CLOSED: HALAMSHIRAL - THE DISPUTE

[faderifting]

WHO: Adelaide, Andra, Bellamy, Cyril, Inessa, Jehan
WHAT: A team of Inquisition agents mediate a dispute between nobles
WHEN: Late Solace
WHERE: The estate of Baroness Vondelet, about a day's ride outside Halamshiral
NOTES: No tag order! Will be GMed. Starts with a single thread but a separate group may be split off to complete an additional objective later depending on how things develop.

The ball is a small one, a dozen or so nobles--none more elevated than a comte--from this region just outside of Halamshiral and their relatives and guests, even some wealthy and prominent local merchants, hoping to marry their children into a title. It's held in the home of Baroness Vondelet, a tasteful (by Orlesian standards) mansion with a ballroom not quite large enough for the party, which spills out the wide doors onto the garden terrace to chatter and fan themselves and find respite from the close, overheated air of a space packed with both people and candles.

The Inquisition's presence has drawn definite attention, a subject of whispers and speculation, and a lot of dance cards presented in front of faces in hopes of securing the bragging rights over their fellows. Support is more common than disapproval in those met in the crowd, but uncertainty or apathy are stronger than either. Orlesians have many other concerns at present, and it's not clear so far that the Inquisition is something they ought to care about. Mages and elves will, when noticed at all, occasion the usual distrust, disdain, and confusion, but nobody has made a scene just yet.

Comments

THE MEETING

[faderifting]

Dancing and and gossiping and arranging marriages are not the only objects of the evening. It is also an excuse to discreetly bring together two local lords whose dispute over a strip of land has begun to turn heated, with guards on the border and brief skirmishes threatening to interrupt the looming harvest. It's not a huge tract, but it contains several prosperous farms and a village of about a thousand. Inquisition agents were invited to come mediate, perhaps as much out of curiosity as anything.

In the time between arriving at the party and being ushered down a hall to a quiet, wood-paneled room with a broad table--a couple hours at most--you have managed to gain some information about the two lords in question. It's easy to get the basics from observation alone, and there are always people willing to gossip behind their fans at gatherings like these.

Baron Luc Delevigne is both well-known and popular, greeting everyone in the crowd with a smile and some remembered personal detail that rarely fails to impress and endear. He's an excellent dancer and his card is filled in minutes despite being a few years past his prime and (by all accounts happily) married. He is apparently related to more than a few people in the room, and you get the impression that this is only scratching the surface of his extended family, with one local tittering that there must be a Delevigne in every great house in the county. He subtly refuses to take any glass of wine or bite of food offered by a servant who is elven rather than human, nose crinkling in distaste when others elect not to share his scruples.

Baron Pierre-Henri Brunet is one of those who is happy to eat his sweetmeats from any source, and one gets the impression that even the floor might be counted sufficient, so voracious is his appetite for the tiny curls of pastry and prawn on offer. He is ostentatiously dressed, though several who grumble about the extreme gaudiness of his attire can also be heard to remark that at least he is the richest man in the room, as it would be even less tasteful were he not. He seems excessively proud of the fact that the section of Imperial Highway that runs through his property is the best maintained in Orlais, and spends more time than seems possible discussing in detail how he manages this with any man willing to listen.

Neither man seems entirely at ease when the three Inquisition representatives are ushered into the room, but neither looks about to bolt, either. Delevigne lounges in a velvet-backed chair and watches with deceptively keen eyes over his tumbler while Brunet splashes brandy into his mustache as he harrumphs, but also settles into a seat at the table.

"Well," he says, bristley as his facial hair, "Let's get on with it!"

"I believe what my neighbor here meant to say," Delevigne supplies, "Is that perhaps we could all spare ourselves lengthy introductions and proceed to business, that we might return to the party sooner."

[fleurdesel]

"Let's." Squabbling teenagers, disputing Orlesian noblemen- Adelaide has more experience with the former than the latter but somehow she thinks that, perhaps, the teens might have been more reasonable. Having some manner of authority to put weight to her efforts had certainly made things a great deal simpler. Now there is only the Inquisition's authority so much as it is respected, her own name (all the more reason for keeping to the house colors, the mask, the signet ring), and the combined efforts of those who have come not to drink or dance but to settle this pissing contest.

An unkind thought but- bless the masks for hiding her expression. Bless Jehan for volunteering to translate whatever it is that needs saying or whatever it is they hear to and from pompous buffoonery. Adelaide fears she isn't quite fluent in that particular bullshit dialect just yet.

Much as she would for the teens in the Spire, Adelaide levels both of the men with an implacable gaze, voice flat, clipped, but civil. "State your grievances as honestly and succinctly as possible."

[samahl]

Cyril had been enjoying the party, despite himself. He had mingled with guests and had even been requested to dance by a handful. He was fully aware that they saw him as a bit of an oddity and there was a certain level of 'get as close to the Dalish so we can giggle about how well spoken he was later' to the whole thing.

Still, once he was in the room with the two men and the members of the Inquisition he seemed at ease with the whole thing. Comfortable, despite being around men who thought of him as little more than a beast.

He is interested in what they have to say, so rather than adding to Adelaide's request for information he watches the two men from behind his sliver mask and stays still as they speak.

[circleprodigy]

As much as Inessa would prefer her armor, especially in Orlais, she'll take the strong recommendation to arrive in something else. She sports a delicate half-mask, and her deep blue dress is a sharp contrast to the pastels everywhere. Even when her entire attire can't speak of the Grey Wardens, she'll retain a signet ring and griffon pendant to underscore her order regardless. As an elf and a mage, she already knows there's potential for an incident based on Orlesian distrust of both. By making it clear where her affiliation stands, Inquisition aside, she hopes avoid one. Any muttered slurs or disdainful glances sent her way are completely ignored; she won't give the elite the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.

Having spoken with the elven servants, figuring that those most invisible will likewise have the most to share, Inessa discreetly sizes up the two lords now that they've all gathered. The impressions given seem to match what she was told, and if she has any other thoughts on the matter, she keeps them to herself for now. Her expression remains politely neutral, neither subservient nor challenging, and she observes the Orlesian humans of their group taking the lead, knowing its best under the circumstances. The Grand Game and all its intricacies are only vaguely known to her, so she doesn't want to endanger their goal by rushing in ahead.

[nonsibi]

As it has turned out, Orlais is the worst, and Gwen was right. Bellamy isn't good at politics or delicate conversations. He's also not very good at wearing a mask, which is a new irritant to deal with. As hard as he's trying for composure, when he loses his concentration, he's prone to pushing at the mask with vague dissatisfaction.

But mostly he keeps it together. This isn't his scene, so he stands as close to the door as he's able, arms folded. Silent but still listening.

[apologist]

Jehan isn't wearing a mask. This is ironic, maybe--he's one of two actual Orlesians in the party, he grew up wearing them, and he'd be perfectly comfortable doing so now--but before anyone thinks it's unfair, the trade-off is that he's wearing Chantry robes, unflattering to everyone in both cut and color but particularly men and particularly redheads. How he suffers.

But donning a mask and vestments at the same time would earn him more side-eyes than not--which is to say far fewer side-eyes than the elves in attendance, but if they're already being improper he isn't going to add to it.

"A quick overview would help us identify what information we do need," he appends to Lady LeBlanc's command, softer and more affably. "We understand these matters can be quite complicated."