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

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?

[coppelganger]

Diplomacy.

[ She feels like she shouldn't outright say it was her espionage task, even if said task is over with. ]

How the hell is a bog worth dying over?

i.

[eruit]

[ Hanzo is happy to slink away from the competition once he's failed out of the first round, but he watches the rest of the contestants to see who does well, who performs best, the winners and the losers. He recognises a few people that are milling around, a handful of people that took part in the competition, and he hesitates around the edges, not sure if he ought to speak to them or avoid them completely.

Rifters are easier, he thinks. They don't recognise him, his nature, his position.

He approaches Sarah carefully, moving to stand at her side, his bow strapped across his back again as it always is. ]

You performed well.

[coppelganger]

[ Sarah gives him a sideways glance, amused. She recognizes him—he's the guy who nearly made it into round two. Missed it by a point or two. ]

You performed better. Thanks, though.

[eruit]

[ A frustrating thing to remember, but he's trying to ignore it. He's not too upset considering it was a fanciful contest against many skilled opponents, despite the bruising to his pride. ]

I performed. [ 'Better' is relative. ] You would improve with an adjustment to your stance.

[coppelganger]

Yeah?

[ She takes the suggestion well enough. She hadn't had much time to practice before the competition, and archery isn't exactly her passion. ]

[eruit]

[ Decades of practice means Hanzo knows how to shoot with deadly precision. If he had not come back from a terrible journey with tension in his shoulders... Well. ]

I can show you, if you would like.

[coppelganger]

[ Sarah hesitates, then shrugs and unslings her bow. There's plenty of people around. ]

Sure, why not.

[eruit]

[ He nods, drawing his own and stepping to one side. It's easy to take Storm Bow into his hands and lift it, smoothly and without pause, into the proper position. ]

Copy this.

[coppelganger]

[ She copies him with her own bow, watching him while she moves into position. ]

Like this?

[eruit]

Your arm.

[ Hanzo lowers Storm Bow and steps over, lifting his hand to adjust her arm gently, moving it up and turning it very slightly. ]

Better.

[coppelganger]

[ She lets him adjust her arm, giving him a slightly embarrassed smile as he does. ]

Thanks. I'm kinda new to it.

[eruit]

I have been training for a number of years. I have experience, so I will help.

[ He draws his own bow again to give her an idea. She's getting better. ]

iii

[strangel]

( Helena looks perplexed, brow furrowing as she examines the bikini. )

This is not giving much protection.

( But her head cants to the side. ) Not slowing movement down, at least.

[coppelganger]

I wasn't planning on wearing it into battle. [ She says it wryly, but she's still pleased to see Helena. The tourney has been fun, probably the best thing about this world she's seen so far, and so she's been in a fairly decent mood throughout. ]

[strangel]

No? ( Her eyebrow arches a little. ) What is for? Will make you sink if you swim in it.

( She pokes it gently, but smiles at Sarah. ) You seem happy, sestra.

[coppelganger]

It's to look sexy. [ Maybe, she thinks, saying that to Helena was a bad idea. Too late to take it back now. ] Just for fun.

[ She'd probably keep trying to explain and make everything worse, but Helena gives her an easy out, and she grabs for it. ]

I am happy. Hey, I got you something.

[strangel]

( Helena furrows her brow, scratches the side of her mouth a little thoughtfully. It is funny, sometimes, when Sarah looks puzzled, and she thinks maybe Sarah is less surprised and less shocked by blood and violence and intimidation. Or, perhaps it is more that she does not want to scare and intimidate Sarah. She wants to be her sister. She wants to be good twin.

But she still is Helena, and still likes to make people squirm a little, so her head tilts further to the side, and she looks deeply puzzled. )

That is very kind, sestra. But what is "sexy"?

( Too far? Maybe too far. Maybe Sarah will see through it right away.
Or maybe not. )

[coppelganger]

[ Oh, wow, kill her. ]

It's. Like, looking good? Looking good for other people... so they'll find you hot? [ Is any of this making sense is she damaging Helena god, she's not ready to have this conversation with anyone, much less her adult sister. Knowing that this is a conversation she'll need to have with Kira at some point is just making this worse. ]

[strangel]

Hot?

( She sets a hand on Sarah's forehead, concerned. Or, rather, "concerned." )

You are not feeling warm.

( A look of puzzlement, but she is starting to have to try harder to keep from smiling, and it's a solid 50/50 odds on whether or not it's noticeable. )

[coppelganger]

It's—it's like—

[ Sarah falters, at a loss for how to proceed from here. She looks at Helena and in her panic it takes her a moment to notice the tiny smile playing at her sister's lips. Once she does she it, she seems to deflate a bit in sheer relief, and she laughs, slapping playfully at Helena's shoulder. ]

You asshole!

[strangel]

( Helena is, now, laughing. It's probably too raspy and rough to be a giggle, but it is... definitely on the giggle side of the spectrum. She sways with the "force" of the slap, and then sways back to her normal posture, before leaning forward. )

Sorry, sestra. ( She does not sound even a little bit sorry. )

[coppelganger]

You're not sorry. Guess I won't be giving you that present now.

[ It's a total lie. She needs to get rid of the giant bear. ]

[strangel]

( D: ) No!

( She looks briefly crestfallen, biting her lip and reaching out to gently grasp the loose material of Sarah's shirt. )

I am sorry, sestra.