faderift | [ 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Good." The Butcher squares her shoulder, bobbing her meaty chin once. "Good. I can trust her to take pride in what I do. Just wish the coin purse was a little more open. A few more sovereigns a month and I could really get things going here."

The hog snuffles at the Butcher's hip only to be bumped back. "You've had your fill, Boyd. Go back to your pen."

Boyd huffs and snuffles over at Herian instead, black beady eyes curious. Food? Food.

Herian looks at the pig for a moment, unmoved by his pleas. Her hands, held folded before her a moment before, open with the palms facing the hog so he can see she has nothing. "Sincere apologies," she tells him with her odd kind of seriousness, before looking back to the butcher.

Ah. "I realise I presumed to speak without introducing myself. Heriam Amsel, formerly of the Starkhaven alienage." Her smile is faint, but what of it can be seen is a little crooked. "In such places you appreciate the value of coin in ways others might not. If 'twould not bother you I would be more than glad to lay down some gentle words that your mistress might consider? If you'd rather not, of course, I shall not press."

Boyd presses his snout into one open palm then the other, huffing before he trots off to an open pen filled with eight other equally fat, equally clean hogs.

The commentary of where the girl's come from has Gabriella turning to offer her an equally beady eye, her Ander accent thickening. "If you think it will help? I won't stop you. But all the promises in the world hasn't gotten her or her Clara to budge an inch. But they throw all kinds of coin at the Cook."

For spices, for produce, nevermind what it's FOR, it's not coming to her. And that ought to change. "Maybe she'd listen if it came from one of you lot. Put plenty of faith in the Inquisition putt'n a stop to the war, she has."

"Cooks add pretty flourishes," Herian agrees, "but they could not do all they do without you. I can make no promises, but I will do my best - I give you my word on that."

And, a very slight smile. "Is there any other matter you'd like to be made mention of, if I can capture her attention?"

"Yeah- Loupe. He don't ask for any help, he just does the work as he's told- but it isn't just tanning he handles. All those little gloves we stitch and sell? If he didn't get the leather so thin we'd never have them to sell. If he didn't figure out how to do that?" Pff. "So let her know the ones breaking their backs doing the real work? Would like a little something extra come week's end, maybe. So we know we're appreciated."

Herian's eyebrows raised, impressed. "Skilled work. My father worked with leather, himself." She does not continue, and it is the simple fact that her father remains a tender topic, one exposed and rubbed raw with the time spent in that Dalish camp, the blade pressed to her skin—

"Anything I can do to help shall be done." If her voice sounds, just for a moment, a little raw? Be merciful, and ignore it. "We all of us benefit from knowing that which we pour so much of ourselves into is given due worth."

"Makes it thin and fine enough for any of the ladies to embroider easily- no need for leather needles or special equipment." It is no small wonder the ladies of Orlais have come to covet the gloves quite so dearly. "All he's done, all I've done? It's the real backbone of this estate."

She sets her cleaver aside, pulling out a slimmer, skimming knife to trim fat off the shank. "Putting a good word in for us is mighty kind. What's in it for you? Trying to smooth things over with the Comtesse?"

"So far as I know I've no need to make amends for any ill. Our relationship is amicable enough."

Ha ha ha.

However, she does tilt her head in acknowledgement. "We are here to investigate what happened to our people; I'd hoped you might be able to tell me what you might have seen or heard, on the night the sightings were reported."

"Nothing." She hauls over another shank, hacking at the joint. "I'm abed at that time of night. Gotta get up early to carve the meat to feed this mess."

"I can only imagine."

Still, she watches intently. "Have you heard any rumours? Noticed anyone behaving strangely around the estate? Changing their routines, going places they might not, normally?"

"No one wandering where they shouldn't but you lot. Poking around, putt'n us behind our quota. We got pounds of work that needs to be done and we're mincing about answering your questions instead." Whack, the cleaver shears through another knob of bone, muscle, and fat.

"Am I to believe that if those you work with went missing that you'd not devote time to searching for them?'

Herian watches carefully, watching the butcher to see if there are any tells in her expression, the way she moves, though her gaze briefly scans the room to see if there might be any more tangible clues to look to. "We search with the Comtesse's blessing."

"We ain't got 'em here, so you can poke and you can ask but you're not going to find them." Nothing of them to find, they were at the hedges, they left. "Pff. If Ignatia and Edgar were gone? Not even a little."

"But Loupe?"

He had seemed to be a friend to her, or at least one she respected as a colleague, if nothing else.

"Wouldn't go missing. He's a tracker, a huntsman, a tanner. Find his way through the Hissing Wastes with a star and a bit of string if he needed to." Still. "IF he went missing? I'd worry."

[ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

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