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

It's like something out of that cheesy restaurant: Medieval Times or whatever it was called. Tessa's never been, but she's seen it in movies. Only this is taking place outside on a much larger scale. Plus it smells like a county fair out here with all the horse crap.

Exhaling a sigh of relief that this doesn't have to rest solely on her shoulders, she says thanks before nodding ahead of them.

"Okay, see that dude in the dark green with the hat? A scout told me he's who this guy from... from Hamsal? Hasmal? I dunno, it sounded like Ham salad to me, but it's a place, and some bigwig from there hired this guy to drug our horses. I'm thinking the drugs are in that waterskin he's carrying. We've gotta figure out how to stop him without it being a huge thing cuz I don't want to make the Inquisition look bad. I mean, jury's still out on if they're gonna be assholes to us Rifters or not, but I'd rather not give them more reason not to trust us, y'know? So we can't just tackle him and make a scene."

Poe wouldn't even know about that restaurant. If it had been more of a race, he could compare it to the old podracers. That would be advanced technology still. Anything capable of flying would. The smell could be ignored after a while if he focused on other things around.

A task such as this shouldn't be done alone. Poe was getting antsy not doing much and he didn't mind providing help where it's needed. His gaze focuses towards the man in question that Tessa is describing.

"I see the guy you're talking about. Ham salad? If he were to hide drugs, that waterskin would be the best bet. I don't think he would have it on him in another way." Poe looks to be in deep thought as he listens to Tessa say that they can't make a big scene. "Tackling would be bad if you want people finding out. Creating a distraction while the other snags the waterskin could work."

He seems to squint his eyes a bit while tilting his head at Tessa. "We could also try cornering him with the two of us out of the eyes of others. Provide a friendly chat to get him to give us the waterskin. What do you think?"

Poe's willing to keep thinking up plans. These two seem to be the best in his head for the moment.

"That should be our mission code name: Ham Salad." She spares a moment to smirk at her own dumb humor, but then it's time to get back to it. There are horses at stake here.

"I could probably cause a distraction. But that might distract others too. And there's so many people around that I'm wondering if he'd just make a load of noise when we corner him and then we're screwed." As she talks, she starts to move, not wanting to lose sight of their target. "On the other hand, if we get him alone and expose him, he's not gonna want to make a scene either. God, I suck at decisions." Blowing out a breath, she searches their surroundings to see if there are any convenient corners.

"We could always wait until he gets to the stables. There has to be others around, and we can yell, 'Hey, what are you trying to pour into the trough?' when he's trying to do the deed."

"Sure, no one would recognize what we're actually talking about." Poe tilts his head a little at the code name but he wasn't going to back out of it.

"I guess this tournament is pretty popular among the natives around here. It's a good way to bring people together and compete." The people could be a problem when they wanted to be sneaky about the mission. Poe slowly moves with her not wanting to draw attention to himself. "This is what happens when you think of plans on the fly. You always need people though to back you up when everything goes to hell." He keeps his eyes on the target not wanting to lose him in the crowd.

Being able to corner him in the stables might be their only choice. "I think corning him in the stables would be the best option. Try to scare him away if that'll work on a guy like him. You didn't get any more information about him?"

"I think if I had a year to plan this, something would still happen to gum up the works." This is why she's never in charge of things and doesn't want to be. She second guesses herself and would just rather let someone else handle it. But what was she going to say to this mission? No? Sorry, but I buckle under pressure, so get someone else? That wouldn't be a good look for her or for Rifters.

"Just that he was hired by a guy from that place. Corso Acolti. I remembered that because Acolti is like colt and a colt is a horse. But yeah, he was hired to carry this out on Acolti's behalf cuz he wanted the Inquisition out of the joust and he's gonna take out our horses by drugging them. I dunno if that means sleeping drugs or making them sick, or worse. That's all the scout told me before I started tailing him."

Now the man looks around nervously and ducks between two tents, temporarily disappearing from sight.

"Aw, shit. I think he's taking a shortcut there."

He is used leading a team. Poe doesn't make the big moral decisions, but he may have to more while being here. Fighting for freedom would never be off the table. Being able to do a mission of any kind boosted his own morale. If he had known Tessa better and how she could break under pressure. He would only help her through it. Being a commander wasn't exactly easy. He learned how each of his teammates reacted to certain situations. Poe was observing her while keeping eyes. Tessa seemed fine and wasn't making any tall tale clicks.

"Not a lot of personality. We don't know how he'll be once we corner him. So be prepared for anything. You can go in with a plan and everything can come tumbling down. I've been in plenty of situations where I thought my odds weren't the best." But being unpredictable had it's advantages too.

"Blast! If he's going for a shortcut we need move quickly around the sides to gain eyes on him." Poe half jogs towards the tents while slowing to fast pace walk when people were eyeing him. He smiles while giving a polite nod as he walks along the tent on the left. When he gets to the edge he peeks around it for the guy.

"Yeah," she agrees. "I know to expect the unexpected. Just not used to being the one making the plan. Here's hoping we pull this off."

Tessa follows behind him, having a harder time catching up because she's pretty short -- shorter than some of the native elves, in fact -- and therefore has a smaller gait. But she's less than five seconds behind him when he peeks around the tent, where he'll see a big, open space of tamped down grass and dirt in front of the stables. Banners are set in front of sets of doors, each displaying which country's horses are in which section. The man in dark green hesitates in his steps before seeing the Inquisition banner and moving in that direction.

"Crap! Okay, let's go. We're just two people checking on our horses. Hopefully the trough isn't right inside those doors." She heads out from the cover of the tents, walking with purpose, but looking up at the stables instead of straight at the back of the guy's head. Nothing to see here; just checking on her horse. And luckily the trough isn't right inside; it's around back, where the stables lead to sectioned off paddocks for the horses to graze when not in their individual stalls. Like the sets of doors in the front, the back is separated into different countries' horses too, with fences built to keep the horses separated. It's child's play to sabotage one group's horses and leave the others untouched.

"What kind of unexpected things did you used to deal with before coming here?" Poe couldn't help but be curious about that. He's constantly thinking up plans even if they may not work. "I think the odds are okay until they become not great."

He's on the short side himself, if anything he's average height of five foot eight. The crowd would be troublesome. Poe watches the man for a moment to judge if he's going exactly towards the stables. Tessa makes a good call as he gives a nod in her direction.

"Easy enough to play on. I'll follow your lead." He'll basically listen closely to what she says and goes with it. Even if he has to play along. It shouldn't really be all that hard. They don't appear to be suspicious and the man didn't catch wind of them. Poe follows after Tessa keeping himself looking calm around the natives that may have been still glancing at their direction. He'll smile at them until they move along. The stables is certainly a thing to see and they shouldn't have too much of a problem to corner the man. Poe scouts the area for any other's that may be heading in this direction. They still have to be careful about getting caught.

"Dude, would you believe zombies? Cuz it was zombies." And she'd love to elaborate on that, but maybe later when they're not on Mission: Ham Salad.

Following after the guy, Tessa considers making false small talk about the horses, but seeing how she knows basically nothing about them, that'd probably only serve to make her look suspicious. Plus it's probably not a good idea for their mark to overhear them and know someone's close by. The man enters the stables first and Tessa casually follows in after him, getting a lay of the interior the same as the man does. She moves towards a stall with a horse inside, reminded of county fairs she'd attend where there'd be 4H Club ribbons or whatever displayed on the wood panels. She gently offers the horse her curled in fingers to sniff, and when the animal seems friendly, she pets the bridge of its nose, watching the man out of the corner of her eye. He seems a bit turned around, unsure where the trough is and slowing his steps to look inside stalls.

"He hardly looks like a professional," she murmurs to Poe as they watch him wander. "Might be easy to scare him off. Still, we should probably catch him in the act." That seems like the best way to ensure he doesn't make a second attempt.

Tessa smiles and nods at a few Inquisition members moving in and out, hoping she's not standing at one of their horses, but when the man moves out of the back doors, she tugs Poe's sleeve to alert him they should move.

Out in the sunshine, there are more horses quietly grazing and a few people sitting up on the fence or leaning against it chatting. The man gives them a wide berth as he heads for the water trough. Tessa sucks in a breath.

"This is it. We get one chance at this. Those guys over there gotta hear us call him out."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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