Open Chronicles The Grand Tournament of Tides

[Darkweaver]

Spoiler: Music

The Tournament of Tides. One of the oldest and most time-honoured traditions of Alliria. The grinding gears of commerce demanded an ever growing increase of interest, of reputation, of transit and - perhaps most importantly - of coin. It practically flowed through its canals, rivers and strait like golden blood, ladened on burdened merchant ships or on great carts crossing beautifully carved bridges. Some even claimed that the bottom of these waters glinted with gold, silver and copper, of coins dropped by hapless travelers or other pedestrians, an overspilling of wealth that only the fish would get to enjoy. Or those brave enough to plunge the deeps or the muddy banks for spare change.

But today and for the next six days, the efforts of such mudlarks would be foiled. The tournament had set upon the harbour and Inner City of Alliria like an explosive growth of colourful weeds, littering its normally ship-filled strait with gargantuan floating platforms, scores upon scores of colourful tents, stands and flapping banners, all close to bursting with the crowds milling on rickety platforms and quickly crafted steps and bridges. For a few days at least, everyone would get to feel what it was like to live in the Shallows, except if the Shallows was draped in colour, excitement and mirth.

Not even Allir Keep would go free this time. Its impressive courtyard, normally reserved for the City Watch, would be used to host the most brutal of martial competitions, all for the entertainment of the masses. For a week, even common folk could find themselves in this opulent and imposing stone keep, rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty that frequented the Merchant Council's court.

All but the seven members of the Merchant Council themselves, of course. Rumour had it that they would be travelling the tournament in style, boarded on a sleek schooner, The Balance, with an elevated stand, allowing them to cut and weave between the floating platforms and view all that the tournament had to offer. Joining them onboard would be important dignitaries from all over Arethil: the Princess Elspeth and her consort, Prince William from the Royal Family of Vel Anir, an ambassador from the emperor-regent in Amol-Kalit and an Archbishop from the Radiant Church, to name a few. Wherever they would sail, great fanfare and the adulation of the crowds would follow, and each contest observed would take on an added fervour, its contestants fighting as much for the reverence of the crowd as that of the distinguished members onboard The Balance.

Each day would be dedicated to a different House holding a seat in the Merchant Council; as was only right and proper, since the tournament was largely funded by them. It was their way of paying back the industrious citizens of Alliria for the maintenance and dilligence that kept their fair and mighty metropolis running smoothly. Or, as some snarking scholars might have it, it was bread for the people, a practice often seen in Cerak At'thul, where the tyrannical grip of its rulers distracted its common folk with grand spectacles of intoxicating gore and violence.

Not so here. What violence would be put on display would be only from the most skilled and refined of fighters. The first day of the Tournament was the Day of Phlogis, honouring the oldest House to remain in the Merchant Council. As such, this would also be a day of equal praise for artists and those with sharpness of wit rather than steel, the most noteworthy artistic event being the Battle of Bards, held in the middle of the harbour on a raised platform, where it might command the most attention. In this event, artists from all over Arethil would compete on this scene, winning the hearts of the people, and whoever ended up with most wooden tokens by vote, would win the day as the penultimate bard. The prize was said to be a magical instrument of the winner's choosing, along with a bottle of supposedly unending alcohol. Enticing to many a wandering artist, for certain.

For those less interested in music, theatre and dance, tests of martial and physical skill were to be held in Allir Keep, allowing generous ground for running, jousting and fighting. After the joust, a running race and a melee, all taking place at the same time so the wandering audience could go to and fro, the main fighting event would take place. The Duel of Spellswords, a no bars held set of one-on-one combats between fighters who blended magic with martial prowess. The prize? Laced enchantments woven by the greatest guild mages of Alliria, empowering the winner's weapon to new heights, along with the title of Champion of Spellswords.

But even these monumental events paled in comparison to the main spectacle. If whispers could be believed, at the approach of dusk, a recreation of the Siege of Alliria would take place. Mutters and murmurs puzzled on how the terrifying dragon Geladryx, the Emerald Death, would be faithfully rendered. Some grand weaving of illusion magic by several hands? As a grand floating fabric to cover the whole tournament grounds? Or perhaps some captured beast for a truly visceral performance?

Only time would tell. But for now, every visitor could enjoy a free perusal of the thousands of stands, vendors, entertainers and minor contests, either making their way to witness the joust, race or melee in Allir Keep or the Battle of Bards in the centre of the harbour.

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OOC information:
There is information in the Discord channel called the Grand Tournament. Anyone is welcome to join here. Players should be visiting guests or competitors in one of the competitions, the main ones being the Duel of Spellswords and the Battle of Bards. I will probably throw in a few NPC contestants as well for players to compete against, but there is also space for player PvP in the martial/magic fight. Anyone who wants to engage in PVP, LET ME KNOW, and I will match you up against another player wanting the same. I have rules in place for PvP that will allow fights to be determined on a combination of complex rock-paper-scissor games and dice-rolling. Otherwise, feel free to freeform write how your character does in any other competition.

The tourney is more intended for player interactions and to meet new people, as well as introduce the members of the Merchant Council and those that plot against them. Feel free to make up little contests as you go. If it can be imagined, it's there.

Don't derail too much (like exploding the tournament faires with a fireball and causing panic) without asking first. This is an opportunity for characters across the divide to meet. If anyone is going to escalate this thread, it'll be me, and characters get to respond appropriately. Have fun!

 

[Afanas]

The thing about being seven feet and four inches tall, Afanas reflected, was that you could never quite achieve the sort of casual lean that shorter men managed so effortlessly against pillars. You ended up looking like a gargoyle that had gotten confused about which building it was meant to be haunting.

"Social anxieties," he repeated to Baelor, savoring the words like a particularly suspect vintage. "That's what the healers call it when a man would rather split heads with nothing but a butter knife than make small talk about the weather."

He surveyed the crowd with the expression of a man who has just discovered that the 'light refreshments' promised in the invitation involved things on sticks that weren't meat, and tiny sandwiches that could be eaten in one bite by anyone who hadn't been taught that food was meant to be *food*, not decoration.

"The council," Afanas continued, his voice carrying that particular tone reserved for discussing things that made perfect sense to everyone except the person actually having to do them, "believes my presence here serves as a 'deterrent.' Though what exactly I'm meant to be deterring, they were remarkably vague about. Bad fashion choices, perhaps?" He gestured at his own attire, which among the peacocking nobles stood out like a funeral director at a paint factory explosion.

"Or maybe they think someone might try to steal the tournament. The whole thing. Just... pick it up and walk off with it." The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "Though given some of the characters I've seen wandering about, I wouldn't entirely rule it out."

A servant glided past with a tray of those mysterious things-on-sticks. Afanas regarded them with deep suspicion. In his experience, if food needed to be impaled to stay in one place, it was probably trying to escape for good reason.

"Tell me, Marshall," he said, shifting slightly so his shadow fell across a particularly sunny patch of floor that had been bothering him, "at what point did killing people for the city become less important than standing around looking decoratively menacing at their parties? Because I seem to have missed that particular memo."

The truth was, Afanas thought but didn't say, that he understood exactly why he was here. The same reason a kingdom kept dragons, even tame ones. Not because they expected them to do anything useful at tea parties, but because everyone else knew they *could*. Even if the dragon in question would rather be anywhere else, possibly setting fire to something that actually deserved it.

He adjusted his stance minutely, achieving what he hoped was 'approachable but still capable of violence if the canapés get rowdy.'

"Right then," he said to Baelor. "Let's get this over with. And if anyone asks me to judge a poetry contest, I'm citing a medical emergency. Yours, specifically, because I'll have thrown you through a window."