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.

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"Perhaps at first. I am accustomed to it now." It's not as though he's treated like a mage here. He's a member of the Inquisition as a scout, formally, with no ties to anything magical or otherwise. Some research into him and his name would reveal his past, of course, but he leaves that to anyone who might have control over him or distrust him so completely that they have to know everything about him. At least some secrets will be kept hidden no matter what.

"It has made things easier, but Tevene is still the favoured tongue." Pausing, he hesitates before he holds out a hand. "The box."

It's only when she hears him say he's accustomed to it and Minka realized she's become accustomed to the Inquisition too in most ways. She's still a socially awkward ball of anxiousness, thinking everyone's out to get her until they prove otherwise, but the amount of time she stays suspicious of people has lessened.

Surprised at the offer, she takes the box out from under her arm and tries not to look too hopeful because that's a weakness. "No fooling?" Because she's been tricked before. It's sort of standard in the Carta that if anyone is nice to you, they're only doing it to pull the rug out from under you and laugh about it later.

Hanzo knows about being suspicious and being careful - he has spent the last ten years cultivating his own ability to read and escape situations where he might be putting himself in trouble. It had come easier than some things, true enough, but that did not mean that it was always the simplest of tasks. Sometimes, and he knows this well, the past can catch up to you.

Reaching out, he takes the box and lifts the lid to look at the Tevene. His lips twitch, just a little, before he translates it for her.

"You bind this to your voice. Once that is done, dropping or throwing the rock inside will make it start to scream like a bird of some kind until you command it to stop."

Minka's brow furrows immediately on hearing that. Who in their right mind would come up with a screaming rock? It's probably a case of Vints running out of shit to enchant that was useful and just grabbing anything handy to make it annoying.

"Does it say how to bind it to your voice?"

"The same way you bound your crystal to yourself."

He doesn't hesitate in handing the box back to her. Hanzo, at least, has no use for a rock that is going to scream at him and he imagines that she would take afford to his trying to keep it anyway. He has better things to stock himself with, he's sure.

"Perhaps it would be useful as an alarm, or a distraction in a fight."

She takes back the box and stares down at the harmless looking little thing. Testing it is going to require traveling alone outside of Kirkwall, she thinks. No need to alert everyone while just testing it.

"Well, it's weird, but I can see it being used for that. I can at least guard my stuff." Now that she's finally acquiring her own stuff. In the Carta nothing was truly hers, but in the Inquisition she gets a salary and can buy her own things outside of supplies to live.

Closing the lid, she then looks up at Hanzo, knowing what she has to say. Yet it's so foreign to her that she shifts from foot to foot awkwardly. Thank yous were usually forced out of her by a higher up in the Carta who was making her do it for something they shouldn't have been thanked for. Needless to say, she has a warped sense of all this stuff.

"Thanks. For reading it. And, um, I'm... sorry, about before." She looks down at the box, trying to explain herself while wishing for the ground to swallow her. "They didn't really, um, teach us manners in the Carta. It's... It's new. And-- And the person thing. I mean, I'll remember it. We're all tools in the Carta, so it's another new thing for me: that people are people and not tools." Her cheeks are red with embarrassment, because she's really not sure this is how you "people," but an Attempt Was Made.

It's a lesson learned, Hanzo thinks, and it settles around him like a comfortable weight. It might be a small, boring thing, but it's something good - one of the few good things he has done in a very long time. He's aware that it might seem silly and foolish to anyone else, but... He has done a good thing and he's proud of himself.

"I doubt it was intended to be anything more, not if you won it here. A unique, interesting item more than anything else." Hanzo nods his head. It'll be useful for protecting herself and her things if nothing else - and he has his own little prizes to keep in his pocket as well.

The thanks come as something of a shock and he pauses, hesitating, eyes widening with a flick of his eyes before he breathes out. He's not entirely comfortable with it, a strange new feeling settling around him, but he manages something akin to a smile.

"... You're welcome. There is no need to apologise - you made up for your mistake. I am glad that you have found something here that interests you."

Minka shrugs awkwardly, but the bit of a smile she receives suggests she's done all right and she bobs her head in a nod, lips pressed together in a way that might suggest a smile too.

"Yeah, a couple of the games are rigged, but others aren't, and I've been winning stuff so that's nice. Food's real good too. And you like watching the magic, huh? So... stuff here for everybody, yeah?"

"There is something for everyone. The games are childish, for the young, but there are some prizes that are best suited for the adults." Hanzo nods his head, feeling a smile tugging at his features. It's the kind of game that Genji might have liked... But Genji is not here. It brings Hanzo down.

"You have not taken part in the events yourself?"

"Oh, no way. I can't do any of that stuff." She's technically an archer, insomuch as she was given a bow and arrows by the Carta and told to use them if anyone jeopardized their operations, but her aim's not good at all.

"I'm a runner," she says proudly, standing up on her tiptoes a little. "A courier. I can run real fast, and I'm great at finding paths. Maybe if there'd been a footrace, I woulda joined that." And had someone sign up for her since she still can't write her name that well.

"Perhaps it is something to be suggested for next year." Hanzo lifts a shoulder. Magic and warfare are all well and good, but there is merit in other things. Time away from Tevinter is enough, he thinks, to ensure that he's learned that. It's where his own skills lie.

"Hey, maybe! I don't know who to talk to about that, but maybe if I tell someone important, they'll tell other important people and it'll become a thing." Because all important people know each other and make these kinds of decisions.

"Anyone in power here, surely." Hanzo shakes his head, lifts a shoulder, casual and unconcerned. He's too busy staring at the Tevinter mages, wondering. "It is worth the effort, at least."

Minka doesn't put forth much effort into things, not only because she's lazy, but because more often than not, her efforts are wasted and things don't turn out the way she expects. But can just throwing the suggestion out there be classed as effort? She's thinking not really. Or else it's the easiest type of effort she's ever known.

Her gaze lifts and she takes in what he's doing.

"Don't worry; I can go. You wanna talk to them, right?"

"No." Hanzo shakes his head, frown still in place. He doesn't want to do anything with them - half because it hurts too much and half because it's far too dangerous for him to even consider moving forward and stepping into the fold. All that will happen is that he'll get himself into some very big trouble, which isn't worth the effort. He has a place here now.

"I am content here."

"Oh, right. Then why you staring at them?" Minka's confused. He's been staring so intently at those people, but not joining in, and he's been doing it since she came up to him. Is he keeping an eye on them? Or jealous of their fancy robes?

"I am watching. That's all." He has no right to go over to them and no reason to let himself be dragged into their messes. Not right now, not when his heart is as heavy as it is. "Observing. That is all."

"Oh." Wait, what? Minka isn't sure she gets it. If this is an Inquisition thing, like an assignment, couldn't he just say that? Maybe he's worried she'll blab about it, which -- let's be real -- she probably would, if only by accident. But since she doesn't know that's what he's doing for sure, she can't assume it.

"Well, uh, I'll let you get back to observing, then." She holds the box up a little. "Thanks, um, again, for the help."

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MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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