( closed ) No longer I can justify the bloodshed in his name

[fightingale]

WHO: Leliana & various closed threads (for now - open stuff later)
WHAT: Wicked Grace night goes horribly wrong and Leliana is kind of dying
WHEN: forward dated to the night of the 22nd, post-assassination attempt
WHERE: Leliana's creepy Rookery chamber place
NOTES:
1. Pretentious images in the main post and starters in the comments because I'm a bit ridiculous.

2. Content warning for attempted murder/violence/poison/all that implies.

3. Party style threading is welcome and encouraged, it might make it a bit easier to discuss side matters after the initial discovery.

4. This will probably open up for including other threads and stuff that can be forward dated, but initially just closed.

5. There will be some terrible poetry in here and I'm not even sorry; it is only one in a series that will be left around Skyhold and will be posted later. Belle, Jansen & Libby are beautiful humans for enduring my rambles.

Comments

[ombranera]

"Yes." Zevran answers from the door, leaving the more in depth investigation to those better suited. There are details he could note that relate more to the hows and whys- finding them? Will not be something he can do as well as men with both of their eyes.

[obi_wanmanshow]

Obi-Wan was neither so hurried nor so particular as Mister Holmes; he was asked to be here on no specific qualification, only the general weight of reputation, and his own history. Better not to rush in, but nor did he dawdle, only paused by the door to take in the room at large.

He touches Zevran's shoulder in passing, a gentle solidarity, delivered with firm eyes and a sober countenance as if to say, hang in there.

It was a deceptively large room, despite the narrowness of the floorspace. Wide gap in the middle, easy egress though it made for a difficult entry-point. Desk, candles, a multitude of small boxes and books and the little shrine to Leliana's chosen religious figure. Two of the ravens come winging down to greet him, landing on the banister before hopping up his politely offered arm and onto a shoulder, while the other opted to perch there and have his head scratched. Obi-Wan watches Sherlock peruse the ground where Leliana had lain, a notion slowly coalescing behind his eyes, if only he could grasp it.

"Curious," He murmurs, frowning thoughtfully, "There's something missing here."

But what?

[seesobserves]

There is little to note about the patch of floor in itself, but positioning himself there gives Sherlock the opportunity to look at it from that perspective. What was the context under which she fell?

The cards on the table catch his attention first. A neat little stack — too neat, too deliberate. He stands, setting the candle on the table and picking up the cards by the edges. The nug motif prompts only a brief raise of an eyebrow.

He thumbs through the cards, fanning them out as Obi-Wan greets the ravens, and when the comment comes about something missing:

"Yes, there is," he agrees. He glances toward the shrine, gears turning in his head, already looking for other details.

[aeipathos]

Athos is neither interested in providing support, nor in large gestures. He is here almost as an error, in as far as he's concerned. He's not proven himself as yet in this respect - which only means that he's either here currently either to do the same or out of spite for the lack of such things. He has yet to determine which, as of yet.

Something missing, sure. He is not yet certain he's familiar enough with this place to ascertain. He's a bit more concerned with other aspects, as interested as he is with what is being pointed out.

"How does the room tend to smell?" He can't imagine 'decaying fowl' tends to be the odor in which the advisor tends to spend her time, but still. Who knows?

No one seems to as yet have accepted the papers being held, and as his compatriots have such a solid grasp of the room, Athos moves instead towards the elf, a passively polite gesture that nonetheless indicates he would like to take possession of whatever papers it is that she currently holds.

[fightingale]

It is of quiet interest to Bonheur that these are the men the Nightingale indicated as being persons of interest during an emergency. A Rifter, a Chevalier, and a man who supposedly leant aid to the City Guard of Amaranthine and sought no glory or credit, which was interesting in and of itself.

She is, however, uncertain what it is that Master Kenobi and Alchemist Holmes detect as out of place. "The furniture is as it was. No chairs have been moved."
Her tone is not dismissive, simply... puzzled, and she hands the papers over to the Chevalier with no hesitation. They are seeing something she is not, she's certain. Or, perhaps more accurately, detecting the absence of something she is not.

A shake of her head, and she squares her shoulders before answering. "Honey, at times, from the beeswax candles. Roses or lavender, rarely." A hesitant pause. "The nugs," Bonheur finally admits, and points to their basket, "have a certain smell." Not a bad one, but definitely a smell.

[seesobserves]

Roses. The floral theme is already making itself apparent, but before Sherlock goes making any proclamations, he wants to be more certain. Athos takes the papers, and Sherlock moves to hover over the Chavalier's shoulder, extending one hand to touch the edge of the pages himself, angling them subtly toward his face.

[obi_wanmanshow]

While the rest of the party busies itself with a more cerebral look at the issue at hand, Obi-Wan fixates on that word. The nugs-- the nug cards, the little much-savaged stuffed toy Nug halfway caught between the desk and the wall it abutts, and the very real and not-present nugs. If this were his own world, there would be a sweep for electronic surveillance measures, and more, but here there are only living means of witness; people, and...

"Hm," Obi-Wan says, and crosses the room to the sweet little basket, low to the ground, softly furnished with a lovely hand-made blanket, garnished liberally with a variety of entertainments suitable for the clever, loyal sort of nug Leliana favored, "Did you have much trouble moving them? They can be quite stubborn."

He'd met those nugs, you see, and they did not take kindly to simply being bundled off-- they were sweet, gentle creatures most of the time, but once you'd earned a grudge from them, their vengeance was neverending. The raven riding his shoulder quorked conversationally in response, then hopped to the floor when he bent down to examine the basket itself.

"Ah, now this is interesting," He told the room at large, and turned around holding a mangled, toothmarked boot with two fingers. The heel had been torn completely away, and the insole, before whatever poor foot used to be inside had escaped, "I don't know that anyone in here with permission would have to consider the loyalty of nugs when they-- there."

He pointed, by the door, practically under Zevran's feet. Now that one thought to look for the footsteps of a nug-harried interloper, the blood on the doorjamb, incompletely concealed, seemed obvious. It's hard to cover your tracks with two or three nugs competing for which of them wants to take your fingers off.

[ombranera]

"And to think the smith told me nugs have no fighting spirit." He crackled a soft laugh, a thin, strained thing- his sister lay injured and Maker only knows if there is a cure for this, as much as he wished to see her well? He knew better than to hope. Finding who did this and killing them back, now. That was where he might spend his focus.

Zevran stood aside for ease of focus, peering down at the blood. "Delightfully toothy little shits, are they not?"

[obi_wanmanshow]

"Only a fool would consider anything of Leliana's as if it were entirely harmless," Obi-Wan replied, still examining the bedraggled boot in a distracted way. It was far too large to belong to Leliana herself, of course, and Obi-Wan was far from possessing a complete knowledge of her scouts and locally available informants.

A man's boot, this. He set it carefully on an unoccupied stretch of banister.

"A man leaving the tower with only one boot might attract someone's attention, if there was anyone to see him."

[seesobserves]

While he was reading, Sherlock grazed the paper with his fingertips, before bringing them to his nose and giving a sniff. Perfume. Roses again.

"If being the operative word." By now, he had more than enough to start down a probable path. He turned to address Bonheur:

"Scout. What has the Lady Nightingale ever told you about the Thorns of the Rose?"

Sorry for the hold up, was just pausing to see if anyone else was leaping in ;u;

[fightingale]

Bonheur, to her credit, doesn't let her brows hitch up at the sight of the blood - much. There is a comment on the tip of her tongue, and she is making a note to spread word to the other scouts and eyes and ears of missing boots and blood when the Alchemist asks her a question.

"Nothing, sir." A pause, then, to make sure as she has a moment of doubt. "Rather... Rather she has mentioned them, but only their rumoured existence. Nothing more that I can think of." She chews the inside of her cheek. "Do you want me to bring any of the others to you? Regarding the boot or the Thorns of the Rose?"