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

c-c-c-camping

[coquettish_trees]

[ as Gwenaëlle passes by one particular row, there is a girlish shriek of delighted surprise that somehow manages to stay on this side of shrill, and a head topped with a bright red mass of curls emerges from the closest tent to greet her with the sort of broad (and perhaps slightly tipsy) mischievous grin one bestows upon someone they've been simply dying to gossip with.

ah, look, it's an Orlesian prepared to be seen speaking with her. (Exciting scandal. Definitely exciting scandal.) There is, perhaps, the added draw of a half opened bottle of wine in Alexandrie's hand.]

Gwenaëlle? Oh, it is you, you look just like your portrait. Do come get re-acquainted, it's been ever so long. [ she waves the bottle enticingly ] It looked so cooped up, the poor wine. I was just letting it out.

[elegiaque]

( what the—

oh, it's the other one. she'd sort of forgotten there were two, and isn't sure she'd been aware that alexandrie had turned up—has she? or is this a matter of crossing paths at the tourney, and not with the inquisition? did she come from kirkwall or val royeaux? and maker, how long has it been; years, easily, at least three. four? five? the de la fontaines had debuted a year or two ahead of her; had crossed paths a few times after. and now, here.

it is briefly disorienting to realise she's become so much more familiar with the movements of elves than orlesians. )

Alexandrie, ( in the tolerant tone of very well, first name terms until I regret it, the friendliness not off-putting and the wine very enticing. ) Is it my editorials you saw or have you been taking tea with Cyprienne?

( gwenaëlle isn't wearing any clothes in the portrait of her that lady cyprienne morray has on display. )

[coquettish_trees]

[ her eyes open a little wider and she giggles as if to say the very idea. ]

Oh, no, Lady Morray's taste in tea runs a bit sharp for me.

[ Alexandrie loves sex happening to her, drama happening to someone else, and surprises more along the lines of chocolate and jewelry than anything likely to get blood in the sheets. ]

The former. [ she's resumed plying the bottle, and the cork comes free with an audible pop ] With both your lovely writing and dear Evie's honorable devotion to the cause, I could not spend one more moment at home without visiting to offer my own little support.

[ nevermind that it's been a whole minute since those came out, and Geneviève has been with the Inquisition for nearly a year and a half. It probably definitely has nothing to do with the rising approval for the organization or rumors of the handsome men flocking to its banner. ]

Do come in. It's a bit cramped [ these are more than acceptably sized tents ] but just charming, don't you think? I feel like a soldier. [ ah, the great untamed wilderness! happy sigh! (lexie please) ]

[elegiaque]

( it may have been longer since she stopped than it was she was publishing them, but gwenaëlle lets the explanation pass unchallenged in part because she's far from immune to the ego boost of having her work cited. she wrote it for a reason, after all, even if this might not be exactly what she had in mind to result.


she might have been willing to turn up for handsome men, had that rift not so thoroughly derailed her life. asher hardie, certainly. speaking of: his beastly namesake sits down outside lexie's tent in gwenaëlle's wake, taking up a sentinel stance for so long as she lingers within, setting her hat down and absently patting at the flowers iorveth braided into her hair. )

Is this your first tourney? I find it makes me feel like someone who has to sleep in a tent most of all, but the events are worth the price.

( even the jousting. at least her father was unhorsed, even if it was an infuriating tie and not a clear loss. )

And Tevinter sent mages this year. I suppose it'll be useful to see what they do in the field. ( you know, because venatori. )

[coquettish_trees]

[ it's hardly a moment after Gwenaëlle is settled that a glass-- and subsequently a generous portion of the wine-- is placed in her hands. ]

Oui! As a member of the Inquisition, that is. I find it somehow more momentous to be among the company of such than to merely be attending at the behest of my Lord Father. [because fuck Lord Fathers, am i rite?]

With such warriors I am quite taken with excitement to see our performance in each of the events-- the magical melees included, of course. [ her eyes light up ] Have you seen many such shows of magic in your time with the Inquisition?