and personal on a daily basis if they're lucky.) "The whole place was just--" and he makes a whooshing noise, throwing his arms out uncaring of who or what he smacks into at that time, "Oi, you wanna watch it mate? We're walkin' here."

Cheating? I thought this was the Free Marches;
There are times when it's a shit lot to be a dwarf.

There are a lot of times when it's a shit lot to be a dwarf, but this time? This time is possibly the kicker, Yngvi thinks as some ugly bastard with the whiff of overripe cheese about him without even having the basic decency to be Orlesian gives him a good heave out and away from his stand.

"This is an outrage!" He shouts, straightening his coat with as much dignity as he can salvage from the situation. "How dare you accuse me of cheating at some poxy game! Just 'cause I'm a dwarf, s'that what you reckon mate?"

Wildcard;
Or pick your poison and I'll roll with it.

cheater!!

[justnice]

Noise. A scuffle. Finch's head turns and — recognizes the face, bobs to his shoulder. Not much in the way of backup.

"What's this now?"

wren coupe

[limier]

i.) events

She's aging, she's untrained, she's recently acquired several nasty ghast bites —

And it's still something of a bitter concession, not to try her (bandaged) hand at the tilt. Wren settles for watching the jousting intently, discussing the jousting intently, eating fried dough on a miniature jousting lance intently, and. You get it. Those looking for a friendly face in the stands will find... a face, anyway, eager to discourse on the relative merits of Montell and Bombelleux, or the armor of their mystery knight.

The other events find her closer to the ring: At any Inquisition match, practicing with those yet to compete, or passing out juiceboxes water at the break in a fight.

One of those finds her wandering the markets instead, inspecting one of the many little toy figures for sale about the action. Does that one look a bit like you?


ii.) campgrounds

The tents are big enough for four.

Or for two very large people and their equally inappropriately sized dog, and none of them offering much in the way of welcome. But if you need a space to sleep, go ahead and try your luck. If a mage and a templar can split it, probably they won’t mind another. It’s fine.

Else find her alone, occupying some disused corner of the evening, hands tangled in grimy black mane before the washbasin. A moment, face plunged underwater — a moment too long, then much too long. Bubbles stream from an open, screaming mouth; silenced for the surface.

Probably that’s fine too.


iii.) party

The Tourney's a big deal: Wealth congregates. Bargains are struck. Faces are shown. Wren, for her part, is trying to avoid that shit.

She's been going easy on the bottle for the better part of a week (hangovers aren't a help for brothers in law, or bludgeoning your opponents), but tonight's been one long slide out of the shadow of sobriety. She veers abruptly close — either alone, or trailing some persistent so-and-so in her wake —

"We need to speak."


iv.) wildcard

[ hmu on plurk if you have any questions or need any info! ]

ii

[inagutterson]

"Preudame fuck off!"

Except it sounds friendly, if muffled, by a dwarf Wren knows as Yngvi is accosted by a dog that has no right being large enough for him to ride, and all because he's been stuffing himself full of food because he paid a lad (bright spark, thinks he's going to go far, Yngvi'll help him on his way since he's got three incomes coming in unlike most) to go looking after the nugs so he has extra pockets. "That ain't for you, is it? Not 'til I check with--"

And he's in, barrelling through with all the grace of an overgrown ragamuffin like him has. (In years, obviously, not height, I mean look at him, how many urchins has Wren met personally with height and girth on this lad.) "D'you eat? Snagged these turkey legs but I dunno what sort of turkey they came off, must've been from summat out a swamp or the other other side of Par Vollen I reckon, the size of them. Did 'em up in all these spices and batter, more ginger than your fancy piece."

There's a metaphor in there, maybe, Yngvi is too young and not in amongst this scene to find it as he thrust out a thigh at Wren and hurry up, grab it because he cannot hold things higher than your bloody dog's head and he does have stuff for the dog but this is not how he dies.

hanzo shimada

[eruit]

ARCHERY

Hanzo has been travelling before his arrival at the tourney and it's clear, from the moment he starts, that he is on edge and uncertain of how to handle himself best. It's been some time since he was in a situation where the public eye has been upon him so harshly, and with the events of being kidnapped and almost returned to the Shimadas bearing down on his shoulders... His performance is not what it ought to have been.

It does not help that his opponents were centuries older than he was.

Either way, he and his bow are out of the competition in the first round and he finds it somewhat of a relief. True, his pride is sore and his ego won't recover quickly, but he feels far more comfortable being able to slip away out of the view of everyone else than he cares to admit. For a man who had once been the leader of a family... The shadows are far more comfortable.

GAMES AND STALLS

Most of the rest of Hanzo's time is spent playing the market games idly, mostly those that involve sharp shooting and quick reflexes. He does a little better at these than he did the archery competition, earning some prize tickets and looking quite smug with himself, almost as if he was a child.

The truth is, of course, that he had little chance for these sorts of things in his childhood and he was making up for it now. No one else needed to know that, however.

If anyone wishes to challenge him he is up for the competition. He never lets go of his bow, however, having it bound tightly and strung across his chest, always within reach, protecting it and guarding it from anyone who gets a little too close or curious for his comfort.

MAGICAL EVENTS

Hanzo attends the magical events from a distance, watching the contestants from Tevinter with an intense, critical eye, seeing how they move, they cast, what spells they use, their tactics. While he never gets close enough that there might be some kind of a risk of interaction, he is close enough to see who they are and try and pick up on anyone that he might recognise - and, therefore, be able to judge more harshly.

Anyone looking particularly closely might notice something akin to nostalgia colouring his features, but he never stays standing in one place for too long. He slips around, keeping to himself, trying not to let anyone see where he is and what he's doing, trying to act as though he is not as desperate for some connection to home as he is.

If anyone calls his name he's quick to turn on his heel and try to walk, briskly, in the other direction. It has been ten years, now, and he can no longer tell friend from foe.

WILDCARD

( Feel free to find Hanzo somewhere else, at the party, or hit me up on plurk for something else! )

{ magical events }

[trashlife]

A voice doesn't call his name, but it's definitely calling out to him, from lower to the ground.

"Hey! Hey, you!" Minka is coming up to him, a metal box clutched in both hands. She can't say for sure if he's from Tevinter or not, but he's being sulky around a majority of them, yet not in a group with them. She doesn't want to approach a group. Magic freaks her out and they might gang up on her to steal her prize using their magic. One guy is safer. She can at least get one good kick to his shins if he tries to rob her.

"You a Vint?" she asks, looking up at him with a slight squint to her eyes, as if all Vints look a certain way and she'll be able to discern this somehow.

malcolm reed

[tactical_alert]

fission mailed (for Anders)
[The assignment sounds simple enough. It's simply a matter of finding the right people at the right times and involving himself in the right ways. Tail Ser Appletree, keep him from delivering his particular poison.

But he goes by the Grand Melee arena, where there approximately far too many people, and he loses sight of the knight in the thick crowd. Of course, he kicks himself, of course he didn't bring Milady to try and sniff anyone out or tail them better, no, had to leave her back at Kirkwall, too much trouble, he thought--

When he finally catches up to Appletree and attempts to make some smalltalk about fellow contenders, it becomes clear to Malcolm that the poison has already been delivered, and he excuses himself politely. Can't have been too long or too far--when he finds the lad, a Geoff Achunt, with a drink in hand, nothing seems amiss. Malcolm lays a hand on his back and quietly asks him to follow, and as they walk, the man begins to cough, and his face starts to gleam with sweat. Malcolm takes the drink, sniffs it.

They make it to one of the healing tents, and though his relationship with Anders is constantly tenuous if friendly, and the man is going by a different name (as he damn well should), Malcolm makes for 'Theo', drink in one hand and decidedly unwell Geoff in the other.]

Healer, please, I believe this man to be poisoned through his drink.

Family Matters
[It is entirely possible that you have been asked by a middle-aged woman with sharp features, or an elderly looking couple with the same sort of family resemblance to said woman, the whereabouts of a Seeker Malcolm. The last name pointedly does not get used unless clarification is called for.

And it is entirely possible that you have seen a Seeker Malcolm around, looking harried, perhaps even like he might be trying to avoid someone. It is also entirely possible that he might stop and ask:]

Pardon me, I know this must sound terribly odd, but surely you've need of a hand with some task, something that will make one busy for a certain length of time?

[An excuse, he means. Or perhaps stop him and ask him what bee has flown into his bonnet, please, get that stick out of your arse.]

Your Own Personal Trainer
[Training and sparring for the events. It's a chance to show off, as well. His archery skills are nothing to scoff at, and he's a fair enough hand in combat that perhaps it isn't a surprise he's up for a few competitions. Maybe help him hone his skills and keep loose. Catch him tending to his horse. Or be part of the crowd pretending they're not loitering around looking at the pretty people with muscles and moves, come on.]

R&R
[Find him at the Inquisition camp, rubbing at sores that perhaps developed from sparring or from combat. Or drinking, a little, and eating his fill, but certainly not partying or dancing. Or find him perusing some of the games and trying his hand at a few without a real care to win anything in particular. Or find him in a heated debate about the Chantry's position on the Inquisition.

Yes it's basically a wildcard option but you can bet wherever he is he's not having as much fun as he could be.]

Family matters

[foxsays]

[With little to do, Araceli's mostly just enjoying herself in a chance to not be at Kirkwall. Lux is back there because him here is begging for trouble really so she can stroll around, trying to think about the assignment she's meant to be doing. More bothering the Chantry that seems ill-advised.

A Seeker is a better distraction than deciding to what degree she can half-ass something she's not inclined to push, once she gets over the surprise at being pulled from her thoughts.]

Seeker Reed, is everything well? [And she's got the practice to keep smiling politely while her voice slips into concerned.] You could tell me of the jousting, we can't even keep horses on our islands, no room to graze them or grow so much food just for one lot of beasts, I feel a little lost with it.

[You're not off the hook she's going to ask but y'know, have a cover.]

Sarah Manning

[coppelganger]

i. archery

[ Sarah isn't much of an archer. She's got some natural aim and had a good crash course in technique thanks to Helena, but she doesn't expect to do very well in the competition and is more relieved than embarrassed when she doesn't even make it past the first round. She didn't come in last, and that's all that really matters, yeah? Afterwards she can be found leaning against a fence to watch the rest of the competition, her bow slung over one shoulder. It's a strange bow, up close--there are four buttons on the grip, and it seems to be chirping like a bunch of angry birds. ]

ii. espionage

[ Her task in espionage, as it turns out, is nowhere near as complicated as she feared it might be. She has to stop two idiots from dueling, and she pulls it off fairly quickly in the day. All she has to do, really, is go around pretending to work for both households, hiding weapons and holding people up and acting clueless about the whole thing. Afterward, she grabs a drink and puts her feet up, watching as people try to figure out where their swords are, or whatever the hell. ]

Can you believe these idiots? [ she asks whoever might be nearby, also watching. ] They're trying to duel over a fucking bog.

iii. play to win

[ She's got a ton of coin she stole from the dumbass doctor she's been sleeping with, and the fact that the money wasn't originally hers makes her feel way less guilty about spending it trying to win prizes. She's already got a few small items, including a live lizard in a terrarium, but nothing makes her look so happy as the chainmail bikini she can be spotted grabbing up (hey, there's only two of them!) If she catches anyone staring, her look of excitement changes to one more of annoyance. ]

What? It's hot, innit?

ii

[aforethought]

Plenty good t'come out a bog,

[ melys looks up for a moment from the carving she's been working into the table — some sort of rabbit with teeth — ]

Why, half Ferelden's gone sunk in one, and here 'm I. How'd you get roped into it?

gwenaëlle baudin

[elegiaque]

MINGLING

( much of gwenaëlle's time at the tourney is spent examining the various international wares being hawked, admiring the performers who've come—some from much further than others. a few she takes the time to learn the names of, take notes upon, quizzing them about their experiences and earning a little of their time with both coin and the indication of her connections to the orlesian arts, which recent scandal has really only strengthened. reactions to the phrase 'art critic' vary, but she makes good use of it.

it is occasionally pleasant to remember she didn't exclusively hate everything about the life she led before the inquisition. some of it was this, too, writing down names and addresses and giving tokens that will be recognized by the people she sends them to.

in any event, she's hard to lose (even aside from the enormous shepherd dog following close at her heels), having attended in an elaborate floriography dress, roughly translating to 'the overly curious die alone' when closely examined; she wears a wide-brimmed, angled hat tilted to the side she's braided her hair down (or, more likely at this point, iorveth braided it), and has a decreasing number of coloured ribbons tied around her forearm. )

SPECTATING

( —because she has been handing out her favours. she attends the archery in support of iorveth, tilts her hat lower and sits behind a very tall man at the joust to avoid being recognized by her own lord father (maker knows whose favour he's carrying today, but given she expects him to be giving his all to the unarmed combat it's likely he'll be unlucky sooner or later regardless), sits with morrigan and kieran for unarmed combat and the magic melee (is it too much to hope alistair punched her father in the face? maybe), can be seen fanning herself with her hat at various points.

whether that's because the air is warm or someone has no shirt on, well. )

CAMPING

( by the evening, a few drinks in, gwenaëlle is carrying her hat and has lost the ribbon tying the end of her braid, which is slowly but surely unwinding itself as she returns to the inquisition's camp-within-the-camp, stopping to speak with a few orlesians prepared to be seen speaking with her (she can see the math being done; shameful disgrace vs exciting scandal, the duke de coucy's continued support, the inquisition connections, her recent republication of poems beneath her new name—) and pretending badly not to notice those who conspicuously find other places to be and people to be speaking with.

it's fine. whatever. nevermind that she thinks she might have seen her brother being one of them; that all of her letters to him have been returned unopened. she decides not to look closely, to decide she mistook another, and go in search of another drink. surely someone has something. if nothing else, she can see her father's tent and his man at its front. they will have liquor, and maybe he won't be there and she can just take it. )

spectating;

[limier]

It's loud; names are hard to catch, however frequently trumpeted — so few of them Southern, or bearing sigils she's a hope of recognizing —

"Gwenaëlle," Surprised, because. Well. Who'd expect her to attend? In this heat? For Galadriel, perhaps (and finally a better look at that one, there's some benefit to this charade). "You've missed the giant goat."

One of them. Some of the competitors could challenge that title. A distracted glance to the field: The second man emerges, heraldry at once more acutely familiar.

Ice Cream!

[fineriftercrafts]

I. Ice Cream! Who wants some ice cream?!

Barnabas stands by a cart, brightly decorated, with a large banner strung across it which says "Barnabas's Ice Cream Emporium". He is in full sale mode, calling out to people in different languages, talking up his product. His sales pitch goes something like this, tailored to culture and person, of course.

"Hello good sir/madam! Have you tasted the latest thing? Sweet, refreshing, and oh so tasty, just the thing for this weather! Try a scoop, you'll love it! It's like nothing ever seen before in this world, and YOU can try it here and now!"

Next to the cart is a woman in a pale blue dress with a holster on her hip. She has a friendly face and is also working the crowd as best she can, trying to sell the wares.

Come Buy Ice Cream

[somethingyettocome]

"Get your ice cream, delicious and refreshing in the warm spring sun," Dolores says, calling out into the crowd cheerfully. This gave her something to do when she wasn't competing and, to be honest, she thought this was better.

"We have three flavors, vanilla, chocolate, and a sweet fruit mix," Dolores explains to indifferent festival attendees. They'd had some attention, of course, but nowhere near what she'd predicted.

"They come in cones so you can eat them easily as you enjoy the Tourney."

[faithlikeaseed]

I. sightsee... ...something

Myr's been about Kirkwall for months. He's been to Nevarra City, to little towns and larger towns all over the Marches and Ferelden and Orlais in the time he's been with the Inquisition; it's enough travel and variety to make a sheltered Circle mage's head spin.

And nothing--not one bit of it--was any kind of preparation for the living, breathing animal that is the Grand Tourney. He spends most of that day (when he's not needed elsewhere) wandering in a kind of awestruck wide-eyed daze, trying to take in as much as he can as he tags after anyone with a familiar voice. The purely visual displays are a little lost on him--unless he's heard your voice and managed to cajole you into describing them--but he'll linger a long time by the best of the musical performers with a look of pure enjoyment on his face.

The carnival games are another source of fascination. He falls to talking with one of the barkers between customers, asking about rules and odds and technique in his completely guileless way; the woman's obligated to lie--it's her livelihood, after all--but is enough taken in by Myr's charm to do it kindly. Why doesn't he have a go? she offers, at length, to his laughing demurral. No, really, she'll talk him through it, there's no reason he can't play just like everyone else. It goes about as badly as might be imagined, though they're both laughing as the ring ends up Void-only-knows-where; the noise is enough to attract the attention of a fellow at a neighboring stall--

"Step right up, ladies, gentlemen! Only a copper for a play; so easy a blind rabbit can do it!"

His shoulders stiffen, face gone an expressionless mask. Well--something had to take the luster off the day.

II. training & scouting

Of course, there is no earthly way to absorb all the Tourney in one go, and besides, Myr hasn't time to try. By the second day he's settled into a routine: Up early enough for morning prayers (with Simon, if it can be managed) before the grounds have time to grow raucous, breakfast from whatever stall seems most appealing at the moment, then off to the space set aside for mages to train. During the day, when thin whispering crowds of the non-magical lurk about, gawking at everything with wide-eyed trepidation, he sticks to glyphwork and barriers--boring to watch, probably, as he practices over and over again to improve his speed in the cast. (It's worth a little ripple of interest when he starts chaining glyphs together, tiny things the size of a man's palm that sparkle like fireflies before going dim. Trip one and all the others go off.)

When the Tevene mages put on their appearance he's quick to shift to the stands, paying sharp attention to their spellwork. He does not flee when Vitellia Cicarria launches into a flurry of hexes; he presses his hands together, gray-faced, and tries not to be ill. Only when Marcus Marsicus offers a sneering critique and draws her into an argument punctuated with flashes of entropy does he make his way down, in such a haste he's liable to trip over someone.

Lunch is spent in whatever company he can find; he's happy to buy and will tell you so. Want to try that Rivaini place? Or the Hasmali stall he's been haunting; the juscellum's to die for.

He's not so joyless as to avoid the evening's celebrations entirely--especially not when it's one of their own the Inquisition's fêting--but he slips away a little before midnight, finding his way back to the training grounds by careful stages. That's when the flashy magic comes out, and the knight-enchanter's swordplay, feinting at an invisible opponent or willing friend. Soon enough he'll be doing this in earnest, in front of a crowd of gawking onlookers--but he'd rather postpone that until the last moment. And keep a little element of surprise while he's at it.

III. wildcard me!

(or hit me up if you'd like a specific starter!)

for prompto!

[faithlikeaseed]

He hasn't been--avoiding, exactly, everyone else who'd gone on that near-doomed mission to the Anderfels. There's been plenty of reasons why--they've all been busy, what with the Inquisition's on-going mission, the unexpected fallout of the mage strike, the never-ending parade of little tasks and minor disasters that need handling.

But all the same, he's not had a real chance to talk to Prompto beyond pleasantries since the battle with Lupeo, and that's a shame. A shame to be rectified, and to that purpose he shows up one morning wherever the young rifter might be found, a couple of fresh churros in hand. "Good morning! Have you had breakfast yet?"

Iorveth

[aenseidhe]

ARCHERY;

[ For the most part, Iorveth is here because these bitch ass humans think they own the market on archery and that's just not okay in his book. That, and, he's more than a little agitated at the idea all seem to have that elves have no business with weapons in their hands. But mostly he's here because Thranduil wants trophies. and fuck you elves are the shit.

He shows up with his token weirdo foreigner elf bow, the one he carries with him basically everywhere he goes, including the baths, though wearing much fewer layers than is normal, erring on the side of something with short sleeves and light fabric, maybe with a piece of leather armor here or there. A hair ribbon favor from Gwenaelle hangs tied to his arm, though Iorveth doesn't really understand the practice, he's sporting it anyway.

The actual competition turns out surprisingly enjoyable, seeing as he isn't the only elf to shows up to prove their skills. He spends most of the downtime when not shooting chatting with the other rifter elves, likely the ones he knows - Galadriel and Bronach. But, the atmosphere and nature of the competition manages to put Iorveth in favorable enough spirits that he approaches several of the other competitors in between rounds, chatting about different aspects of the practice - technique, equipment, tips and tricks. He even stops by the young boy - Tucker - after he's dropped in the second round to help him work on his draw.

Somewhere between Round 2 and Round 3, he scampers off, stops by one of the face painting booths to borrow some paint, and comes back with Vrihedd war paint on his face, possibly as part of a joke or a dare, or maybe just to tease Bronach about looking as fierce as she feels. They know good and well the both of them are savage, feral things, and the competition is a fine chance for them to play.

After the final round, Iorveth emerges the victor, letting out a loud cheer in a language no one here understands, before telling the others: ] Now, let's go get shit-faced and try all that again.

ESPIONAGE;

[ Snooping is one of Iorveth's favorite activities. The fact the assignment he's given has a very personal appeal to it (and he's guessing someone did that one purpose) offers all the more motivation. Several months ago, a handful of elven servants to a wealthy merchant up and disappeared. It would've likely been an easier task to track them down, or follow the trail, if it had only been days or weeks ago, but such are crimes against elves. A footnote.

Regardless, he's determined to do them justice, at least in uncovering their story and attempting to avenge them. Perhaps a friend or acquaintance has come with him out of interest, or he's snagged a passerby willing to do some impressive acting for a handful of coins, but they're across the way from the merchant, Bonnie Gill's, vendor stall. Iorveth intends to go digging around her effects, but he'll need the woman distracted for that. That's where this second comes in - the plan is, throw an "I want to talk to your manager" fit. Customer complaint, some screaming, some shouting about terrible service, some threatening of reports to the Better Business Bureau, maybe. Whatever keeps her attention away. ]

Keep her busy. Break out the tears, if you must.

I BEEN DRINKIN I BEEN DRANKIN;

[ Late, late into the evening, Iorveth will be hanging around one of the tavern-tents, either high as a kite or drunk three sheets to the wind, likely chatting with native elves - locals from the alienage or foreign servants come to serve nobles in the games. It's been a long, long time since he'd been to a festival so simply enjoyable as this tourney has been. He's smiling, telling stories, sharing bits of culture, maybe even singing a little, though dreadfully out of tune.

once he's had his fill, he'll be wobbling back towards the camp areas, meandering back to his tent, and humming a song as he goes, watching the starry night sky above him. ]

WILDCARD;

[ idk, hit me ]

espionage.

[thunderproof]

I can do that.

❰ because what else is adalia going to do at a tourney/festival than follow murderdad around like a baby duck, waiting to be needed? fun is out of the question. breaking off from iorveth, she walks confidently and casually in front of bonnie's stall, surreptitiously reaching for any random bottle that happens to be sitting there and — ❱

Oh, Maker, forgive me, serah! I'm so sorry — do you have a cloth, serah? I'm so sorry, I can't begin to say how much —

❰ bonnie is distracted by the creeping liquid threatening to destroy her wares and adalia's wailing both, rushing over to look at the damage. while her head is down, adalia looks up at iorveth only briefly to make sure he's taken the opportunity, and then she ducks her head again, dabbing at the liquid with her skirts. ❱

alexandra karahalios

[periastron]

Diplomacy Failure.
( She’s not totally caught up on who Van Markhams and Pentaghasts and the other fancy dickheads around these parts actually are. She just was asked to help figure an issue out, and she thought yeah, sure, I can do that. I can be helpful as.

That was before the brawl broke out, and before she got knocked down by one of them stepping backwards. Pettily, furiously, she retaliates with a kick to the back of his knee from her place still on the ground, and then the brawl just seems to get more earnest.

She is… going to stand up, dust herself off, and consider new tactics. Clearing her throat, she half-heartedly makes a fresh attempt. ) Mates, you gotta— make love, not war. Be the change you want to see in the world.

( A rotten apple flies past her head, and possibly hits whoever is approaching. The brawlers may not be listening. ) Hakuna matata?


Post-Jousting.
( She definitely didn’t actually mean to participate in the jousting. She’d been looking after the horses, and despite jokes she made to Sarah about participating in this bullshit, was steered towards the jousting by mistake. She wheezes gently; she should have backed out before it started at all, but adrenaline and the excitement of doing something kinda ridiculous kicked in, along with a side serve of general fuck you vibes at everyone.

That said, dropping the lance, just barely keeping on the horse and then eating dirt was pretty rough. She will be bruised to shit tomorrow.

Please feel free to help scrape her off the dusty ground, or to find her later, chugging a beer and looking a little worse for wear, and possibly still in some poorly fitting, beating up armour. )


Gondola.
( Later on in the tourney, after many hours have been spent playing carnival games, Alexandra can be seen daringly, though perhaps not yet skilfully, poling around on a levitating gondola. The wood is polished wood, stained a beautiful red and marked with glowing symbols to keep it floating through the air. She, herself, is wearing cut off leather pants now rendered into short-shorts, a cotton shirt tied up to bare her midriff (and expose a few tattoos and scars in the process), and a wineskin hat.

On the gondola there purchases a koala, or possibly a dropbear, chewing on some celery and carrot sticks. His fur is grey, though occasionally it seems to shimmer the colour of the gondola - but you’re probably just seeing things. )

Who needs a drink?

( Alex yells, holding out two bottles of something dangerously alcoholic, and starting to pour as she glides past.

Or something else could be happening. )


Wildcard?

gondola

[coppelganger]

[ Sarah, still with her chirping bow slung over her shoulder, and now carrying a small terrarium under one arm and a few other prizes in the other, heads toward the familiar and horrible accent. Mostly because the floating gondola looks like a nice storage container, and partly because despite herself she wants to see it up close, and a tiny bit because of all the people in this universe Alex is somehow one of the people she dislikes the least. And she is offering free drinks. ]

Can I use this to carry all the shit I'm winning? [ Yeah, yeah, hello to you, etc. ]

Tessa

[zombra]

{ espionage assignment } just one tagger, please
No one is more surprised than Tessa when she's asked to figure out a way to stop some douchebag from Hasmal from drugging the Inquisition's horses for the joust, but she's not going to say she can't do it. She just might need a hand pulling this off. She starts by tailing the man who she's been told is the one going to execute the plan, watching to see where he goes and what he does. When he disappears into a tent, she mills around outside, trying to look preoccupied with something, until he emerges, hand resting nervously on a waterskin on his belt. That has to have the drugging agent in it. Swallowing hard, she follows behind him as he moves for the Inquisition's stable. When she spots a fellow Inquisition member, Tessa smiles and comes right up to them.

"Hey, I need some help stopping a guy from screwing us over in the joust. You in?"


{ playing games }
It's no Kennywood, but the games here are reminiscent of the amusement park games you'd find anywhere, so Tessa starts walking by, figuring they're all rigged. However, there's a lot of cheering and smiling faces, and plenty of people leaving with prizes. Too many people to be working for the game vendors to make it look like they're easy to win. So she meanders over to a ring toss game and hands over a few coins. It looks simple enough, but she's sure those glass bottles are offset so you can't get the ring over all three. She makes her first toss... and gets the ring over all three. Holy crap, how? Her mouth drops open and she's handed a prize. Anyone want to cheer her on as she moves to the next stall?

Or if not, two hours later, Tessa is weighed down with a giant stuffed bear on her back, wearing a bear hat that matches quite well, and a bunch of miscellaneous items that she's barely gripping with both hands. Spotting someone she recognizes from the Gallows, she says, "Hey, could you help me carry this back to my tent? I'll pay you with a candy necklace as long as you don't mind it coming off my neck." Sure enough, she has one resting there.

espionage assignment

[gotyourselfapilot]

The Joust competition was pretty intense. Poe's not used to seeing horses or really anything from this planet or world. The Tourney had provided something new to him and he didn't mind observing the many competitions that were going on. It gave him another way to clear his mind from previous events. Hopefully this tournament could bring people together. Rifters being called demons or other things had only grown to upset and frustrate him. The rules here were different, not much of a leeway to bend them either. He had been wandering around looking at the stalls for joust. Poe stopped upon seeing Tessa, he smiled back her.

"Hey, Tessa. People should be playing fair and not dirty. I'll help you out."

Even if they get into trouble it's for a good reason.

Kain

[in_death_sacrifice]

Unarmed Combat

Kain is all excited to get out and compete. He lives to show off his battle skills, after all, so he's been looking forward to the whole tourney. He doesn't know his opponent, but he's sure he's got what it takes to beat her.

...but as he soon finds out, it's never good to underestimate an opponent. When the battle starts, Kain gets a couple of good swings in, initially, but it soon becomes clear that it's just a bit of luck. This Kara Line is a pretty good brawler, lithe and tough, and things turn quickly in her favor. She's definitely the better skilled of the two in unarmed styles. He ends up sprawled on the ground by the end.

He trudges off a little bit disappointed, sighing as he stays a bit to watch the other contenders. He'll commiserate with anyone else who also gets knocked out of the competition, or congratulate those who win.

Armed Combat

Ok, he's got this, he's definitely got this. Weapons are much more his specialty, anyway, right? Kain is again eager and enthused when the time comes to face whatever creatures he's up against.

It's just his luck, though, that he's got some tough monsters to fight. He holds his sword at the ready as the three massive bile green lurkers stalk into the arena. No problem, he's still got this. He gets Ring of Pain going and begins to fight, the lurkers charging fiercely at him. All three are tenacious, putting up a difficult fight, even as Kain whirls and jumps around the arena, making plenty of use of his new and old skills. It proves to be an entertaining battle at first.

Unfortunately, they're also venomous creatures, and it's only a matter of time before one gets a nasty bite on him. It goes downhill fast after that, becoming more and more of a struggle for Kain. By the time all three of the lurkers have him down on the ground, it's pretty clear the battle is done. He hears gasps of alarm and other concerned sounds as they drag him out of the arena.

He spends the rest of this day in a medical tent being treated. Anyone who may have witnessed his battle, or otherwise happens to stop by will be welcome to visit. He could use a little cheering up about now.

Joust

By the time the joust comes up, Kain's overall mood has shifted. Has he disgraced himself? A lot of the spectators seemed to enjoy the events, but Kain is still pretty hard on himself overall. So his mindset is much less jubilant, and far more serious by now.

He's been patched up quite well from the other events, the bruises, bites and venom having been treated. Maybe there's even just enough lingering pain to be a help and not a hindrance for his reavering.

Getting on horseback helps to steady his nerves. Kain has always done well when mounted, and lately after perfecting his dragon-based skills, it's felt even more natural. So he rides with considerable intensity and skill. It's clear that this is something he thoroughly enjoys.

This time, he fares better than he could have expected. Round after round passes. Lances break and shields smash, and horse hooves thunder along as they ride... and Kain is still holding up. He goes against Ser Lindner who draws geese sounds from the crowd, and then that super righteous Ser Romolo with his flock of chantry sisters. Kain unhorses the latter, drawing especially excited cheers from some corners of the crowd. He's known many of these men, of course, having grown up as a noble in Orlais and crossed their paths in the past. To Kain's dismay, facing Ser Felix means undergarments are thrown all over the place, and he himself ends up riding one pass with a lady's brassiere caught in his armor.

Kain almost doesn't hear it when they announce the Final Round is starting. He looks around at whoever is nearby. "Is that me? Did I hear that right?"

Spectating the Magic Combat Event

Kain is seated by Garahel, who he's watching for Inessa while she does her magical event. It's strange to be in the audience, but in a way he likes being able to settle back for once. He reaches down to pet Garahel.

"It's almost time… Let's hope she has some good luck out there." Inessa may not be an imposing figure, but she's smart. He's sure she has a trick or two she can use.

When the time comes, he stands and claps, cheering even more than he has for anyone else. Here goes...

Games

"I've never been one for such games… but… perhaps it's worth trying something."

Kain wanders around from booth to booth, hesitant at first to actually play anything. He's more interested to see how these games go for others for now, pausing every so often to watch someone else playing, to see if it's something he'll be interested in trying out as well.

Wildcard!

Anything else you want to play out? Go for it!

Magic Combat

[circleprodigy]

Inessa puts up a valiant effort, that first round. Her opponent is a tenacious olive-green oversized ram that seems to counter everything she throws at it with sheer attitude. The fact that it slowly but visibly heals wounds during the fight doesn't help matters, but even when Inessa counters it with her entropy magic, the ram persists. Despite her ice and hexes -and she does get in a few good counters with each- the ram emerges victorious when it finally breaks through her barrier, throwing her back a few feet.

When the scores emerge, it's not too surprising that she doesn't advance to the next round, but by then Inessa's being taken to the medical tent and past caring.

Fenris

[lyriumcarved]

Armed Combat

A rather small quillback comes out into the arena to face him as Fenris stands at the ready. He'd made it through a few rounds of unarmed combat before getting defeated, doing pretty ok despite his reservations over this whole business. But now...

Now.

It's taken up until now to make him totally snap, but here it happens. It's something about the familiarity of it all... being in an arena with a monster bearing down on him, the crowd cheering, an announcer giving the play-by-play... Fenris completely freezes up. He'd performed in arenas like this as a slave, for the amusement of the magisters. All he sees in his mind's eye is Danarius' cruel expression, that ugly sneer he'd have whenever Fenris lost an event in the Tevinter games. All he hears is Hadriana's mocking laughter, and her voice promising that he'll be punished for failure.

Fenris freezes up and the rather stupid quillback gets an all too easy advantage. It's over all too swiftly, which is... probably for the best.

Once he's out of the arena, he's quick to try and get away, but isn't paying close attention to where he's going, making it likely he'll bump into someone on his way out of there.

Drinking

After the armed combat, Fenris has almost had enough. He's tired of being out there, of 'performing' for a crowd. After he goes down to the quillback, he just needs some time to recuperate a bit. It's not so much the fight that's gnawing away at him, it's... the other things. The reminders. So he heads immediately for where there's food and drink to be had, settling down and not intending to get up for a while. Echoes of the past are whirling around in his head in the worst possible way and... he can't take it. Enough is enough.

He's got a more sullen look about him than usual, probably not what one would expect for such happy festivities.

Wildcard!

Anything else!? He's not thrilled to be here, but maybe distractions are good!

Drinking

[altusimperius]

When Fenris reaches the tent with the drinks, it will become apparent his night has been going too well. A gaggle of young men have set up there, the cut of their clothing and sheen of their hair marking them as Tevinter-- and not just that, but sons of the magisterium.
Benedict steps from among them with several cups prepared for refilling, and he casts a cheeky smile Fenris' way. "Nicely done with that quillback," he remarks, "I've never seen one win so easily."

PRANK WAR - Jester & Helena

[the_cleric]

The Inquisition... is at war. A prank war. Attendees to the Grand Tourney find themselves under an amusing assault.

Leave your boots beside your bedroll? You might wake up to find your boots now full of jelly. Ew, gross!

At the end of the jousting area is a pile of rushes. Take care - well-hidden beneath those rushes is a big mud puddle! Anyone walking too briskly will find themselves suddenly knee-deep in mud.

What’s that hissing noise behind you? Are you being cat-called? What’s the big idea! No - when you weren’t looking, someone punched holes in the hem of your cloak, and tied a rainbow of ribbons in place. Now you have an extra train, and that hissing? Just the ribbons, dragging through the grass. Take some small consolation in your fancy beauty.

You come back to your tent late in the day, after a long day of feasting and festivity. But don’t enter too quick! Someone has snuck into your tent and filled it with bowls of water. Every available square inch, just water bowl after water bowl. Some of the bowls are full of confetti. Some of that confetti is sparkly. Be careful!

You reach for your trusty dagger or maul, ready to represent the Inquisition in the Grand Melee. But what’s that? Someone has encased your weapon of choice... in jelly. Your weapon now hangs, suspended, in a beautiful apple jelly. You can pull it free.. or eat it free.

Perhaps, weary from a day of heroism, boozing, defeat, some combination of the aforementioned or something else completed, you wander into your tent without thinking to look. Mistake made! There is string crisscrossed through your tent like a big spider web, coated in glue and feathers. You might not have been a chicken on the battlefield, but you certainly look like one now!

One sunny afternoon, you step forward, ready to compete in your event. But before the herald can announce your real name and any titles you would like to claim - a loud, booming voice overpowers her, to announce you properly: “NOW PRESENTING SER FANCY-BOTTOM! SER FANCY-BOTTOM, OF THE FEATHER-DICK CLAN, THIRD EARL OF PISSER, HIGH PROTECTOR OF YOUR MOM’S BOUDOIR!”

You look up, in alarm. What! That’s not your name! But the crowd is already snickering. Sucks to be you, Ser Fancy-Bottom!

Anyone can fall victim to these pranks, and the perpetrators are well-hidden - but if you listen closely, you might be able to hear then, giggling and snickering as they run away.



[OOC note: these are open to anyone! some personalized starters below for people we have chatted with but feel free to jump on any of the above.]

ADALIA

[strangel]

Big hair is something Helena is well acquainted with. Perhaps that is why the idea comes to her, from her own experiences sometimes discovering twigs and leaves in her hair after time spent crawling through the forest. The first success is almost an accident, a piece of greasy paper from holding a pastry scrunched up and tossed into her hair. The items are all light, but get progressively more ambitious, sleights of hand and opportunities taken as a young woman passes the jostling crowds.

Little paper cones, sticks, and sugar candies are considered, before it is concluded that sugar candies are too important and valuable to be sacrificed to a silly prank on a stranger. Then the crowning achievement: a black spider, harmless, but understandably alarming.

( ooc: feel free to just post a reaction, or to do threads with other people using this as the prompt, or try to find the fiends behind it! They may, of course, prove elusive... )