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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Nari takes her own sip, winces slightly at the burn, and shakes her head with a chuckle. "This vintage needed us to have a longer day," she says with rueful humor, but she's definitely still drinking it.

"It's been a good day, yes," she agrees, scooting forward off the log she was sitting on so she can lean back against it instead. "I find often that when rifters first arrive they sometimes enjoy better success in battle and sometimes end up faring worse than hoped. The way we swing a sword here is as unfamiliar to you as your sword is to us. Did you have many tournaments at home, then?"

Different worlds, different techniques. That makes a lot of sense, and certainly matches what he witnessed today. Far from putting him off, though, it only makes him more eager to impress.

"Not often enough," he says, with a rueful grin. He takes another sip and then stretches out his neck, trying to ease some of the stiffness in his muscles. "The last time was supposedly friendly, between my regiment and another. I won my commission that day. I've not seen one before or since, and the men were excited enough that I think it's not regular."

It had been more of a matter of pride than anything else. There hadn't been so many prizes, either. He gestures at the fire, and the came.

"It only lasted for one day. There was none of this. This is like something from a story. Please tell me it happens often."

The idea of the Inquisition being like something from a story to a rifter makes Nari chuckle, considering how often she finds herself thinking that about them.

"I couldn't say," she lifts her shoulders in a light shrug, "Some conversation overheard here and there suggests it's a yearly thing, although this is the first year we've been invited. A good sign for the legitimacy of the Inquisition, I think." She muses for a moment, swirling the wine.

"You know, that might not be a bad thing to suggest to Commander Coupe," she says. "Not another tournament, a sort of... sharing of technique? As far as we know, Corypheus has only soldiers from Thedas. Being able to surprise them with some technique learned from another world could be really advantageous."

All things considered, that isn't a bad idea. D'Artagnan looks up, thoughtful.

"So it might help, if you could all fight like Musketeers."

The idea appeals. Any world would be better if people fought like Musketeers.

"Perhaps we could. Though, admittedly, half of how we fight is with guns, and they're far from common here. In fact I've only seen one other, and that belonged to another rifter. Maybe there's more than skill we could share."

Because that's not an absolutely terrible idea.

Having not actually met this rifter, Nari had never seen a gun at all. She'd heard some small chattering every once in a while in the Gallows, but not enough to get a good idea of anything.

"What are they, anyway?" she asks curiously, "Guns." And then the question that always follows 'what' with the craftswoman: "How do they work?"

Oddly enough, that's not the first time he's been asked that question here. He holds up a finger and reaches to draw his own, a wheel-lock pistol. It's not loaded, given that d'Artagnan knows he needs to conserve his ammunition here. He still carries it, partly out of habit, and partly because he wants to have it in emergencies, even if he doesn't intend to make regular use of it. He holds it up, showing it to her, and then spins it around to offer her the handle.

"They work somewhat like a cannon, if that means something to you." Someone else had used the comparison. He uses it now, but keeps talking in case it doesn't make sense. "You fill the barrel with a ball, kindling and some powder, and when you pull the trigger, it creates a little explosion. That fires the ball out, at great speed, to hit whatever you're pointing the gun at. Means you have to take care where you're aiming. It's faster and more deadly than a bow. They're how we shoot in my world."

The handle is taken readily and Nari loses no time in poring over the bits and pieces of the weapon; finding the interlocking parts with practiced fingers, moving the bits that move. She nods along with d'Artagnan's explanation, although she doesn't look back up. Instead, she's eyeing the pistol with that craftsman's look that says she's being respectful but hungry to take it apart.

"Surely not any kind of powder. Something alchemical? Like... whatever it is the Qunari make?" She moves the sparking mechanism back and forth, tilts her head like a bird to eye the striking stone and indicates it. "Not flint?"

"Not flint," d'Artagnan agrees, but he's watching her with some interest now. She seems a good deal more knowledgeable about this than he'd had any right to expect, given how uncommon these weapons are. Perhaps he's finally found the right person to explain it to.

"Black powder. It's a mix of chemicals, an explosive one. Light it, and it ignites." He makes two fists, then splays his fingers outwards, mimicking an explosion. "A little of that inside the barrel, and it fires the ball out faster than an arrow. We use the powder in other things, too, like grenades that we light with a fuse and then throw. Makes a bigger explosion. What is it that the Qunari make?"

"Huhn." A thoughtful and interested noise. Certainly that concept could be made larger. The Qunari are doing it, after all. It'd be a different kind of force and direction for sieges than was current available with the technology they were using now.

(...And, a little selfishly, and a little guiltily, Nari imagines that shooting one of these would perhaps prove easier for her than a bow.)

"Harder to pierce armor, with a projectile that isn't pointed," she says, mostly to herself, "Less aerodynamic. Although, I imagine the extra speed would compensate for both of those things." It'd certainly make a bigger hole upon impact. Maybe shatter bone rather than sticking in it. She winces. Ow.

Oh, he'd asked a question. "They call it gaatlok," Nari replies. "As far as I know, it works much the same, although I've never heard it used in weapons as small as this. Bombs, yes. Some massive projectile hurling from their warships. They guard the formula like they owe it a life-debt."

[ D'Artagnan blinks. A massive projectile hurled from a ship? ]

Like a cannon. [ He says, finding that easy enough to imagine. Still useful, but less portable. But going in the right direction. He leans back to find his ammunition stock, and pulls out one of his shots. It's a small iron ball, the size of a ball bearing, smaller than a marble. He holds it up between finger and thumb, then offers it to her. ]

This is what they look like. It comes out with enough force that it doesn't matter how well it flies. They won't pierce all armour, but they're liable to knock you down either way, and sometimes that's enough. The biggest problem is accuracy.

[ At least, it is for him. He rubs the back of his neck. ]

From close range it's not a problem, and I know a man who could take out an eyeball at thirty feet. It takes practice. [ He shrugs. ] But anyone can learn.

[ Damn. Nari looks a little crestfallen about the accuracy. Maybe it wasn't the exciting solution to her persistent inability to shoot at any distance that she'd hoped. She rolls the shot between her fingers thoughtfully. It suddenly occurs to her that this kind of force is far better than arrows at destroying, say...

Red Lyrium crystals. ]

The grenades you were talking about, do you put these in them too?

[ Something like that might be invaluable against the Behemoths the Red Templars sometimes have with them. ]

[ D'Artagnan shakes his head. ]

Not unless I want to destroy them. They're a handheld thing, this sort of size. [ He shows her with his hands, miming the shape. ]

The whole casing is destroyed when they explode, but they're made the same way. Then you throw them, or light the fuse and place them.

[ He lifts his eyebrow. ]

That interests you?

Yes?

[ The reply is drawn out a bit as if Nari is unsure why it wouldn't. She runs a hand through her hair with a self-conscious grin. ]

I uh... like to know how things work. Especially Rifter things. Like your combat skills, any knowledge you bring over from other worlds that we don't have means a little edge in our fight.

[ She readjusts her seat. ]

We have some explosive technology, mostly used by our alchemists, but as far as I know there's not too much in the way of concussion, and well... there are these massive corrupted Giants he has sometimes that are near all crystal, which makes them doubly hard to take down. An explosive full of shot like that, though... what do you think?

[ Well, she's both surprised and impressed him. A mind like hers wouldn't be out of place back home. He leans forward, smiling and eager to help. ]

I think you'd have to be careful you didn't take the legs clean off them. Enough powder in an explosive can bring down a building, never mind a Giant.

[ She means real Giants, obviously. He'll just take that at face value. ]

Do you think you could make it?

[ with a little half grin: ] I think I'd prefer to take the legs clean off them. As long as it doesn't take any of our parts with them.

As far as making it? [ she shakes her head. ] Design for the casing, yes, but I work with wood. Could pass the designs on to the smithy, or to our artificers. And we don't have the recipe for the powder for it, so it's sort of all a moot point in any case.

[ D'Artagnan leans back, giving her a knowing sort of smile. It's as he expected, and there's not much to be done. He'd have been surprised if she'd said yes. ]

I was afraid of that. I've always preferred the sword, anyway, but you never know how much you rely on these things until you have to stop using them. I suppose I'll keep looking.

[ If it could be done in his world, he's convinced it could be done in this one. For God's sake, magic is possible here. Surely a firearm isn't out of the question. ]

[ she grins back and lifts her shoulders in a slight shrug ]

Get the Qunari to be friendly enough to share for the first time in history and I'll have them making whatever you like in a week.

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MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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this is when the artificer questions start.

Re: this is when the artificer questions start.

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