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

[heirring]

Oh him her low scoff across the lip of the cup declares.

"You were right to refuse him regardless of what you have or haven't had to drink. He wasn't nearly charming enough, and I estimate his friends are cut from a very similar cloth. They often are. Though I do wish Mister Dickerson hadn't kept to the Gallows this evening. I should have liked to return his companion to him before this. You will forgive me for saying so."

This last part is clearly addressed to the snake herself, who somehow manages to be distinctly grudging about how she tastes the air with a forked tongue. Mlem.

"But let us pretend you have had enough to drink," she says, attention finally shifting from the spiraling dance to Maud beside her. "Have you seen anyone you might then care to dance with?"

[radicans]

Maud's attention is drawn from the peeved snake to instead cast a look at Wysteria for that question, a look that both protests its potential impropriety and concedes that she's going to answer it anyway.

"I would say the short fellow in the burgundy brocade and the blond Orlesian with the pearl earring are the best dancers here. The taller man in dark green with the curly hair in the fourth row there isn't quite as light on his feet as either of them, but he's good enough and he must be funny, every lady he's partnered seems to smile through the whole dance. Have you seen anyone you might care to dance with?"

[heirring]

Come now, Maud. They are both now married women (ha ha) and are permitted these little indiscretions. It's not as if Maud's husband died in some fiery dragon assault on Tantervale.

And so Wysteria, imminently undeterred by that look, simply nods along as she follows her friend's rationale. Yes, yes, the short fellow with the brocade and the pearl earring—Yes, she did mark particularly the latter's talent as well. But she cannot abide curly hair at all, and so has made no note of the man in dark green and so must follow the instruction provided to locate him there across the dance floor.

"Oh, he is quite tall," doesn't strictly sound like approval, but clearly her dislike of this fact isn't strong enough to dissuade her the appeal of answering a question posed to her. "I quite like the look of that one in the blue. Fourth row. He has such an elegantly patrician nose."

And, it might be observed were one an objective third party, the distinctly pliable air of a man willing to be trampled by his dance partner.

"Or there is the brooding gentleman in the corner there who hasn't danced with anyone at all the whole evening," she says, going so far as to unsubtly gesture to the stocky, dark and definitively broken nosed melee brawler with her cup. "Although truthfully I am quite ambivalent of dancing with him myself. I should only like to observe whether he can."

[radicans]

"There is one very reliable way to find out," Maud prompts with a nudge of her elbow, having had a few minutes to warm to the subject and decide it's a perfectly respectable one after all and in any event no one else is listening. She considers the brooding gentleman and his nose, the threatening promise it lends to his expression, an altogether different sort of appeal than the blue-coated fellow's noble brow.

"Though I would be very wary of stepping on his toes," is a comment she makes entirely about herself, of course.

[heirring]

"Surely, given the state of his face, he would hardly feel it. In fact, I strongly suspect his naturally brooding appearance must secretly shield a deeply sympathetic interior. I feel in my soul that were you to approach him and make your interest in the dance floor known, that he would be nothing but gratitude—"

The high humored pleasure which colors this outrageous little aside is all at once cut short by a sudden flare of hot neon light. It's not bright enough to disturb those around them—the lamplight and the drinking and the cacophony of dancers with their stamping feet is difficult to overcome—, but it is bright enough to shine through the soft palm of her nugshide glove. Wysteria drops her cup with a sharp intake of breath. She flinches, snatching her left hand close to her chest.

[radicans]

"Were I?—," Maud has begun to object, though with humor in her tone for this inevitable turn of events. But she cuts off as sharply, a hand reached instinctively for Wysteria's arm before gloved fingertips are stopped short just shy of her shoulder.

"What's happened? Are you alright?" Her brows bend and lips press in uncertain concern. She does not, after all, actually know what living with an anchor is like. Perhaps this is something that occurs periodically, though she's not observed it or heard of it yet, and Wysteria's surprise suggests otherwise. Hovering fingertips land tentatively on her biceps. "Perhaps we should get some air? Or shall I find Warden Ellis?"