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

[bouchonne]

I determined no such thing. Others have raised this theory; I'm merely repeating it. For your part, though -

[ A shrug. ]

You seek to strip all the peoples of Thedas of their world and give it to a few dreamers instead. That seems cruel to me. Besides which, you don't exactly have evidence, do you?

[icasm]

[ He rolls his eyes. ]

I don't believe myself to be a dream any more than you believe yourself to be one, so perhaps we should just agree to disagree on that.

[bouchonne]

[ An easy shrug. ]

And I had a great uncle who swore that his mabari spoke to him, using human language, when no others were present. We got on well enough, so as you can tell, I have no trouble humoring incorrect beliefs.

[icasm]

You really are not going to let this go, are you?

[bouchonne]

Why? Is the thought so disturbing to you?

[icasm]

The thought that everyone I've know, anyone I've cared for, before arriving here is just a figment of someone's imagintion is rather distrubring to me, yes.

[bouchonne]

All men must confront the abyss, dear fellow. Don't be afraid of it.

[icasm]

... can we discuss literally anything else.

[bouchonne]

[ I win. ]

Why, certainly. What do you want to talk about?

[icasm]

[ Byerly. You won like twenty minutes ago, c'mon.

Loki takes a breath. He wants to like this man but he makes it rather difficult. ]

I take it you don't have many friends.

[bouchonne]

Quite incorrect.

[ A blandly cheerful smile. ]

I'm known wherever I go, good man, in a dozen different cities. Is this your chosen topic of discussion? My social life?

[icasm]

[ Incredulity. There is a difference between being known and having friends. ]

Yes, we might as well. I don't know that much about you, after all.

[bouchonne]

The Lady d'Asgard hasn't told you anything?

[ His voice is bland, bland, bland. Incredibly bland. Impossibly bland while still sounding cheery. ]

[icasm]

I haven't asked much about you, to her, and that isn't the same as knowing from the source, as it were.

[ That blandness is a tell, By. ]

[bouchonne]

Well, there's not much to tell. Eldest son of a youngest son, disinherited from nothing at all. Not much excitement to be found.

Is that what you're looking for?

[icasm]

[ Just going to skip over that question. ]

Why were you disinherited?

[bouchonne]

[ A dry grin. ]

Why do you suppose? You said yourself that you assumed I had no friends.

[icasm]

Well, I don't know. I've never been disinherited; nor was I aware that one required friends not to be so.

[ Despite all the shit he's gotten up to. ]

But I imagine you said the wrong thing to the right person or something like that.

[bouchonne]

My father, you mean?

[ Bland, bland, bland smile. ]

Well, you've met Fereldans, yes? I do not precisely fit the mold.

[icasm]

Could have been an older patriarch.

[ Thus the need to ask questions; Loki doesn't know. ]

I have. They are thick on the ground, here. But how so?

[bouchonne]

I mentioned my thin arms, yes?

[icasm]

You were disinherited because you aren't a combatant?

[bouchonne]

[ Maker's breath. At this point, people are supposed to be made uncomfortable and stop asking. Where's this man's sense of shame? ]

You know that it's rather rude to ask why someone was disinherited, don't you?

[icasm]

[ He is the epitome of chaos and has no shame (at this moment). ]

I suppose it might be. Would you rather we discussed something else?

[bouchonne]

[ Fuck you, Loki. ]

No, no.

[ He takes in a breath, and smiles dryly, and says: ]

I was disinherited as retaliation for leaving my family. My father was a rotten, rotting old bastard, and I told him that I would sooner starve than spend another hour under his roof. So I did. Starve. Instead of spending another hour under his roof.