faderift | [ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

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[ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

WHO: Herian, Anders, Issana, Velanna, Pam, Malcolm
WHAT: A series of disappearances in the Orlesian countryside has culminated in the vanishment of some of the Inquisition's own scouts. A team has been sent to investigate the estate of one Comtesse Eléonore Vaillant de Veloney.
WHEN: Over the span of 4 days in the 2nd week of Harvestmere.
WHERE: Estate of Comtesse Eléonore Vaillant de Veloney
NOTES: Trauma, gore, dark themes, homicide, pretentious wine usage, other things not labeled as to avoid spoilers.

Welcome to the Estate

It is a terrible misfortune, all these disappearances- but with a civil war on and all this strange Venatori and Red Templar activity- with the rifts in the countryside? People simply not appearing where they ought is a sad reality. Nothing to be done for it. That such an esteemed noblewoman has found herself unjustly accused simply due to her wealth and prosperity? Cannot stand. Comtesse de Veloney invited the Inquisition herself to investigate her manor and put the matter to rest- they are to be afforded all the cooperation and respect imaginable.

Even the mages. Even the elves.

They are met at the gate by a veritable delegation of footmen led by the Gardener and Tanner to see them inside and out of the stormy, dreary weather. Packs are secreted off to rooms (a lovely set of suites in the east wing if the Steward does say so herself), baths drawn (The Comtesse insists, it's been just dreadful and they've come all this way), and a lavish banquet prepared.

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"I-" She stammers somewhat, the hand wringing slowing to a stop. Dogs aren't something often seen in the Estate- aside from the birds and the hogs there aren't many animals that don't end up on the dinner table. Still-

What's the harm? Clara gracefully settles on her knees, skirts tucked neatly behind her as to not cause anyone to trip. A single gloved hand is extended, gently brushing against her ears. "She's lovely."

"A marvelous creature, quite striking. Especially when she stands with her master." The door had slipped open in the interim, the Comtesse leaning against the frame, hair damp and unbound, falling around her shoulders in dark waves. Clad in naught but a filmy robe of dark crimson lace that leaves a modest amount to the imagination, sheer enough to show her arms and collar, to show her legs and perhaps the first rise of her chest. Fond and warm, she murmurs. "If you'd like the rest of the evening for yourself, Clara-"

"No! No I'm-" She snaps to her feet, whirling to face the Comtesse. "We should-"

"I can mind myself for one night. You work so hard to take care of me, a little time for yourself to rest cannot hurt. I am also certain the Seeker has questions." Dark eyes flick to Malcolm- dragging over the breadth of his shoulders, the lean certainty of his frame.

Milady is very happy to being given attention! By people the master seems to think is all right. She is lovely, thank you very much. She's about to show just how overly friendly and enthusiastic she can be when she's given permission except the Comtesse is there and the Valet practically leaps to her feet.

Malcolm can't not look, but he doesn't let his gaze linger anywhere inappropriate. Unlike the Comtesse, who does give the impression of wanting to eat him up. He can't say he had so much relaxed in the interaction, but now he's tensed up, back straight, not terribly unlike how he had found Clara. A dip of his head. "I mean not to intrude, Comtesse. If she has other duties to attend to, do not let me interrupt. The same, of course, goes for you."

"Not at all. I can braid my hair and go over my ledger for tomorrow well enough on my own. Goodnight, Clara." She offers with a lift of her brows to the Valet who looks as though she might protest for a moment more before bowing.

A quick little dip of a curtsy. "Lady. Seeker. Milady."

The last to the very fine hound- and a moment's indulgence as she ruffles her ears with a half flicker of a smile before she slips back down the hall to her own chambers. Leaving Malcolm and Milady alone outside the Comtesse' room. She steps to the side and gestures within. "Come, sit. I'll send for a tray of tea and something for your Lady."

A slight bow to Clara, and a nod of thanks to the Comtesse as he crosses the threshold. This is not how he anticipated talking one on one with her, but no complaints here. "I confess, the name confuses her at times if I speak too quickly in referring to someone as 'my Lady'. The only female of the litter; it seemed fitting." He's not one to generally make himself at home, even when he's told to, so he'll remain standing for now, taking in the room with a keen eye. "I'll be sure she stays out of your way."

He even considers the door, licking his lips in thought before turning his attention back. "Your valet was reluctant to leave you. I understand you two are so very close, in comparison to the rest of the staff, but she seems almost unusually close. Is she so worried over you?"

"She is a lovely Lady at that." The Comtesse offers, closing the door behind. Privacy for the moment in her chambers. The tub, still steaming, remains as a great brass monolith near the burning hearth, the rest of her parlor better suited to actual company. A chaise, a bench, a few chairs surround a low table where a bottle of the Estate's wine rests with a single glass.

She passes by to fetch a second from the sideboard. "She worries after my health. When she first came on, Frederic was becoming ill and I wasn't faring terribly well either. When he passed..."

Her voice trails off, soft and somber. "When he passed I was beside myself with grief for a time. He was a good man, my Frederic. I loved him dearly. It is not often a woman of my class is saved from an unfavorable future in the Imperium. I owe him a great deal for bringing me to Orlais. But those five years- the few months after- I was not well. She worries after my health."

With a short hand signal, Milady finds a nice cozy spot out of the direct way to lay down. Good view of the room. Warm room. Bunch of smells.

"You were likewise ill? Not, I assume, with the same wasting affliction. My apologies for your loss, no matter how late they come."

Malcolm finally decides to take up the offer to sit, one of the chairs by the table. "It can't be easy, even after all this time, to be a woman of the Imperium in the middle of Orlais, and so successful. No doubt this is not the first serious accusation against you and your estate." Whether she has magic or not, it wouldn't make any difference. Truly there are some strange things going on, even dangerous things, but if they don't find evidence of their people soon, they may have to broaden their search.

Cardamom and rose oil, wine, ashes in the hearth, and under it all? The barest threads of lye. "The very same- though it did not affect me quite so deeply. He was a proud man, Frederic. 'Never let them see you flinch'. With the Grand Game as it is- he feared appearing vulnerable. As far as the Court was aware he was healthy as can be. Only we knew he languished."

She pulls a cord, a soft scuffling in the hall speaks of a maid on the way. For a moment her head's poked out the door, ordering the aforementioned refreshments for the Seeker. When she returns she pours them both a glass of wine, though Malcolm's lingers on the table for him to take or leave as he chooses. Eléonore lounges on the chaise, hand under her cheek, sipping her wine. "Some days it's easy to forget he's gone- others it is too easy for me to remember. Clara helps should I become confused."

Another reason she doesn't leave the estate. The Court would have a field day with her brief fugues if they knew. "When he first brought me back there were the usual accusations. Blood magic. That I was some manner of witch or temptress to catch his attention. That he was my blood thrall. That I killed him for his Estate and his money. When people began to go missing in the area it was only a matter of time- hence my invitation and insistence that we cooperate. You will find your people, Seeker, and if we can help? We will."

"You are lucky, then, to not have gone the same way as your husband. Pardon my prying, but was it perhaps something native to the area? Something that spread? A plague, of sorts? That you should both have it seems an unfortunate coincidence."

And it may be nothing, but details can make all the difference. It was suggested that it was something he picked up in Tevinter, after all. He is no healer, but it might be wise to consult someone like Anders if he might know what to do with such details.

The wine he will take. As at dinner, he has little fear of overindulgence on that point. A little wine killed no one (when not poisoned, something to very occasionally worry about in Orlais).

"I also must ask a question I have asked others, that you have perhaps gotten a few times before, but forgive the vagueness of it. If there is anything at all you can remember in the past few weeks or months that has been unusual, out of the ordinary, strange in a way you cannot explain--surely if something obvious had come to mind you would have let us know, but in this busy time, with upped production, with refugees, if there is anything you can recall that might stand out as particular..."

"Something in the water where we stopped on the border perhaps- I am no healer, nor did any we bring in offer us a cure or an answer. Clara found an herbal tea that seemed to help us both for a time before the illness struck my husband soundly." It's- she doesn't have an answer. She doesn't know why it happened the way it did, why she only had five years with him. But they were as wonderful as they could possibly make for one another-

And she can ask for nothing more, save perhaps that she might find him when she walks at the Maker's side.

The Comtesse's eyes go distant for a moment at the question- anything odd, anything strange. "The girls don't write."

A small detail, but one that lingers. "They've no need to, I'm a former employer, I arrange their matches with Clara, I send them to a better life but- they do not write me, they do not write the friends they have left behind. They don't write their families. A few have contacted me asking after them- girls I thought I had sent home in the past few months. I thought, perhaps, they had found somewhere safe as the war is on and traveling isn't easy but...more than that? The Chevalier some time ago. His horse is still in our stable but I asked no payment for him to remain here for the night, only his word that he would cause no trouble to the surrounding area."

She sets her wine aside and stands, moving to a bookcase. Several tomes on Tevinter literature are put aside, from behind? A smaller journal. "Other things- I have difficulty recalling them but I make note when I can. Noises in the hall, Valery commenting on some extra key when there are only twelve to the house, Maids complaining of the cellar smelling like lye- we haven't had to order minerals for our ashes we spread in the garden for months. Roland says we produce what we need and more besides but- I am no gardener, Ser. There is something strange in this house, there has always been something strange in this house."

Of course the Comtesse was suspect. She is the lady of the house, the queen of the estate, the head of the business. But that she so freely states the odd things that others have mentioned? That she has no knowledge of Valery's extra key that supposedly appeared after the Comte's death? Her own curiosity on how there are barrels and barrels of food for the garden? Keeping a notebook filled with oddities?

(That, for all her pretenses, she is a quiet, reserved individual with an occasionally addled mind?)

Malcolm stands and moves to her side. "I should like to take a look, if it's all right with you. Some of these accounts I've heard from others, some I have not."

Another lick of his lips, and Milady raises her head at the tense scene. "Comtesse. Even with cursory questions, it's become clear that the strange things in this house are numerous and distressing. Naturally, for an accusation as terrible as this, you will want not to consider it, but I urge you--consider. With everything that goes on here that you know of--with everything that goes on that you do not know of--is it possible that some unfortunate fate may have befallen our scouts on your grounds?"

"Of course. Anything I have noticed in the past ten years is here. I did not begin to keep track until after Frederic passed- I..." Book offered, her eyes go dark, sad. "I was not certain whether or not I would follow him."

Through illness or her own hand- it was difficult to tell. But she has endeavored to do well for his legacy. To do right by him and their people. Her fingers brush against his for a moment in the passing, jarring her out of the dark memory. "Keep it. This will be of more use to you than me. Ignatia and I have had suspicions but- no proof. I may pay their wages and provide for their lives but keeping a secret from one's employer- it is a universal practice, is it not? I do not...I do not think they were ever on the Estate. Loup reported seven figures with your crest at the boundary one night but I heard nothing else. But if they are here- I would follow Clara. As strange as this house has been to me? She has ever been comfortable, ever been certain. It is only when you arrived to ask questions that she became uncertain. I do not wish to think of her having a hand in anything but if there is one thing I know well from Tevinter it is this: Even those closest to you may happily put a dagger to your throat if it suits their purpose."

And a dark night for dark memories it is. He takes the book, gentle, doesn't deign to open it and pour through it right in front of her. It will prove...interesting reading in the morrow.

That the Comtesse suspects her own valet, the one closest to her? (The one, if he had to pick one of this menagerie so far, that has moved to the top of his suspect list from merely talking to the woman?) Makes this all the more interesting. And serious.

Just because she heard nothing more does not mean nothing happened. Certainly more than one could be involved. The (former?) Crow gardener, for one. The butcher and her ornery nature. And if nothing happened to them on the estate grounds, something could have happened off them.

"Has she any reason that you can think of? A motive to do...anything against the Inquisition or to anyone around you? To you?"

"Ignatia has long suspected she had a hand in my husband's death. I do not wish to think her capable of it but- he picked her out of Halamshiral's alienage. A human girl, living there? I know what that means- and if it were ever a question, his calling her a 'habit' once was more than enough. I never let him say as much again as it is a poor and cruel joke." Half human, half rabbit. Habbit. Frederic was terribly Orlesian, after all. "A lady needs a Valet, he said, and she'd supposedly worked for one of the noble houses of Halamshiral before we employed her. Men were...unkind to her, there. Such things have never happened in this Estate, I made certain she was treated well. She has been treated well."

This is Clara's home as much as it is the Comtesse's, but resentments can linger. "For the Inquisition- I do not know. She knows I support your work, I cannot imagine she'd think bringing them harm would be to our benefit or yours."

"...Thank you for being frank and open about this. I understand that this must all be painful, digging up old wounds and secret suspicions. I fear," he adds more from politeness than anything, lest this night get any darker, "that I may have ruined your bath."

"I have tried to find answers on my own but...every time I feel as though I've come close it's slipped from my fingers. I only know something is odd when I read what is in that book." She taps it gently, resting her hand on his. "Ignatia tries to remind me when she can but- it does not do for a Lady of the Estate to linger in her kitchens with the Help. Your being here- it means I am not imagining things. That there is an answer. That you will find it."

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[ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

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