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

[aenseidhe]

[ He would absolutely wear it, fight him, Six.

There's a good number of competitors, so it leaves a lot of time in between to hang around, chat with the others, and skim the stands. Six tends to stand out in a crowd, in that she towers over most of them, and he spies her at one point, a smile pulling at his lips. There's a few others up there he knows, though they could be here in support of any number of the rifters in the competition.

In the end, after his winning shot, Six's voice carries out over the others, and he lets out a barked laugh, lifting up a hand to wave to her, smile wide and toothy. He moves to meet her as he exits the arena, clapping a friendly hand to her shoulder in greeting. ] Thank you, my friend.

I almost feel sorry for the humans, they're going to have to recognize an elf may actually be good at something here. How dreadful for them. [ the sarcasm is so strong in this one. Also, not just one elf, but too. Bronach very nearly took first place from him. ] I saw you face that massive bear in the last competition - it was incredible. I suppose hunting can be done with a greatsword.

[swordproof]

[ Perhaps next time.

For now, she is content enough to be a supporter in the stands, even if her enthusiasm is quiet and tucked away for the most part. It's true that he can probably see her - she's making no attempt to hide and her height makes her stand out among the rest of the rabble - and her shouting at the end brings enough attention that she gets a few quick, sharp and nasty looks.

There's a small part of her that's nervous as Iorveth comes over, as if she's going to be scolded for her enthusiasm. There's been very little in Six's life that's allowed her any means or reason to celebrate, and she had learned to tuck that side of herself away in a quiet corner. His thanks, however, have her relaxing - almost too obviously for her own liking - before she nods her head, her smile soft and fond. ]

You are most welcome. [ It's not as if she has a huge number of friends to support - and even if she did she thinks that Iorveth would settle at the top of the list with Adalia. It's a difficult concept, to think that after months of loneliness and isolation that she is making connections here, forging friendships, but... It is happening, in this strange new world, with her hand glowing and aching depending on the day of the week. ]

It's a lesson they ought to learn the hard way, as obstinate as they are. [ Six might see herself as more human than not, but even she can't deny the foolishness of humanity at times. It just happens that, in her world, she was caught between two extremes of hatred - those that loathed her for being too human and those that loathed her for being too elven. She looks up at the compliment, though, her arms crossing over her chest. ] It would have been more impressive were I at full strength, but... Thank you. There are clearly many talented people here today.

[aenseidhe]

One I doubt they'd learn any other way, truly.

[ there aren't nearly so many facets to racial hatred for iorveth - only human and nonhuman, and six, simply by virtue of being different, falls into his fellow category. had she been completely human, sure, it's not likely he'd have warmed to her so quickly, but she still possesses a noble, true and kind soul. traits he'd admire in any, assuming they showed them believably enough.

as for her enthusiasm, six could be screaming like a banshee and streaking through the faire grounds and it's unlikely he'd scold her for it. you do you, booboo. just so long as 'you' doesn't mean hurting nonhumans or being an unforgivable douche, he's cool with it. He smiles to her, as he motions her to walk with him, away from the arena and further into the faire grounds. ]

Had those in the stands seen you on hunts and in battles as I have, there'd be no question of your talent whatsoever. [ she's one of the finest warriors he's met, and Iorveth's met many. But, that aside - ] Have you explore the festival outside of the competitions? Found anything worth committing time to?

[swordproof]

Sometimes this is the only way.

[ Six gets away with appearing as a human, with no elven blood in her body, if only because her father was half-elven and her mother was a human. It's something that she struggled with, but more because of the prejudices that people had towards her father already. That might have had less to do with his race and more to do with his nature, but her memories of him are founded upon hatred and pain.

Turning, Six shrugs off her memories and begins to walk with Iorveth. It's strange, she thinks, to feel safe with someone as she does with him. She does not feel as though she's going to be judged or shamed for who she is. She can be strong and brave and just and he will accept it - she allows that.

Tilting her head, she smiles. ] Perhaps I should take them on a hunt and allow them to see it. [ But she takes the compliment and shrugs it off. She is good at fighting; that does not shock her. ] I've seen some of the games and events, but I was busy preparing and finding a horse for the joust.