faderift | 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

"Ah, yes. I never really studied hexes." Or entropy. Or anything outside of primal magic that's meant to damage. She's always wanted to be a healer, and her focus had always been that until she studied to become a Knight-Enchanter. "I think the combination of all those branches of magic will serve you well."

Two more competitors have taken the field, and Christine shades her eyes from the sun to see who it is before they're announced. "Oh, look, it's Skadi! And Alistair. I know where your loyalties must lie, but I hope she puts him to the dirt." Since Christine confided to Inessa that Alistair once dispelled Christine's magic, she's sure she doesn't have to explain why she wants him to lose.

Inessa nods, subdued for a moment. She hasn't spoken with Alistair on the matter and likely won't unless there's a need. At the same time, though, she has to support one of her fellow Grey Wardens over a random Avvar woman. She watches as they square off, crossing her arms.

"If it was armed combat, I would say he has experience on his side, but I've never seen him fight unarmed. This should be an interesting challenge, at least."

"I can only assume the Avvar have practiced more at unarmed combat." It seems like a thing they would do just for fun, and Christine likes Skadi anyway, so she of course wants to assume she has this won already.

"Have you played any of the games yet? I think that is where I will spend some time later today."

"No, not yet. I haven't seen any prizes that stood out to me, though perhaps I'll try to win something for Garahel. It's too bad there isn't a mabari competition of some sort, too. He would love the chance to show off." Garahel barks happily at that, wagging is tail until either Ponce or Christine pay attention to him.

Ponce is only too happy to join in with the barking, which makes Christine rush to shush him. His barking does grate on her nerves.

"I am sure that would be a wonderful competition. Indeed, probably the only one where the challengers leave the arena as friends. As for prizes, I have seen a few things that would be nice to have for the apartment. There are nicer prizes here than I expected." A pause. "That sounds quite Orlesian of me, does it not?"

That gets a chuckle out of Inessa, who doesn't seem offended. "Perhaps, but I understand what you mean. This is my first tourney, and my expectations have been exceeded as well." And Alistair isn't fairing too well against the aggressive Avvar woman. She winces a little on his behalf, but knows he can take it. "What prizes do you have your eye on?"

"Oh, I thought the rift globes were pretty. I do have a fondness for green." Seeing how Church's eyes happen to be that shade. "And the horse shoes seem quite practical. I hope I can win Ambrose a set." There are other miscellaneous things she'd like to get her hands on, but she won't be bothered if she doesn't win. These sorts of games are often hard to master anyway.

"And what about you?"

Inessa smiles at mention of the rift globes, nodding. "Those globes are indeed eye-catching, though for myself...hm. I don't know about carnival prizes, but I'm intrigued by the vendors bringing enchanted items. If any are of particular use to me and I can afford it, I might purchase something there."

"Oh, that does sound tempting." Though she isn't really sure what she needs. Already she possesses an enchanted ring, and her weapons aren't anything she'd look to replace.

"Ponce and I will have to take a walk along the games' tents later and see what is on offer."

"Yes, treat yourself. Even if you're not lacking for anything, it can't hurt to see what's available. Some we won't find in Kirkwall--" And cheering interrupts her, so Inessa looks over to see the end of the match. The Avvar woman raises a victorious fist, to louder cheers.

Christine looks over and her face lights up as she claps enthusiastically. Ponce is disturbed by all the noise surrounding him and protests in the only way he knows how: by barking loudly. Quickly, Christine places a hand under his chin, shushing him.

"Well! That was quick. I had better take Ponce for a walk now. I will most likely see you around, and I must come watch your event! Good luck to you."

MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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TREAT YOSELF