[ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

[comtessedevelony]

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.

Comments

[comtessedevelony]

"I don't have designs on her virtue-" As if that's the hill to die on here. Narcisse sighs and fiddles with the key ring, pulling off one before handing the rest to Malcolm. The Iron Key remains, as Narcisse has palmed one of the slimmer, silver variants. "You'd best hold onto these, then. I don't think I can slip in a second time so quickly."

[tactical_alert]

A good tip on acting is for it to not be entirely fake. Malcolm takes the ring of keys, pockets it. Less jingling and jangling should he need to get the drop on someone than to hook it on his belt.

"Don't get too carried away. We are all still to be respectable persons come the morning."

[justice_is_blond]

Damn. From previous conversation, Anders is pretty sure that's not the key they wanted to follow. On the other hand, it means that Narcisse is even more unlikely a suspect and Anders is a little glad of that. Just because the man is a mess doesn't mean he's a criminal.

Anders meets Malcolm's gaze and gives a small nod. "I think we can manage to be respectable. I've faith in Narcisse." And with that, he's turning to the butler and giving a nod.

"Lead on. Let's have a pleasant end to the evening, shall we?"

FOR ANDERS

[comtessedevelony]

"But of course. A glass or two, nothing more." Maybe a bottle for himself, but- he manages one of his flourished bows before motioning for Anders to follow. He does head in the direction of the study- and just past, unlocking the wine cellar door with his own key. Down, down, and the smell of lye is...less this evening, to everyone's delight.

"You can almost smell the wood as you ought- how the maids are unable to find the source of the smell? I Do not know." But down the stairs they go to a room full of small casks of ale, wine, and cider- and row upon row of bottled wine. Just past the farmost shelf there is an odd space inthe stone, one Narcisse raps with his knuckles. "It is terribly secret, I know- but if you slide this key here-"

He does so, and there is a scrape of stone as it moves aside to reveal a door. "Marvelous, isn't it?"

[tactical_alert]

When the two slip into the darkness, they don't get too far--out of earshot, to be sure--before Malcolm motions for Milady to also come out of hiding. Gives her her orders: follow, protect. She'll get plenty of treats and care when all is said and done, but he's not sending Anders down completely alone. Quietly, she follows them down.

[justice_is_blond]

"The maids can't figure out where the lye scent comes from?" It's an echo of what Narcisse is saying, but he wants to be sure he's hearing what he thinks he is. That, and he wants to keep talking. He knows Milady is coming along, or supposed to be, and he doesn't have the greatest amount of faith in dogs being subtle. If he can cover for her, so much the better.

The door is indeed impressive, Anders looking at the way it blends in and already considering that there are probably other doors like this. If the maids can't find the scent, it's probably behind something hidden.

"Very. Do you know who made it? Because that's impressive work. I would have known something was off, but not what or how to get in."

[comtessedevelony]

"There is no reason for it- some say it might be in the mortar for the stone but...concrete mixtures use lime, not lye." How he knows that, well. Skipping over it. "This was here when the Estate was built- some sort of hiding place or another, a smuggler's den, there are many stories and...not a one of us knows the truth."

There is a moment where he considers the strangeness of this before shrugging and trotting along, leaving the door wide open behind him. Down narrow stairs till they end at a wide, dark room that takes a bit of clicking from his flint and steel before a warm, cheerful lantern is lit. Casks, yes, bottles, yes, and nothing odd in here.

[justice_is_blond]

He wonders if someone might actually know the truth, like the valet. On reflection, he realizes someone has to know if the scent comes and goes. That's the only way that can happen. It's another thing to mention later, and the list seems to get longer by the day.

At least the little room seems cheerful enough, and Anders takes a look around.

"It seems a decent space for working in."

[comtessedevelony]

"Storing. We don't do any work down here- too cold to stay for too long." There's a similar discoloration to the stone on the other side of the wall- and a vague, distant shuffling somewhere. Narcisse stops to frown, staring beyond one of the smaller casks. "What in the Maker's name- If we have rats down here..."

That'd be awful. Unthinkable-

Also really gross, so Narcisse ducks behind Anders, lamp outheld. "You deal with them."

[justice_is_blond]

"...You're hiding behind the mage." It's delivered in his most 'are you kidding me' voice, but at least he's no stranger to things moving about in dark places. He's a Warden. Anders casts, tossing paralysis glyphs on the ground. After a moment's thought, he's casting a thin sheet of ice along the walls, too, so that any cracks or moving parts will show right away.

"What are we going for here? Point it out, I'll grab it, or you can grab it while I protect you from the rats."

[comtessedevelony]

"You're a mage?" A night for revelations, really. Narcisse considers that for a moment, blearily peering thorugh the light.

No, not moving. This mage is fine, this mage is keeping him safe.

Though the strange discoloration on the one side of the room IS showing some cracks around it, similar to the door outside. "I don't SEE it I just- hear it!"

[justice_is_blond]

"I wear robes and carry a staff." How drunk is Narcisse all the time? That's a question for some other day when the ice isn't cracking, though.

"Take a couple of steps backward," Anders says quietly. "Back the way we came. There's someone coming in." He casts another glyph, this one directed a the spot on the wall that's showing cracks.

[comtessedevelony]

"I thought it some Fereldan twist of fashion! A sense of humor! A walking stick!" He huddles behind Anders, yelping at the sudden brush of a nose to the back of his knee-

"There is a DOG behind us-" And the sudden grating of stone. The light he'd left above? Goes dark. "And we have been shut in!"

At this rate? He might faint.

[justice_is_blond]

Shut in. It sends a sense of panic through him as he grabs his staff, grip going tight. It's all walls and it's dark and he doesn't know the way out. The only thing that's lacking are the cold weight of metal around his wrists. Everything starts going small and narrow as his breathing speeds up, despite how he tries to fight the rising fear.

"I, we need to, we need..." Think. He needs to think. It's not Templars. He's not back in a cell. They need light and that, at least, he can do, tossing up a wisp and letting it provide a little illumination.

"Out. How do you... it unlocks from this side? In case? Please." His hands feel shaky and his heart is pounding in his chest. All Anders wants to do is crouch down but he can't. He can't.

FOR MALCOLM

[comtessedevelony]

Half an hour- perhaps more- after the butler and Anders away with the silver Key- a figure, hooded, cloaked, and formless slinks down the hall to stop before Valery's room.

[tactical_alert]

He says nothing, barely even breathes, watching from his shadowed spot as before. He still has the keys, and the door was locked by the butler before--now that there's a change in this regular schedule, he waits and observes, first.

[comtessedevelony]

They try the door- and nothing. The knob turns until the latch catches and the set of their shoulders goes tight- this isn't how it is supposed to go. Their shadowed hood swings down the hallway in either direction, as though the answer would be there.

[tactical_alert]

He's just every so slightly starting to regret sending Milady off. Inessa had wanted to be his backup, but she's got her own mission of import.

Time for dramatic shadowy entrance #2 electric boogaloo: "Looking for something?"

[comtessedevelony]

No word, no warning- just a slide of wood on leather and a wide sudden swing- the figure twists and lashes out at Malcolm, something glinting in the dark goes spiraling off in an arc- the head of a hatchet. It buries itself in Valery's door with a wooden thud but oh, the haft still swings for Malcolm.

[tactical_alert]

What kind of weapon is a hatchet to bring around?! He's not stupid enough to be completely unarmed--though now he's kind of wishing he'd brought his sword.

He's certainly glad that head missed him, though the wooden handle, despite being far less deadly thanks, is still hefty. He brings up an arm to block, and damn it stings.

With the other arm, he reaches to pull his dagger. Pushes ahead through the pain to try and close the gap. He's got to get that damned hood off somehow.

[comtessedevelony]

For the first time since their arrival, the Orlesian Masks make an appearance. Dark and carved ornately in the semblance of a hawk, when the hood falls free the mask glints faintly. The figure lunges, a beak thrusting at Malcolm from the darkness as the figure attempts to headbutt Mal and misses, grazing Malcolm's temple-

But under the cloak a hand skitters in quick, jostling Mal's ribs, a hand grasps the outside of his pocket and finds The Keys. There's a triumphant grunt- but they cannot pull them away.

[tactical_alert]

Damn right they can't. Malcolm dodges the beak just so, only to feel a hand feeling him for--the bloody keys, naturally.

(Damned beak could take out an eye if he's not careful--)

This close, he takes a shot to grab, at the arms, upper, shoulders, and heaves his knee upward, aiming for groin or, failing that, the gut.

[comtessedevelony]

The grapple is SUPER EFFECTIVE- arms caught, unable to twist away from a strong knee to the gut winding them, the figure struggles. Something fumbles, a dagger in the palm, haft of the hatchet abandoned. There's a slice and a twist as they heave backward and yank-

hard enough to tear the key ring free from his pocket from where the'd cut the shirt already. Prize in hand they attempt to break free, whirling to sprint for the hall should they manage.

[tactical_alert]

This is a very resillient person, and he's not prepared for them to spring back up with a dagger. His own can't move fast enough before the blade is through his shirt, the edge kissing his flesh, and they are deft enough with it to pull the keys as though he'd offered them out on his finger.

Malcolm pulls back, trying to get out of the way lest he get the blade under his ribs, only then hearing the clink of keys now missing. With renewed distance, his prey starts down the hall.

The Seeker does what the Seeker does best--to seek. The warmth of blood oozing from the wound doesn't so much as make him blink. He's had far worse. Malcolm takes off after in a merry chase. (It's tempting to make a ruckus, to rouse the house, but he doesn't know who all is in on this. If others arrive that are not on his side? It could get messy.)

[comtessedevelony]

Down the corridor and to the left, shutting the study door behind them. Voices on the inside, a jingling of keys-

'No time, shove a chair under the knob-'

screech like wood on a stone floor, probably the aforementioned chair. Clicks and the voices go distant- and there is a sound like thudding potatoes being dragged ever downward.