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

[molineux]

While Margaery is unable to resist the pull of the festivities, she's managed to keep herself spotless - and on the fair side of fashionable by creatively repurposing scraps of silken cloth to look like colorful flowers adorning her hair. It's these small details that help her retain some presence of dignity even as the taste of sweet pudding lingers in her mouth and she feels the husky quality of her voice deepening with every wild cheer she allows herself to indulge in.

She misses her perfumed baths and endless vials of oils, but it's so easy to forget the stubborn callouses in her hands like this, lost in crowds of good cheer.

By chance she spots Madame de Cedoux, but the fearless energy of the crowd carries her forward easily, without second thought, even as she observes that her mentor is not alone. Her footsteps only falter when she notices the underlying tension that broadcasts itself loudly through body language. The desire for a brief and bright greeting is replaced by something a lot more purposeful, shifting even the pace of her walk so a sense of urgency is believable.

"Madame?" Her tone is apologetic, sheepish even, as if she knows she's not meant to be interrupting such an important conversation. Her eyes flit from the delicate features of Petra's face to the nobleman's to play ignorance of the heavy hand lingering where it does not belong. "I was told that there was a matter that required your attention, right away if possible."

[ipseite]

Petrana is both too well bred and too well practised to grasp Margaery's hand too tightly when she takes it—hers remain as soft and manicured as they had been when she first arrived; she has set herself to a particular sort of work, and the marks it leaves on her are harder to find—but she does take it, offering the man she's been speaking with a convincingly apologetic look—

“My lord, you must forgive me. I'm certain we will speak again,”

but not alone, the second time. She is conscious of how close to her he still is, the broadness of his smile and his shoulders, and the casual entitlement in the way he farewells her with the touch of his hand to her waist and her back.

“Of course, Madame de Cedoux,” he says, casting a smile towards Margaery that doesn't reach his eyes (which do find time, on the way, to reach her cleavage). “I look forward to it.”

She does not, but they are some feet away before Petrana's fingers dig into Margaery's, and that is when she lets go.

She spares them both the pretense of misunderstanding— “My thanks.”

[molineux]

She's not unused to this sort of attention. In fact, it'd probably be far more accurate to say that there was a time she would have relished the stare as a measure of success, but that Margaery, with all her wealth and power keeping her safe from the danger of undesired interest, is dead.

In this moment, it's all she can do to smile sweetly under a false pretense of polite interest before her expression drops in its entirety when they're safe.

"Of course, madame. Is he someone you'll truly need to engage with further?"

Surely there are other nobles - none of which are particularly desirable, but Margaery wouldn't consider it a stretch to think that even the creepy lord who likes to collect mummified animals would be a far better prospect.