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

games and stalls!!

[aenseidhe]

Half of the fun of the archery competition had been in watching the other competitors up close, observing differing styles and techniques. Regardless of what he is as a warrior, archery as a practice has always been something dear to Iorveth.

Hanzo stuck out from many of the others, part from the tattoo on his arm, the culture he seems to carry with him, and the ornate bow he carried. Unfortunately, he seemed particularly tense and uncomfortable turning his shots, and it threw him from the standings early. A pity, as Iorveth would've liked to see what the man could do. Fortunately enough, he spots him later on, playing at the games and stalls, having a much better time with his marksmanship. Pausing behind the man for a while, Iorveth watches a few rounds of one of the games, before speaking up.

"Were you this at ease in the competition, you'd have gone much farther."

[eruit]

Hanzo is well aware that he did not perform at his best during the contest; he knows why and while it is no excuse (he can hear the echoing words of his parents blazing in the back of his mind, making him tense and angry the more he thinks on it) it is at least an explanation. It means that the next time the tourney is around he will simply have to perform better, to a standard that will prove just how adept he truly is.

This was not an accurate showing, he is sure, even as his hands brush over Storm Bow gently.

He knows he's being watched - the man isn't being particularly subtle - and he's unsurprised to be approached. There are a few people that had caught Hanzo's attention during the archery itself and this is one of them; an elven man with a covered eye and aim that many would be envious of. It makes him curious and that is enough for him to be willing to engage in some conversation.

"Perhaps." Or perhaps he would still have been bested by Rifters. "Next year will tell."

[aenseidhe]

"Why next year?"

Iorveth asks, with a curious headtilt, standing next to the foreign archer, arms crossed over his chest as he looks over the targets in the stall Hanzo had annihilated with ease. These games are a joke for someone of this man's skill, and Iorveth wishes he could've seen him on the archery range with the same calm. Perhaps he can convince him to visit them again later, without the crowd and competitors.

"There's yet the armed combat, and melee, is there not?"

Unarmed combat as well, but that defeats the point of the archery skill. Still, it gives some credit to personal prowess and strength. Hanzo shouldn't leave the tournament with but a single loss and a sour mood when he's capable of more.

[eruit]

"I have not entered those."

Hanzo had only been interested in the archery because that is where his enthusiasm lies. He wanted to show that the years he had spent training had been worth something, that he could prove himself as being something more than just his magic and his power and his family. It feels like there's a weight on his shoulders, and he's not sure how to handle that failure all over again.

If he'd had his magic, if he had used that... Perhaps... But that is not a thought that he can carry at all.

"I was here to take part in archery. I do not care about any of the others." Even if he has the strength and the muscle to be able to take part he simply isn't interested. He sighs, reaching to touch his bow carefully. "You performed well."