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Entry tags:
- abby,
- benedict quintus artemaeus,
- byerly rutyer,
- derrica,
- edgard,
- ellis,
- loki,
- loxley,
- marcus rowntree,
- petrana de cedoux,
- wysteria de foncé,
- { adrasteia },
- { allumin etsija },
- { emet-selch },
- { erik stevens },
- { gabranth },
- { james holden },
- { jone },
- { margaery tyrell },
- { sidony veranas },
- { tony stark }
OPEN | the grand tourney!
WHO: All Y'all.
WHAT: It's the Grand Tourney! Like a normal Tourney, but grand.
WHEN: August Now.
WHERE: Kirkwall.
NOTES: Sports... injuries?
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
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?
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 fightusually 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.)
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.)
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He imagines, still as the stone underfoot, that he is a much less undignified arbiter.
“Some might call such notions cowardice, thinly veiled. Would you agree?”
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But it was also hard for him to justify risking his life for someone who thought little of him without giving him a chance. Easier to simply let them think that and live with the consequences.
He nods. "I would."
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“Return to the celebration. Take neither food nor drink, even if they are offered freely to you.”
Though Gabranth doubts an elf might be treated so warmly by those beyond Riftwatch’s borders, it still bears stressing. “Find those most injured from their labors for the sake of these games. The healers that tend to them. And when three hours have passed, and you have aided them to the best of your abilities, return to me here.”
Here, where he’ll remain just as he is now, well into the night.
“Be warned. I shall know if you lie.”
It may seem all-knowing, that promise. Some ancient strength, or wild magic, granted to an inhuman guardian. In truth, he simply has a crystal, and can use it at will to call whoever he likes.
Technology is a wonder.
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Hours later, he returns - there's less caution in his approach than the first time, but there's still nervousness there. No one changes overnight, or in this case, no one becomes a fully reformed and better version of themself from just one quest. He swallows, eyes making their gradual ascent up from the the stone of the bridge underfoot upward to where eyes reside hidden by the shade of thick metal. The resolution of this fills him with more dread than it should (it's supposed to just be a game after all), but he has to face it rather than run away.
"I did as you asked," he speaks, doing his best to keep his voice level and clear. "I followed your instructions, and during that time I thought about our exchange earlier alongside the things I saw - the healers working hard to help the injured, who had the courage to face the dangers that resulted in being there." His throat feels tight the more he goes on.
"Even having done as you asked, I'm not honorable or brave or compassionate, so I do not think I am worthy of crossing the bridge you defend."
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The timing is correct, the effort made in all sincerity. Gabranth listens in earnest despite the stony silence his silhouette evokes— and when it is finished, Allumin having bared the whole of himself, that heavy sword lifts from the earth, the armored figure that wields it stepping aside to let Allumin pass as he sees fit.
It is only after a long held beat that he adds, whether or not Allumin has begun striding past:
"I've one last question to ask of you."
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As he tries to think of some parting word, some final declining of what's being granted, he is spoken to again, and his eyes snap from the open bridge to the figure.
"What is it?"
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Allumin is taller, yet Gabranth looms large for more than just his own stature or bearing; his voice grits like stone, his armor heavy with the pull of endless obligation. He stands as a gate to a lost city. Guardian to nothing, and nowhere.
And he expects much for it.
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Even if it's just his imagination getting away from him, it's enough. Enough for him to reconsider his complacency in actually joining Riftwatch and its divisions, enough for him to apply himself and actually help with the war here. Prior to this, he'd convinced himself that since he'd been told it wasn't required that he simply just... wouldn't. Find some sort of peace in existing in relative safety until the end.
Now... that is not really an option anymore, is it? He really doesn't want Gabranth to wreck him with that big fucking sword.
The weight of the question is clear on Allumin's face as he considers what to say. Saying yes feels disingenuous, saying he'd try feels like a flimsy promise without enough commitment, saying he would feels like a lie even if he does try.
"I will make my best efforts to do so. If they turn out to not be enough..." His eyes cast down to the sword. "I suppose you'll have to judge me again for it."
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This is no mystery to be solved. No great secret to be wondered over, or imagined in the farthest depths of Allumin's mind: if he falters, if he fails, he will know the shadow that seeks him out. The one that turns from him, returning its sword to its rightful place at the head of that bridge, as though whatever spell made him mortal has now receded fully.
A statue once more.