OPEN | the grand tourney!

[poleaxed]

WHO: All Y'all.
WHAT: It's the Grand Tourney! Like a normal Tourney, but grand.
WHEN: August Now.
WHERE: Kirkwall.
NOTES: Sports... injuries?

Every thousand days, the Grand Tourney is organized in the Free Marches, and all the City States-- and even challengers from farther abroad-- come together to celebrate the freedom of the Marches. This year, the event was intended to take place in Tantervale.

When that, uh, fell apart, the tourney was hastily moved to the relative safety of Kirkwall.

Festivities begin early, with musicians and entertainers coming from all around to entertain lords and ladies as they set up tents. Food vendors complete the picnic atmosphere-- you may not be able to get a seat in the stands, but the hills around where the field where it all takes place makes the event easily viewed by all. Jesters, bards, troubadours, food vendors, all are happy to serve and make the event lively and lovely-- for a price.

The first event is the Joust. The announcer goes through everyone's names, their origins, the part they play, so the crowd knows who to root for and who to boo. Before the individual bouts begin, the jousters are expected to ride around the field collecting favors.

The second event is the Quintain. A similar setup to the Joust takes place, with announcements and cheering, gaining favors, etc. The major difference-- besides the content of the event itself-- is the hastily erected judge's stand, where they can view the skills of each comptetitor. Some scores are met with cheers, some with boos. Some competitors schmooze with the judges before their bout. It's all very classy.

In the intermission guests are invited to play a game of tug-of-war over two large piles of flowers and flower petals. As the loosers will discover, there's a pit of mud underneath the flowers. Hopefully you brought a second pair of clothes, or maybe you just don't care Edgard.

If tug-of-war isn't your game, there's drunken archery. Darktown's very best (worst) booze has been generously donated (appropriated) for the event. One shot to begin, and more shots for every subsequent shot of your bow. Landing closer to bullseye garners more points, and prizes can be collected for high point scores. Nothing particularly valuable, it's more like carnival fare-- stuffed toys, shiny gems (they are colored glass), wood carved in various shapes (some lewd). The most expensive prize is a hangover cure potion (it does not work).

The final event is the ever-popular Melee, where several one-on-one matches take place simultaneously, until someone is either undefeated or the least defeated. As with previous events, each combatant is announced to the crowd and expected to walk around the stands, receiving favors. However, they're expected to do this between every match in the melee, as their popularity rises... or falls.

During all of this, the ever-noble Pas d'Armes event is taking place. If you wander away from the event at any time, Gabranth will be there, at a nearby bridge, judging and / or fighting anyone who wishes to pass. Of course, if you wish to pass without issue, he will accept a favor from you. At the end, he'll be crowned with a white wreath of flowers, in a 'peace offering', and that is the sign that the tourney is done.

Not counting the partying into the night. No medieval camping trip is complete without waking up half clothed in a field, right?

JUST TELL ME WHO WON ALREADY.fine, fine, jesus.

THE JOUST

1st Place: Tony Stark, The Iron Man (Erroneously called 'The Man of Iron' at least once by an announcer. Several people in the stands asked if he was made of iron, why he was called that, what is he doing, why.)
2nd Place: Weary Winona of Wycome (Never took off her helm, which was shaped like a woman's face and painted like she was crying.)
3rd Place: 'Sir Sullivan of Bonneville'(Who might just be Edgard in disguise, however legend has it he's actually an undead noble trying to reclaim his family's honor in the joust. This legend was started by Jone.)
Crowd Favorite: Ellis, The Bachelor (He was, at one point, mostly just a mass of favors, which may have been why he didn't rank. The crowd screamed his name repeatedly and at one point threw flowers at him while he was riding past.)

THE QUINTAIN

1st Place: Derrica, the Rivaini Raider (The chant 'carry me home' began during her bout, and continued whenever she walked near the field.)
2nd Place: Derek, Son of Derek, of the Ostwick Dereks (The 'carry me home' chant continued during his bout, as some confusion arose over whether Derrica was a distant relation of the Ostwick Dereks.)
3rd Place: Madame Noir of Hasmal (A ghostly pale woman wearing only a black gown during her match, there were rumors she'd bribed the judges with money or a low neckline.)
Crowd Favorite: Beth Greene, The Lady of the Green (Rumor has it that she was a wild woman who came from the forests just to compete. This rumor was also started by Jone.)

THE MELEE

1st Place: Pierre the Virtuous of Hambleton (On a particularly sunny day, some suspect he only won because the reflection from his bald head.)
2nd Place: 'The Dark Jaguar' (Who may be Erik Stevens in disguise. A nighttime assassin, he appears from nowhere during a fight usually with the aid of a conveniently placed piece of hanging black fabric but shhhh.)
3rd Place: Laura, Lady Nightshade (Rumor has it she threw her fight to get third place, but everybody who knows Laura knows she'd never do that... right?)
Crowd Favorite: 'The Acolyte' (A young man of roughly the same height and build as Benedict Artemaeus, the crowd really responded to how nervous, yet trying to be brave, he looked.)

THE OVERALL WINNER OF EVERYTHING:
Ser John 'the Anointed John' Pembroke of Tantervale
...who trained for this every day and is a professional Tourneyman, and whose win for Tantervale really lifted the spirit of the game to a high note, so how can we be bitter, really.
(Note to 1st placers in other events: this means he beat you in your event.)

[ooc Also final reminder that you don't have to have signed up for an event to have your character participate!!!]

Comments

wysteria.

[heorte]

A number of tents have been set aside for the competitors, and in a corner of it Ellis has claimed a space for himself. There are others in various stages of preparation, chattering among themselves, and though Ellis has not fallen into conversation with anyone, he too is doing up laces and straps, securing armor into place.

But he still pauses when he catches sight of Wysteria weaving her way towards him through the bustle.

"Shouldn't you be securing your place in the stands?" is the greeting offered, half-done buckles at his sides abandoned momentarily as he straightens, turns in to meet her with a small smile.

[heirring]

Her scoff is instant, a great harsh thing. Oh that, it says without actually saying so.

"Maud is saving a seat for me. Much to my chagrin, I will have it known. She steadfastly refused to accompany me here. Which is inconvenient, as I believe it would be quite helpful to have another pair of hands to accomplish the work ahead of us."

She has, incongruously given the occasion, brought her field case with her and sets it now on the low stool in Ellis' corner of the tent. With a click, the case is opened and the contents spring out: ribbons and underclothes and a man's shirt and various scraps and fabric, both colorful and plain.

"I have collected a great many good luck tokens for you, and we will have to be quick about applying them to your person if you are to make it to your start."

[heorte]

There's a beat of uncertainty, where Ellis considers the case and perhaps weighs up his chances of evading the absurd amount of items that immediately come overflowing outward once Wysteria opens it. A bemused smile plays around the edges of his mouth as he steps closer to examine the contents without touching anything.

"All of it?" is what his study resolves into, a single query made with the soft rattle of loosened buckles to punctuate Ellis' forward movement.

A better question might be exactly who all this belongs to, but Ellis rightly surmises that an actual accounting will take them too long.

[heirring]

Wysteria laughs heartily as if he has said something highly amusing. She pulls a perfectly white handkerchief from the case and passes it to him.

"Here, this is from Madame de Cedoux. I don't know what can be done with Enchanter Averesch's shirt," she says, turning back to draw that free next. "But he was so stubborn about giving me anything at all that I am obligated to integrate it somehow."

Spite is, as they say, an incredible motivator.

When the shirt is withdrawn, an oil slick dark snake flops out of the case with it.

[heorte]

So the answer is yes, he's expected to tote all of this into the tiltyard with him. Handkerchief in hand, Ellis looks to be considering how best to decline, when the snake comes toppling out.

Crouching to retrieve the creature, Ellis spares a fond, "Hello, Thot," for what is presumably another iteration of Richard's companion. He can't imagine Wysteria to be handling another snake. It would be far too great a coincidence.

It does not occur to him that there's any particular purpose to Thot being here other than keeping Wysteria company.

To Wysteria, he directs, "Give me Averesch's shirt. I'll put it beneath my breastplate."

[heirring]

It must be the lady in question, for the snake's eyes are awfully lamp-like and there is something distinctly wiggly to the way in which the snake squiggles her way into Ellis's palm and then further up along his arm.

"I suspect you will wish to save room under your breastplate for this."

Which is a pair of frilly ladies small clothes which Wysteria extracts with only the first finger on each hand, one through each leg hole.

"Though I suppose they would make a more specific point were they visible..."

She is not smiling. That would be absurd. This is very serious.

[heorte]

An immediate flush rises up the back of his neck.

"Wysteria."

Is a starting point, but Ellis has no idea where to go with it, and so closes his mouth rather than stammer further. Does he want to know whose undergarments those are? Surely not. Can he object to the point Wysteria is proposing? Certainly, but maybe he should be saving that objection for whatever else is in her case.

Thot's progress goes unnoticed, for the moment.

[heirring]

His instant appearance of mortification seems only to strengthen her:

"Suppose you were to run your lance through one of the legs and carry them along that way. They would only flutter a little, and your horse is sensible enough that I doubt it would think to shy from it. And you must make a point of explaining them to Mister Stark. I'm most confident that was Miss Smythe's intent."

[heorte]

If a man could simply evaporate on the spot—

Well, Ellis probably would have done so before this particular moment.

But be that as it may, it looks as if he might as Wysteria holds the garment up more pointedly. The idea of this being a piece in some elaborate flirtation between Joselyn Smythe and Tony doesn't do anything to dissipate the embarrassment, but it does prompt Ellis to ask, "Have you more undergarments in there?"

[heirring]

It is evidently the right thing to say, for it distracts Wysteria from putting her hand through a leg hole to demonstrate exactly how they ought to hang from the lance by offering her the opportunity to brag about the rest of her efforts. And truly, there is very little she enjoys more in the world than a little harmless poppinjaying.

"No," she says, setting Joselyn Smythe's frilly smalls aside in favor of pawing through the rest of the case's contents. "The rest are largely ribbons and handkerchiefs and a very pretty sill cravat from the Ambassador, and—oh, Mister Holden passed along a dragon scale. I imagine it might be affixed to your horse's breastcollar. And Thought, of course. Mister Dickerson tried to send Ribbon along, but I refused to accept her. We don't know if she can be recreated if destroyed. But I told him I would convey the cleverness of the pun to you."

The 'Thought' in question has wound herself high enough to attempt to slither in under Ellis' pauldron.

[heorte]

It's for the best that she is diverted. Presumably Ellis will have to look Joselyn Smythe in the face on a semi-regular basis, considering the nature of Riftwatch and the experience might be burdened if he had the recollection of Wysteria's demonstration.

Having now the full scope of Wysteria's plans, Ellis takes a moment to consider the depth of her little case, and to lift one pauldron high enough for Thot to make her entry. A sign, perhaps, that Ellis' objections are to be minimal in this endeavor.

"What have you brought for me?" he asks, then clarifies, "Something of yours, not—"

Stalling over descriptor. The lacy underpants are unfortunately still the first thing that come to mind, and it does nothing to dispel the flush from Ellis' neck, though it's progress has been halted before it colored his face.

[heirring]

"A rock? This one is from Monsieur Edgard, by the way," she says, pressing the smooth stone produces from the case into Ellis' hand. "Though I believe you will have to simply carry it in your pocket; I can think of no convenient way to display such a thing. Now close your eyes and open your other hand and I will give you something of mine."

She is reaching into the pocket of her skirt already, but dutifully waits to withdraw it again until he has done as directed. Minimal objections indeed.

The object which is deposited into his hand is cool and light and is followed by the distinctive slither of a delicate chain. When Ellis is permitted to open his eyes again ('There, it is done.'), he will find himself in possession of a fine gold chain. On the chain is a small silver ring set with a dark blue stone etched into the distinctive shape of a swooping bird. It is a very delicate little thing, appearing fit to be worn only on someone's smallest finger.

"The nug was melted down to use as part of the flexible conductor in my little project, but the chain was so light that it seemed a shame to do away with it. But I could hardly give you just a chain and I am wary of this being stolen again, having only barely gotten it back from the last scoundrel to do so, and so this seemed like the most natural combination. You will keep it safe for me, of course. It is one of the very few things which came to Thedas with me."

[heorte]

The explanation of the chain and the absence of it's original occupant draws a small, slanting smile across his face. Ellis stirs the links of the chain with one finger, exhales a soft laugh. To think that little nug charm that he'd bought haplessly for her that first Satinalia has become part of her project—

He's making too much of it. Wysteria had used what was on hand. Ellis can rely on the sense that she had been entirely practical, and draw no further meaning from it.

Rather than parse the feeling any further, he closes his hand over chain and ring.

"I'm honored," is not exaggeration. Ellis of all people knows what it is to carry so little from home, and how they are made all the more precious for being so few.

There is a space afterwards, in which Ellis turns several things over in his mind, considers them and then, finally, tips his closed palm towards her.

"Do you think the chain will fit me?"

If not, there are other ways of carrying it. Not in the same pocket as the rock, for starters.

[heirring]

He seems pleased, she thinks, and the it is like a pleasantly warm thing placed behind the ribs. Good; she had worried that it might be too silly or maybe too serious or quite small and abstract.

"I suppose there is only one way to find out," she chirps, quite self-satisfied indeed as she fishes the chain from his open palm and undoes the clasp.

Wysteria passes one end of the fine little line about the back of his neck, keeping high about the edge of his gambeson and that ragged scar that marks the side of his throat. By her estimation, it is just long enough to hang the ring high below where his collarbones must be. On her, the nug had rested rather lower down—

"Though of course I realize now that no one at all will even see it. You should have one of my dress sleeves as well. We have only Mister Astarion's silk scarf to tie to your arm thus far, and it—the sleeve—might serve to balance out your appearance."

It is indeed very precious, that ring. Silver and blue and sentimental not because she had possessed any great love for the thing when she'd first acquired it (the opposite, really), but because in the intervening years it had become very particular and rare. With a soft snip, Wysteria hooks shut the chain's closure.

[heorte]

It's an easy thing, bending to meet her as she lifts the chain. One hand rests at her waist, though he is in no real danger of tipping too far, as she draws the chain into place. The metal is warm from their combined handling of it. There's only the weight of the ring against the hollow of his throat to draw his attention to the addition. His hand leaves her waist as he straightens, lifting to touch the ring before he closes the last, topmost clasp of his gambeson and, as predicted, shields her token from sight.

He's smiling still, looking at her, before his hand drops from his collar and he gives her proposal due attention. The matter shifts his expression back to seriousness, or at least, some shade of seriousness.

It has become very clear that she does intend to put the entire contents of her case onto him, one way or another. Panties, cravats, scarves and all, that's what Ellis will be toting into the tiltyard with him. But even that doesn't quite dispel the warmth around his eyes as he weighs up the suggestion.

"Aye, but then you'd be lop-sided," he points out. Something he'd expect to be a serious vote against the sacrifice of a dress sleeve to the cause.

[heirring]

"I believe it's fashionable for a lady to be so at a tournament," is her most dismissive assessment of that. And if it is a question between looking perfectly well and giving him a little extra superstitious luck—

Her hand immediately strays to the lacing at her shoulder connecting sleeve to bodice.

"Here. The yellow is not so garish against your blue."

[heorte]

This is the part of the tournament that Ellis had never engaged with, back when he had engaged in tourneys before. A whole sphere that he had existed adjacent to but never touched, hadn't considered the possibility that he might someday fall into it, that he might someday be stood in a tent weighted down by favors given to him as a gift by someone like Wysteria.

There is a beat of quiet. Ellis watches her intently as she loosens the lacing, some of the weight in his study lingering even as he offers up a smile to her when her attention returns to him.

"I like the yellow," he tells her, offering an arm to her, tapping his bicep with two fingers. "Tie it here. Just above the elbow, so you'll be able to see it from the stands."

[heirring]

"I've my little spyglass with me. And I suspect you will be somewhat distinctive after we have finished arming you."

She isn't worried about spying him from a distance. Nonetheless, Wysteria does as directed. The dress's sleeve is slipped free, leaving her with only the pale cream of her shirt on the one side, and is succinctly bound there at Ellis' arm. The lacing is used to to secure the knot which leaves him with a fine gold banner to dredge around by the elbow.

And then, so long as she has him there, the silk scarf with its faint whiff of perfume from Astarion is fetched from the case and bound to his opposite arm.

[heorte]

The fastened collar of his gambeson holds the ring in place against his throat. He can feel it when he draws a breath. The awareness of it settles in at the edges of his thoughts.

But that leading point as to the number of favors he's about to be decorated in draws his attention back to the overflow of her case, considering the items and how they might be affixed to him.

"Are we going to have to return all of this?" Ellis asks, reaching down to cautiously stir a hand through the contents. He is studiously ignoring the potential for garments, and the lacy frills of Joselyn Smythe's donation where it sits on the bench.

[heirring]

"Certainly not. A tournament favor is meant to be a gift," she chirps, all mock offense as she fishes some stray ribbon from the edge of the case and chases after the buckles of his armor with it. It's easily laced in among the other connections, tied with a neat little knot to add a flash of color at his side.

"Although I doubt anyone will be too offended should you not elect to keep and cherish their miscellaneous tokens forever and ever. —Although there are a number of rather good ribbons in this collection. And also I would prefer you not to discard my ring once all the luck has run out of it, if you please. If you shouldn't like to keep it, I mean."

She is blabbering. She can hear herself.

"So no," she adds, quite firm. "No returns necessary."

[heorte]

Obediently, Ellis lifts his bedecked arms out of her way. There are already some obvious drawbacks to being so decorated, but Wysteria is determined and this is such an easy thing to indulge her in.

"I would like to keep it," he tells her, voice dipping enough that a shadow of some tender, quiet thing colors the words before a smile pulls at his mouth. "And you can have your pick of the ribbons, whatever survives after I've been knocked off my horse."

The padding afforded by Kostos' shirt will perhaps soften that blow when it comes. Ellis will make sure to tell her as much, so she can be pleased over it. (Kostos Averesch will most certainly be ambivalent, if he were informed.)

Assessing her handiwork thus far, turning one arm and then the other to assess the sleeve and scarf by turns, Ellis asks, "Will you have your second contribution back?"

[heirring]

Good, she thinks but doesn't say.

"I will be very uneven if I don't."

It is not a yes or a no, merely a statement as she attaches some further bit of frippery to his armor. He may do with her yellow sleeve as he pleases, though it is one of her good dresses and to be so unbalanced is fashionable only during a tournament. Though it's hardly as if she currently has any need to impress anyone.

"The ring has a minor enchantment on it. It's nothing at all dangerous or indeed even anything particularly useful, yet I suppose you ought to know it."

[heorte]

It's not a particular yes but it's not a no, and so Ellis takes it for the former. And if he intends to give it back, he will have to take care to fall to the opposite side. Astarion will have to forgive whatever becomes of his scarf.

"You're running out of buckles," he says mildly, before, "What sort of enchantment?"

Not that he expects to wear the ring on a finger. All that he does with his hands, all that violence, would risk damaging it, and Ellis has promised to keep her ring safe. It'll stay on it's chain, just where she put it.

But he needn't say that, so instead—

"Will it turn my hair a different color?" he asks, teasing. "Or is it going to give me a strange accent?"

[heirring]

Her laugh is bright, untarnished by any scoff or scolding tinge.

"No. Though if it were the first, I would keep it. I've always wanted very dark hair. All the most mysterious and compelling ladies do, you know. Or flaxen would be all right as well, I suppose. But no one at all can be attractively mystifying with yellow hair."

Imagine. Now Wysteria does scoff as she secures an oversized red ribbon to his person.

"No, it is a naming ring. It will tell you the names of everyone it's seen since last you wore it. It's very convenient for parties or any place where you are likely to meet enough people that you're unable to immediately recall who they are. But the person must be reflected in the stone. If your hand is in your pocket or if you keep it hidden here under your collar, it won't recognize anyone."

[heorte]

Though Ellis does not say as much, the expression directed at her carries a very clear message: I like your hair. Surely it's recognizable on it's own at this point, as Ellis has certainly worn it before.

But he's distracted from voicing the sentiment first by the ribbon, which he is redirected to a fastening at his hip and well out of his sightline, and then by the explanation, which is interesting even for a man who doesn't intend to use the item in question.

"Will you have it back for the next time you're obliged to attend some party?" Ellis asks. "You know I'm rarely dispatched for that kind of work."

His hands lift, armor creaking, while Ellis begins the process of working Kostos Averesch's shirt out of sight beneath his breastplate. It occurs to him he might have fit several items there, but with Wysteria having started her business, Ellis recognizes his opportunities to influence the outcome will be more or less limited now.