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

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."

[onlyhymns]

Cade wasn't expecting much of archery, since he knows he's simply a (former?) soldier amongst those who make a career of ranged combat alone, but it still kept a quite uncharacteristic smile on his face all day long. And though it was knocked off somewhat by his loss, he's a decent sport, and more than anything it's nerves that keep him looking melancholy now, from the upcoming joust in addition to the fact of who's helping him prepare for it.

"I should've eaten more," he says, half-joking and half-not, holding still and trying not to shake as Nari fastens his armor around him.

[nadasharillen]

"There's still time for me to fetch you something," Nari replies, also half-joking and half-not. She thinks better of it almost immediately; dropping food on top of nerves right before being jostled about on a galloping horse sounds like an invitation to disaster. "Better not," she remedies, finishing the first bracer and heading for the second.

She thinks for a moment as she works, about times she'd seen something entirely override the apprehension that often clings to him. In his way, Cade was near as high-strung as Lady Patience.

Ah, yes, that would do.

"Tell me about learning to ride," she asks lightly as she moves from padding to chain, gathering the heavy mail on her arms to transfer it to his, taking care that it won't catch any wayward bits of hair either when he ducks his head through or when the shirt falls into place around him. "Were you very young?"

[onlyhymns]

It feels strange to be dressed like this, but a lot of things about Cade's relationship with Nari is strange, and he's not in any state to question it at present. She seems to know what she's doing, so he'll let her do it.
"Um," he muses, thinking back, "my da started out teaching me, when I was little, on... on my brother's pony." Callum had already begun to demand a horse by the time Cade was old enough to sit astride a mount by himself. "I had a head start on the others at the abbey." He realizes now how long it's been since he's talked or even thought about The Time Before, that tiny pocket of existence in which he had a home and a family and nobility.

Camp!!

[letoldthingsdie]

Kylo still felt as awkward as could be in social situations like this but he was happy to find at least one familiar face who was like minded in their need for some quiet. He wonders, for a moment if, it would be unwise to disturb her but then she smiles at him before depositing more curls of wood into the flames.

"You not very good at these things either?" It had been so long since he'd been made to go to some social affair that even one or two drinks left him somewhat lightheaded. He was glad for the break. He was glad to have someone to just relax around.

[nadasharillen]

"Not a bit," replies Nari, the corner of her smile inching up a bit farther. "Too many people, too much noise, no real way to escape it even for a moment, and too many wondering why one would want to. And the stares." Another curl of wood rises, forms, is tossed, and disappears. "I'm sure you get them too, hn? For the shard?"

[letoldthingsdie]

"Mm. I do. It's usually because of the shard or because of how tall I am and because I wear all black." He smiles ruefully, knowing all too well how these people feel about him and how they probably all saw him now that he's made his feelings about the phylacteries known.

"They stare at you because you're an elf, I take it?" He wasn't immune to the treatment of elves and mages, but in his mind it was the problem of the natives, not something Rifters should get tangled up into. He was somewhat starting to reconsider, given they were all being painted with the same suspicious brush.

[nadasharillen]

"Well, a certain kind thereof," Nari replies, raising the bit of wood to tap at the tattoos that arc around her face. "Elves they've seen. Most here have only heard tales of the Dalish-- largely unflattering-- or if they do have some direct experience, it's most like at the point of an arrow."

She gestures an invitation to join her; there are several logs set around the fire.

"It's a feeling you never truly get used to, isn't it."

I

[gatheringstorm]

Peering around for something new to catch her eye, Korrin isn't exactly paying close attention to her immediate surroundings. So naturally, she's a magnet for those even more oblivious. The sudden impact of being run into causes her to stumble back and automatically put up her hands to steady the person before she even realizes their identity.

"Hey, be careful--" Glancing down, it sinks in after a moment and she smiles in recognition. "Nari? Damn it, now I can't be hypocritical when it's you. Are you alright?"

[nadasharillen]

She'd nearly thought she'd struck a wall, albeit one that had enough give to it to mean it was more like to be a person. It turns out to be Korrin, for which she's very grateful, and the contrite expression on Nari's face quickly turns to a bright grin.

"Ah! I am now that I know it's you. How has the day of being able to see over the crowds been treating you thus far?"

[gatheringstorm]

Nari's fortunate that Korrin's in civilian clothes and not armor, which hopefully softens the impact somewhat. She chuckles at that question, not bothering to hide that it's been a boon. "Not bad, not bad. I was trying to see what I should bother to bring home, aside from silly carnival prizes. What about you, something caught your inspiration?"

[nadasharillen]

"Plenty!" exclaims Nari, gesturing at the list she's been making all morning. There's a splotch of ink and a line dragged down the page from it now where the last fellow's surname should be, but it only makes her laugh. She finishes the name, and then carefully-- and largely for her friend's benefit-- labels the evidence of impact with 'met Korrin'.

"It's like the Lowtown market on a festival day, with Hightown thrown in right next to it instead of up that endless stairway. Everyone's brought their best, everyone wants to talk about it, and we're making a good enough showing of ourselves that near everyone is willing to entertain at least the possibility of trade deals with us in the future." Nari is animated and enthusiastic, eyes sparkling with possibility.

"And they've got everything here! Some enterprising fellow, assuming this may be the first time that some children see anyone with horns, has been making truly impressive Qunari and Vashoth dolls, and his wife is quick and clever enough with a needle that she can whip up any outfit you might wish for it within the candlemark," she grins cheekily, "I bet we could find a little white fox somewhere too; then Araceli could take the two of you with her when she goes on mission alone."

II

[mousquetaire]

It's been a long day, a tiring day. D'Artagnan feels the strain of it all over his body, from simple muscle strain to the various bruises and minor injuries he picked up while competing. At the end of it, he's more than ready to relax, and a fire that has just one other person at it seems like exactly the right call.

He's holding a cheap bottle of wine purchased from one of the stalls, and he picks up an extra cup on his way over. When she smiles, he gestures to the space beside her before dropping into it and offering the cup.

"You look like I feel," he says, returning the half-smile. "This isn't great wine, but I'm still ready for it. Would you like to share?"

[nadasharillen]

"Feeling a bit--" Nari nearly says 'Dalish', but catches the telltale green glimmer of a shard and changes direction, "--trampled yourself, are you? I've never been good at disguising tired. Or anything." She'll take the offered cup with a nod, the corner of her half-smile quirking further upwards. "A long day can make even poor wine great."

[mousquetaire]

He passes it over, before uncorking the bottle with his teeth and filling her cup before his own. The first sip burns its way down his throat, which honestly wine should not do, but it's a great deal better than nothing. He sighs.

"Trampled is one word for it. It's been a long day. A good day, but a long one."

He looks up.

"I've fared rather more poorly than I hoped, but it's been good to compete again. Have you enjoyed your time?"

[nadasharillen]

Nari takes her own sip, winces slightly at the burn, and shakes her head with a chuckle. "This vintage needed us to have a longer day," she says with rueful humor, but she's definitely still drinking it.

"It's been a good day, yes," she agrees, scooting forward off the log she was sitting on so she can lean back against it instead. "I find often that when rifters first arrive they sometimes enjoy better success in battle and sometimes end up faring worse than hoped. The way we swing a sword here is as unfamiliar to you as your sword is to us. Did you have many tournaments at home, then?"

III [yells quietly] -- also complete down w/ being overheard!

[faithlikeaseed]

It's always a treat when someone offers to serve as Myr's eyes--doubly so when it's for something as splendid as the Tourney, triply so when the person doing the seeing for him has a storyteller's way with words, a hand at turning phrases with the same elegant efficiency she brings to her crafting. No surprise, there, given her eye for detail--and Myr's not shy about leaning in to catch every one of her words, adding them to his treasure-horde of memories for the day.

If there's one solitary upshot about the blindness, it's this--the chance to really know the world through another's eyes, to hear what she thinks noteworthy and how she'd speak of it. That, as much as anything else, is part of the joy of the whole exercise, that's put an enraptured smile on his face.

But ah, when Simon takes the field-- Myr's smile takes a turn for the besotted at Nari's description--something he realizes only too late and ducks his face behind his clasped hands to hide, with a helpless huff of laughter at himself. At least anyone watching might mistake the expression as being meant for his companion. "Maker's breath," he murmurs into his palms, before sitting up to add his voice to the crowd's. He's only just a little louder than he's been for the Inquisition's other members.

Only just a little. (More than a little.)

"And his opponent?" he asks, breathless, once the noise has died back down. "Something suitably fearsome?"

[nadasharillen]

"They're releasing it now," she says, leaning forward and squinting slightly to better see. A brief trumpet blast sounds for the emerging beast. "It's--" An enraged ursine roar cuts Nari off, but she's soon back into it. "--a bear! Its fur is bright, a brilliant brass that makes it look almost armored itself, and shining" shining? "with some kind of--" she cuts herself off as the slimy looking bear roars again and charges, "--it's charged straight away, great claws digging furrows in the earth!"

Simon's stance shifts. Nari's seen him spar, and preempts: "But the knight is ready for it," Another roar, pain this time, and the crowd cheers. "He jumps quickly to the side, swings the sword he readied as if it were a feather rather than a broad two-handed blade, and scores a long cut on the beast's flank as it passes! But he's taught it wariness now," she says, as the oddly shiny bear reconsiders its strategy and instead begins to circle the Templar, "it's not likely to make the same mistake twice."

[faithlikeaseed]

Shining? "Thought the Fade-touched beasts were for the mages," Myr remarks, half under his breath. He's already sitting bolt upright, head tipped a little to one side as he sifts the roaring, the noise of the crowd, the clank of armor. "He'd have it though, if it were."

Utter faith in the statement, though his fingers curl white-knuckled around the staff at his side--in heart-pounding excitement, more than any sort of anxiety. Simon's more than a match for a bear, Fade-touched or not, wary or not.

I

[aenseidhe]

She'd only just finished chatting up another woodworker at a vendor stall when Iorveth is passing up to her, having caught bits and pieces of the conversation, only to have Nari slam right into his chest, hands reaching out to steady her shoulders as he lets out a laugh.

"I understand you're small enough you're only likely to knock a child down, but no reason not to be careful, my friend." Mock-chiding and teasing. He's hardly offended by it. But onto what he'd been approaching the conversation for -

"I'd heard the craftman mentioning Ironbark, which I keep hearing mentioned among the woodworkers in this land. It seems to be a Dalish thing? Could you tell me of it?"

[nadasharillen]

Having the height differential to slam face first into the chest of another elf is something she's never going to be able to get used to. Nari shakes her head, equal parts amusement, wonder, and regaining her bearings. "Ah! Ara seranna-ma, Iorveth," she says with a lopsided grin, running an embarassed hand back through her hair, "I'm not used to this many people around at once."

As far as Ironbark? She'd spent the day being purposefully vague about it, the only concession she'd been willing to make the promise to note the asker's interest and to see if any clan would prove willing to trade finished pieces. For Iorveth, however, she'll nod.

"It's wood from a tree found only in the Brecilian Forest," she says, "in the south east of Ferelden, if you've been looking at maps. Stronger and lighter than steel, and holds an edge just as well. Better." There's a touch of pride in there. "Both the trees themselves and the working of the wood is a closely guarded secret among the clans. One which, like all other things, human craftsmen have been trying to beg, barter, or steal from us for centuries. With no success, mind you." She grins.

ii

[provenforce]

Rey has been enjoying the festivities, the partying and the drinking, almost as an escape. She's usually more of a watcher, but maybe given everything that's been happening recently, she's needed a little fun. She doesn't miss that distancing herself from it is Nari, and at some point before she's had too many drinks or conspicuously disappeared to her tent with Kylo Ren in tow, she makes her way over to Nari's campfire.

Giving the elf a smile she sits down, settling the blanket wrapped around her shoulders a little looser.

"Not interested in the dancing?"

[nadasharillen]

"Oh, no," Nari says with great amusement. "Not this time. I saw Korrin there when I walked past the encampment, and while I adore her to no end if there's dancing going on she has an established precedent of encouraging me to enjoy myself right up onto a table. One time I apparently tried to teach all present a rollicking Dalish jig." She leans back with a chuckle. "By all accounts I did quite well right up until I jumped and stamped down for the finish and broke the table, which I know only because when I woke up ferociously hung over and oddly bruised the next day, I ended up with the work order for it."

Nari shakes her head and grins at Rey. "What's your excuse?"

[provenforce]

Rey laughs at Nari's story, trying to picture the slight elf breaking a table. She can't quite, but she's not one to disbelieve crazy stories, considering that she has some crazy stories of her own. At Nari's question she exhales, looking over towards where people are milling and laughing.

"I don't know how to dance?"