MOD PLOT: NOT ALONE DO WE STAND, PART 1

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

[justice_is_blond]

Ordinary and taking things slow. Anders nods, smile getting a little shy. Going at things full speed has been the story of his life because there hadn't been any time. Not in the Circle, not on the run, not in Kirkwall. Now they have a little. He's glad Nate's keeping them from squandering this moment.

"I like Howe you think, Nathaniel," he says in a very self-satisfied voice. Nate can't return the pun right now; it's all Anders' to use as he wills it.

The waiter returns with their ordered food and Anders thanks him and starts unrolling his silverware one-handed. There's no way he's about to let go of Nate's hand. This is nice and there's been precious little in his life when he's had something nice.

[pinprick]

That moment, that brief window where Anders' smile turns a little shy, it's precious and new to Nathaniel. He hasn't ever seen that look on him, and it's adorable. During that moment, Anders gets to see a flash of an unguarded, smitten look on Nathaniel's face before things turn a little more familiar and Nathaniel smiles. There are some surprises they have left after all.

As they start to eat, Nathaniel tries to think of first-date questions. He has never done this dance, having been so opposed to relationships in his own life, for fear of becoming his parents. Now, there is no need to sabotage himself. He gets a fresh start, a chance to court Anders properly.

"What's your favorite food?" It's a little lame, but he's actually curious. They've skipped so many steps.

[justice_is_blond]

Nothing matches that look on Nate's face that's there and gone, a declaration of love as clearly as if his husband had shouted it from the rooftops. It sends a warm thrill through him as he squeezes Nate's hand and ponders the questions.

"I... Um. I'm still trying a lot of things." This is where he'd normally joke about all the 'things' he's tried, but Anders holds back that instinct. "Heat reminds me of home, a little, I think. Or maybe I just enjoy it and tell myself that's why. Mm." He shrugs. "Blueberries, maybe, as I can't pick a particular pepper. Fresh blueberries."

He's satisfied with that answer, more or less. "Would you prefer to be too hot or too cold?" This is the time for the little things, the filling-in-the-blanks that he maybe should otherwise know.

[pinprick]

Nathaniel appears to waffle a bit, because it is a bit hard to compare, in his mind.

"If it's a dry heat, too hot. If it's humid, too cold. So long as I can keep spare dry socks in my pocket." He twirls noodles around his fork. "If you had the time and money, what hobbies would you keep?"

[justice_is_blond]

"I'd foster." It's not really a hobby, but there's no hesitation to his answer. "Mage children, unwanted by their families, I'd take them in and teach them and make sure they'd somewhere safe. They deserve a chance to be loved for all that they are and to know a family. ...But I'd also have a set of rooms for research. I think there's so much more that we can do with magic, with ailments, injuries, and the like, but there's always been limits on how much the Circles would let someone research. Now the path's open to more."

He speaks with a passion that matches how he speaks about freedom and equality - magic has so much potential to better the world. Letting mages have lives has risks, but it also has so many potential benefits.

"I'd... also not mind having a few other animals. A pair of cows for milk, chickens for eggs, things like that. When I was younger I resented having to take care of the cows, but I'll tell you something I've told no one else: I miss tending to them. A little. Have you ever had animals? Other than the requisite dogs mabari whatnot, everything about you says Fereldan."