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

Absolutely not. [ Like she wants to be seen with that thing. Come on. ] And I'm not the person who won a bloody flying gondola.

[ Settling in, she reaches out for Beauregard to sniff her hand, sort of like a person might do for a dog. She's never seen a live koala in her life except for ones at the zoo, and does that even count? ]

There's a bag of treats next to him. It's got some celery and stuff.

( Which remains mysterious and freaky, as does the fact that sometimes his colour changes, but like—

she's trying not to focus on her non-eucalyptus consuming koala and his weird camouflaging. Bearegard, for his part, observes Sarah with sleepy curiousity, and reaching to grab Sarah's finger with his clawed grip (his two-thumbed claw grip, just btw.)

Alex, looking at Sarah, grins. There's a tattoo, mostly in blues, greens, purples and greys of a strange creature, perhaps phoenix-like, with swirls of smoke and water around it that wraps around her thigh and seems to extend up her side, other tattoos wrapping around her here and there, and a few scars across her abdomen. )

Ashamed of your bear, are you? So cold-hearted.

Nah, I got it for my sister. She'll get it later.

[ Sarah reaches over with her free hand and grabs some celery for Beauregard to munch on. She's looking at Alex as she does, though, and raises an eyebrow. ]

Nice tats. Didn't take you for the type.

( Celery! Beauregard sniffs it for a moment, and proceeds to munch, slowly but contently, shuffling a bit closer to Sarah. He is generally a little reserved with strangers, and granted he isn't being super outgoing now, but he has met Sarah a few times, so there is some familiarity building. )

The type? ( She grins, amused, and replies with a well meaning, ) Fuck off. There isn't a bloody type.

( And, utterly conspiratorial, ) I won't let you find out about the piercings, if the tattoos surprise you.

[ Sarah's gaze drops from Alex's face to her chest, and then even further down. It's pretty blatant, but only lasts a second, and then she looks up again, grinning. ]

No way.

( Her navel piecing might be visible, with how she's tied the top up, but the material hanging down from the knot of material could obscure it. Alex makes no move to make it more visible, nor to stick out her tongue and reveal the piercing there. Instead, she just raises her eyebrows, and pushes their gondola along. )

I neither confirm nor deny.

Ah, you're full of shit.

[ Sarah leans back, satisfied, and takes a nibble from one of the candy necklaces. ]

( A wink, and she runs her tongue piercing along the back of her teeth, so it makes an audible clacking sound. )

Suit yourself.

How much did that one hurt?

It hurt pretty bad. I reckon the clamp they use to keep your tongue out is worse than the piercing, but.

( She makes a bit of a face at the memory, but she's keep an eye on where they're going, and gently poles the gondola around a small group. ) And then the uh, the next few days it's real hard to talk, just gotta keep having ice cubes to settle it down. When you're as full of shit as me, you can imagine how difficult it is not to be able to talk.

( A conspiratorial eyeroll, there. )

Oh, yeah, I can see how that would be hard for you.

[ She's mostly teasing. Alex seems okay. Talkative, but not as obnoxious as she makes herself out to be. ]

Oi.

( She's laughing, though, before taking a deliberately, obnoxiously noisy pull of booze from the straw of her hat.

Beauregard, in the meantime, is holding onto the celery, but staring at Sarah with his mouth slightly open and a little bit of celery hanging out, before reaching and gently grabbing her wrist in his paw. )

Not all of us can pull off that oooh I'm super cool and surly and punk thing. We gotta work with what we have.

You could pull it off it you wanted. Just lean back and stop talking so much.

[ She gets distracted from her Punk 101 lesson, however, by Beauregard grabbing her. She looks down, ready to give him some more celery, but he's already got some hanging out of his mouth. The expression on her face is somewhere between confusion, amusement, and mild alarm. ]

Oi, what's with him?

( She leans back, but doesn't have a chance to stop talking, because Sarah just asked her a question.

The poor effort at punkishness abruptly ends with her grin. ) He wants a cuddle. Give his ears a little scratch, if you like.

[ Sarah does so, watching the koala's reaction as she scratches him. One thing she never thought she'd do in any universe, definitely. Kira would love this. The thought is completely natural, instant, but of course thinking it also makes her feel like crying. She dips her head, pretending to... idk, check Beauregard for fleas, or whatever. Something. ]

( Beauregard, for his part, slowly climbs onto Sarah's lap, although the celery stick falls out of his mouth in the process, and curls up on her legs with his belly exposed.

Alex is watching Beauregard to make sure he doesn't hurt Sarah by accident more than she is watching Sarah, although her brow furrows as she wonders if she has detected a subtle change in mood, or if she's just overthinking it. )

Oh, uh. I got some rum, if you want some? Better than the stuff we found in Kirkwall.

[ Sarah picks up the celery and places it in front of Beauregard's mouth so he can chew on it, then gives him some belly rubs. It's a nice distraction, too, so she can keep looking down til she gets control of herself. ]

Yeah, sure, as long as I don't have to drink it out of that thing.

( His little eyes are shut contently, and he blissfully chews on celery (still weird, still wrong, so far as Alex is concerned) and enjoys belly rubs. )

Oh, too good for my beautiful accessorising, are you?

You look like you stumbled out of a frat party.

Please, I'm way too pretty to be in a frat.

[ Wowww okay someone's full of themselves. ]

I never said you were in the frat. Just that you'd been to the party. Don't assume.

( Her grin, as she reaches for a bottle and pulls out the cork with her teeth, is obnoxious. )

So what you're saying is that you agree, I'm really pretty?

( She's terrible on purpose, promise. )

I didn't say that.

[ She and Beauregard are giving Alex the same squinting, judgey look. ]

So you're saying I'm ugly, then? Like a hag?

( Beauregard is definitely squinting at Alex, and then pulling closer to Sarah. Save him from his pet imbecile, good human. )

Oh, yeah. Total hag.

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