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

Your mother sold me.

( There is a long silence, Helena's mouth open, as she thinks this over. Her hand still rests on Sarah. )

Like pig, traded at market. ( There is something very angry, very dangerous, lurking beneath the surface. She does not know where to direct her anger, but it is there, even if it isn't showing yet. ) Why military?

[ Sarah winces. It was a stupid idea, trying to explain things to Helena ahead of time, like that would make her less angry. Like it would make the whole thing less awful. ]

The military is running their own cloning project. Male clones, this time. S traded you for one of them. But Helena, you got out. You got away.

( Helena's arm slides away from Sarah, and she wraps both her arms around the bear's torso to keep it hugged close to her as she continues to lug it along, ungainly and awkward as it is. It's fur is plushy and soft, and she rests her cheek against it for a moment. )

Why me?

( She knows the answer to that question. She is devil in human skin, the way the nuns told it, the way Tomas spoke. She is abomination, calf for slaughter. It almost seems like she didn't hear all of what Sarah said, but it'll catch up to her soon enough. )

I guess of all of us, she trusts you the least.

[ Which isn't her trying to excuse Siobhan, or trying to make Helena feel guilty. It's just the facts. Helena should know them. Mrs. S's job is to keep Kira and Sarah safe, and she wasn't about to trade away Alison or Cosima. ]

She will trust me less even when I gut her.

( Angry, small and spiteful. There's something childish in the maliciousness, more hurt reflex than real threat - although admittedly with Helena there was always the likelihood that something could be a real threat after all. )

Why wouldn't you listen to your mother? ( Part curious, part hurt, part incredulous, all of it mixing together. Disbelief, maybe, that Sarah would come after her. )

Because you're my sister. I'm not going to abandon you like everyone else has, no matter how angry you are with me.

[ She crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself in more of a protective gesture than a standoffish one. ]

( Helena straightens up a little, with that, head canted to the side, watching Sarah with a dangerous intensity. )

You shot me in chest.

You strangled me with a chain and murdered our birth mother.

[ The first hint of anger has appeared in Sarah's tone, but mostly she just sounds appalled. ]

( Helena turns sharply at that, so she's facing Sarah, stepping into her space. They're identical in so many ways, but Helena inhabits the space in a way that is so strange and different from Sarah. )

You have not forgiven me. You said you would not abandon me no matter how angry you are, but you are not forgiving me.

( That doesn't seem very consistent. )

I can forgive you for the things you did, but I can't forget that you did them. And what does it matter? You're the one who left me, Helena. You just don't remember doing it yet. You escaped the prison and left me there, and then they infected me with some sort of disease, and now I'm here. So what does it matter?

[ Sarah doesn't back away. She faces Helena, jaw set, though inwardly she'd love to take a step back. Or to walk away entirely and forget this conversation ever happened. ]

( That leaves her dumbstruck, and she stares at Sarah. )

I did not do this.

( She can't have done that. She wouldn't do that. ) You are my sestra. We are twins, we belong together.

( No. It's impossible. Violently she shakes her head, looking down. She couldn't leave Sarah in a prison, in a cage. She has lived so long in cages and with locks and guards in different forms. ) No.

( Shaking her head, no. No. )

You believed I sold you out, not Mrs. S. You used me to help you get out and then you left. Don't you remember how sick I was when we fell through the rift?

[ While it's gratifying, in a way, how upset Helena seems to be over the idea of leaving her behind, the fact is, it happened. It happened to Sarah. That's in Helena, that capability to get angry and disappear. It's in both of them. ]

( For long moments, Helena just stares at her sister. Her twin, the piece who was missing for so long, that light that finally broke the darkness. She remembers Sarah being weak and feverish, even in that dangerous cold, and she can feel the blood draining from her face. )

How could I do this?

( Honestly lost at the prospect, quiet and stilted. )

It hurts to think of. ( She tears my heart, she will say one day. She can leave, but she cannot stay away when her family is in danger. Unfortunately, neither of them know that yet. )

[ Sarah chews her bottom lip. She hadn't meant to make Helena so upset. Or maybe she had. It hurts, thinking about the way Helena just... left, like Sarah didn't even matter, after all the shit Sarah'd gone through to find her. That Helena didn't believe her. ]

You were angry. It's easy to leave someone. It's staying away that's harder.

( Helena is quiet for a moment, and tips forward to lean against Sarah, though her arms are still wrapped around the bear. )

You came back.

( For her, on the boat. Sarah got her out of the cage. )

[ Sarah finally uncrosses her arms and slips them around Helena (and the bear, I guess). ]

Maybe you'll come back too. [ She sure as fuck hopes so, or her story might end in a Mexican military prison. ]

I will. ( Determined and certain. ) I must.

( Family is the most important thing. Only thing she has. )

MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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