faderift | MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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! )

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.

Hanzo doesn't pay attention at first, automatically assuming that whoever is calling out is speaking to someone who isn't him, but he can't ignore the dwarf coming up to his side with a metal box in her hand. Frowning, he pauses, not wanting to engage... But it doesn't seem he has much in the way of choice.

The question makes his lips twitch, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes for a moment. He does not want attention brought to himself and yet here he is, being shouted at by someone who clearly has no understanding of politeness, decorum or pride. It's close to insulting.

"I am from Tevinter." Vint. Rude and childish. "What do you want?"

Rude? Yes. Childish? Definitely. But Vint is two syllables less than Tevinter so get used to it, buddy. It's faster to say.

And speaking of fast, he gets straight to the point, which is what Minka was hoping for here. She pops back the lid of the box to reveal a simple stone nestled inside. However, on the underside of the lid is some writing.

"I won a game and the guy gave me this as a prize. Said the lid had a description on what the rock's supposed to do, but I'd have to find someone who could read Tevene to translate it." Never mind that if it was written in Common, she'd still need someone to read it for her. She's illiterate.

Hanzo does not look the least bit impressed by the woman at his side - and he would be quite happy to walk away as if there had not been any interaction at all.

Eyes flick down to the box, however, and Hanzo drinks it in, looking it over. It is Tevene, that's obvious enough, and he can read it even without a close examination, but he's not feeling in the mood to be particularly generous to someone who has shouted at him from across the area and demanded he do something for her.

"Then you should find someone willing to read it for you." He turns his attention back to the magic, eyes flicking over the combatants. "There are many visitors from Tevinter here today that may be able to help you."

She gets that a lot, seeing how she's the least impressive person ever. Plus she was raised by the Carta, which kind of gives a new meaning to being treated like chopped liver. Therefore his disregard doesn't even faze her.

"Sure, but they're all up there cheering and stuff. But you're out here all by your lonesome. Almost like you don't want any of them to notice you." Sorry, but your constant moving in the back and avoiding all contact is so easy to read even Minka picks up on it.

There's a certain level of politeness and dancing around one another that Hanzo expects, mostly because of his upbringing and how he was raised. Everything he did was a give and take, a trade, a barter, and old habits die hard. There's very little he can do to shrug that off and pretend as though it really has been ten years since he was a Magister.

"Is that what you think?" That's certainly not endearing her to Hanzo, and he looks even more tense, his eyes closing for a moment. "That does not mean I am willing to do this for you."

Ugh. Vints are all so stuffy, but they also all know Tevene, so she's stuck between a rock and a hard place here.

"Then what would make you willing?" She's won a few other prizes, but she's not sure if he's in need of a backscratcher or wool socks. Maybe if they made a device to pull sticks out of asses, she could give him one of those.

And people outside of Tevinter are rude and coarse and ridiculous, but Hanzo is managing to bite his tongue somewhat. He's only being polite - as much as he can muster - for fear of being reported to the Scoutmaster and being punished for not being 'helpful to the Inquisition'.

"Politeness, perhaps." Hanzo faces forward again, set on ignoring her and focussing on the matches ahead of him. "Perhaps treating your fellows as people rather than tools."

"Oh." Shit. Politeness isn't taught in the Carta. It's either being tough enough to mouth off and defend yourself (not Minka's strong suit) or grovel and hope you don't get punished. She's better at that. The problem with groveling is that it's pretty obvious.

"Well, I figured you could do it quick and then you wouldn't miss anything out there. But, um, I'm Minka." This is how you act like a normal functioning person, right? Because Minka hasn't mastered that yet.

"Hello. What's your name?"

It must seem like such a strange, petty thing to her, when Hanzo had been a stranger adrift from all the other men from Tevinter, but it's something that's been drilled into him since his youth. Politeness, as thinly veiled as it might be, must come first. Then deals and trades can be borne, even from those that you loathe without secrecy.

"You figured wrong." He had spent his life being used as a tool. He'd at least know the name of the stranger making demands of him, to add her to a list. He does not offer a hand for her to shake nor a bow in greeting - just a nod.

"Hanzo Shimada."

Wow, what a weird name. It kind of sounds like a sneeze to her. Must be a Tevinter thing.

But now she closes the lid back on the box and shoves it under her arm. It sure is unfortunate that the response to trying to get stupid Tevene translated is a manners lesson.

"You having fun watching the matches, Hanzo?"

Hanzo turns his attention back towards the matches, his eyes dragging over all the contestants, looking at their powers, their strengths, their spells and what they choose to do. There's something about him that screams a desire, a yearning, to take part, but he shakes his head.

"I am enjoying the sport, yes. It has been a long time since I saw any of my people fight like this."

"Cuz you ain't been in Tevinter for awhile?" she asks, having pretty much the opposite reaction to him in spectating these matches. It takes everything in her not to outwardly wince as she sees the spells fly. She's a dwarf; the antithesis of magic. Even her own hand scares her with the anchor sitting there. But these spells conjured from nothing freak her out because she'll never understand it all.

"Yes. It has been many years." Not that he intends to tell her much more than that. There's no reason to, after all, to tell her everything. Even if he aches when he looks at his countrymen, he left for a very good reason. He couldn't allow himself to remain, not after everything that had happened. "They will not harm you."

Minka glances up at him, guessing she's pretty easy to read. That or he assumes all southerners are scared of Vints.

"It's the magic. Like I know it's not all bad, but I'm a dwarf... uh, obviously, so I don't get it. It's just this... weird, unknowable thing. Maybe it's like Stone sense. I don't have that either." But when Minka is freaked out by something, her natural instinct is to protect herself against it. That mindset is hard to break through, and though it makes sense that the Vints wouldn't cause a scene here, she doesn't feel comfortable approaching a large group of them. They'd probably be as standoffish as this one.

"Do you guys speak Tevene when you're all together? Cuz us surface dwarves don't speak dwarven." And she doesn't really care what Orzammar dwarves do.

Years of training in bartering, deals and trade had made Hanzo quick to pick up on things, and she was not trying to hide her emotions. His own face barely changes as he nods his head.

"It is different in Tevinter. Everything is surrounded by magic. If you are born into a family with magical power then you are given status, power, wealth. Otherwise? You work for them with all that you have." He had been one of the former, once, a Magister with the world at his feet and power explosive and dangerous in his hands. It had been a long time since then and while he clung to his control... He did not use it. He could not, not after what he had done.

"Sometimes. It depends on the purpose and the company. If they are meeting only people from Tevinter then the tongue will do, but if others are involved then Trade is beneficial."

"Must be a big change to see magic being treated different down here." If she was him, she would have ran back to the familiar. But that's what she's always done. As badly as she's been treated in the past, she always goes back, because it's all she knows. "Being stuck with the Inquisition was a big change for me. Things are done different in the Carta." At first she tried to hide her connections to the organization, but she's let up since then. It's not like she's high ranking in it.

"Yeah, you guys do business with dwarves a lot. Dwarves came up with Trade to help make it easier for everybody."

"Perhaps at first. I am accustomed to it now." It's not as though he's treated like a mage here. He's a member of the Inquisition as a scout, formally, with no ties to anything magical or otherwise. Some research into him and his name would reveal his past, of course, but he leaves that to anyone who might have control over him or distrust him so completely that they have to know everything about him. At least some secrets will be kept hidden no matter what.

"It has made things easier, but Tevene is still the favoured tongue." Pausing, he hesitates before he holds out a hand. "The box."

It's only when she hears him say he's accustomed to it and Minka realized she's become accustomed to the Inquisition too in most ways. She's still a socially awkward ball of anxiousness, thinking everyone's out to get her until they prove otherwise, but the amount of time she stays suspicious of people has lessened.

Surprised at the offer, she takes the box out from under her arm and tries not to look too hopeful because that's a weakness. "No fooling?" Because she's been tricked before. It's sort of standard in the Carta that if anyone is nice to you, they're only doing it to pull the rug out from under you and laugh about it later.

Hanzo knows about being suspicious and being careful - he has spent the last ten years cultivating his own ability to read and escape situations where he might be putting himself in trouble. It had come easier than some things, true enough, but that did not mean that it was always the simplest of tasks. Sometimes, and he knows this well, the past can catch up to you.

Reaching out, he takes the box and lifts the lid to look at the Tevene. His lips twitch, just a little, before he translates it for her.

"You bind this to your voice. Once that is done, dropping or throwing the rock inside will make it start to scream like a bird of some kind until you command it to stop."

hanzo shimada

{ magical events }

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games and stalls!!

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