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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Darkspawn. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting them myself, but all accounts I've read of them indicate they're rather savage creatures who are also horrifically infectious because of the taint of their blood..."

Which is a summary, really. He knows they're awful creatures and difficult to deal with, especially once they form a blight of sorts. All very interesting, but mostly academic to him. The idea that she's gone and fought them is intriguing (all the same) and he leans over, as if to get a better look at her.

"Tell me - I realize it wasn't a blight or anything as large, but were they as awful as all the accounts like to say? Gibbering monsters with barely any intellect?"

"That matches the account I was given and what I saw in the Deep Roads. I fought them, true, but not too closely. The risk of their poison was high and the Grey Wardens were keen to protect us from such difficulties."

It's something that could lead to your death, after all. It's not something that Six can contend with or heal, not without any of her powers, and she feels awkward and on edge just thinking about it. She knows that at home she is immune to diseases, but here? She is weaker than she has been in months.

"They were not wise nor intelligent." She shakes her head, frowning. "But what they lacked in mind they made up for in strength. Truly savage, dangerous beings."

"They sound like some creatures at home. Although I don't think I've ever quite run into anything with the same single-mindedness that the scholars of this world describe," Alacruun muses, "Unless one speaks of the walking dead, but those typically aren't all that intelligent. I enjoy learning, but I could do without the threat of mortal peril, all the same."

He flexes his hand, "Or the constant reminder of what brought me here. How are you finding the shard? Painful at all?"

"Something akin to fiends," Six agrees with a nod of her head. Having come face to face with the Darkspawn she can see the link between them and the undead, fiendish creatures that she's more accustomed to. She wants to develop that, wants to find more ways for her own power to be useful against fighting those... Things. The Grey Wardens might not welcome her into their fold, but she's not so sure that they'll turn down all offers of help.

Frowning, she glances down at her hand before she shakes her head.

"It aches, but it is not unbearable." Or perhaps her tolerance for pain is higher than the average person's.

"Agreed on that count," Alacruun murmurs, "After a while one almost gets used to it until it flares up again. A bit like a bad knee or something, I suppose - I've never actually had one of those, but same idea?"

Magic does wonders for curing little pains and ailments. So it's been a while since he's had to deal with anything remotely like that.

"I've been trying to make people understand we're not all bad, but some of them barely trust qunari, let alone a rifter. It's fascinating how all of these prejudices and suspicions come together, isn't it?"

"I have yet to go so far that it becomes too painful." The Deep Roads might have pushed it a little bit, but she had managed to overcome it. It's not as if it's the most painful and destructive thing she's ever felt in her life, not when she had almost been cut in half completely.

It's likely a good thing that she hasn't left Kirkwall since. It wouldn't do he rmuch good.

"It is natural to distrust what you don't know." Frowning, she shakes her head. "The true tell is how a person reacts to it. Learning more or living on only their hate."

"Hate and spite are powerful motivators. At times they can keep someone going, when everything else has been burned away or died to nothing but guttering coals..." Alacruun sounds a bit thoughtful about that.

"However, if that's all one has left, it won't end well. Even if you do win."

He has some experience with that himself. Although he's never really been motivated solely by hatred or spite. He has his own confidence to draw on.

"There are some that are better," Six shakes her head. As far as she's concerned, hate and spite will not last in her heart. She follows Sarenrae, she follows redemption and turning towards the light, and she knows that. To be filled with hatred and anger and spite... It would break her. There's enough hate in her chest - focussed on one man - that she already worries what her God might say.

"You're right. You must have more in your heart than that or you will fall."

Turning back, she finally manages something akin to a smile.

"I have learned that, too."

"There's wisdom in that. Letting that sort of thing consume you... it won't end well. Not at all. If anything, one should be focusedo n the future - on more productive means."

Alacruun certainly has room for spite, hatred, and jealousy in him. But he likes to think of himself as being somehow above all of that, even if he falls short and indulges in petty squabbles or grudges. He's aware - but perhaps not quite to the degree he thinks he is.

"Call me curious - how did you learn your life lessons? If I can ask."

"Not everyone can see that," Six shakes her head. "There are many reasons for what people do, and not everyone has been given the chance to see beyond their hurt and their pain, or their spite. I do not think there is any way to understand that completely."

She had been close to it, she thinks. Sometimes she wonders what might happen, should she ever return close to her own village. Will she speak with her father? Will the sword in her hand become too heavy? Or will something worse happen?

Alacruun's question makes her pause and she turns her head back to look at him.

"Through fighting, the same as many others. My story is not unique."

"All stories are unique, in their own ways. Even if many of them share similar threads," Alacruun shrugs, "I learned by scholarship, by struggle, by dint of hard work and training my mind. You by the use of the sword and...? What else?"

He sounds genuinely curious, if nothing else.

"What made you pick up the blade in the first place?"

"Perhaps." Six doesn't imagine there's much in the way of unique about being a mercenary, but perhaps becoming a Paladin might be worth... Something, in the end. She doesn't care much for how she's going to be remembered either way; she wants to help people, not demand glory.

Hesitating, Six frowns, staring forward intently.

"I wanted to protect people who could not protect themselves."

"A goal that many would find laudable," Alacruun replies with a slow nod. He feels like he's slowly getting to understand her a little better. She seems... very serious, but that doesn't really tell him much beyond the obvious.

"Others might call you foolish, but you do not seem the type to be turned aside by mere words."

"Those are not the kind of people who I would spend much of my time with." Six shakes her head. Why would she waste her time with people who judge and shame her for her choices? It's a foolish thing, she thinks, to let herself be hurt and demeaned. She has suffered enough.

Quietly, Six shakes her head, closing her eyes and breathing out.

"No. But I learned."

"Good. Don't allow others to hold you back from your potential," Alacruun nods. Sounds good in theory, but there's a lot of self-centered-ness in that particular saying. Especially coming from him. His goals and "potential" have always pointed toward rather unfortunate things (to say the least).

"We all learn. But we then have to translate that into action. Mere knowledge does nothing if it is not wielded correctly."

"I would not." Six has no reason to ever allow anyone to stop her from doing what she wants. The only person that has power over her is Sarenrae, and her God will guide her and help her, not stop her. She knows that and she embraces it completely.

"Which brings us back to our original conversation." She hums. "The danger is using knowledge to harm, to hurt."

"That does seem to be the heart of the matter," Alacruun allows. It is true. He's used his knowledge for great things. Great, terrible things, that haven't always been pleasant for other people, but in the end it was the result that mattered. Even if someone else got hurt along the way.

"Do you think it can be used to hurt inadvertently?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

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