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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

Dragged sack of potatoes, like Tess said--

He's not going to be shoving his way through with bodily force. Thankfully for Malcolm, he took a tour. He knows of the Comte's fascination with weaponry. Perhaps things would have been better if he'd brought his sword with him...but he has plenty to choose from right here in the hall.

Hefting one off the wall, he takes one swinging hack at the doorknob, a second. Number three lops off the doorknob entirely, and he hears the clatter of the one on the other side falling.

He's not putting this sword down. It's coming with him. Now he can bust through the door, knocking the chair over with nothing to hook into. There's more than one person, so now this is bad, this is now truly a bad idea to go running blindly after at least two people into the unknown, but he'll be damned by the Maker Himself if he's going to let them get away so easily.

From somewhere behind Liddy sticks her head out in the hall, watching Seeker Cutie run by with a sword. There's a beat, and then she shouts "GET 'EM SEEKER LOVELY!"

Because everyone needs a cheerleader, right? Right.

The Study is empty- the bookcase still ajar. Thuds continue down the hall, a dim light flickering in the shadows.

Inessa had detailed the secret passage, the bookcase that stood aside just so. If he only had time to go rouse the others, gather up...Herian, maybe, or run for Anders, or Velanna, but if he leaves, they might get away. Do whatever deed they must do and leave and escape with no one the wiser.

This is not the most tactically sound move, but he's doing it anyway. Not running, now; still urgent, but he's trying not to make a massive clatter of galloping in after them. He's cautious, alert, ears eyes nose. Seeking.

(And Liddy needs to go back to bed.)

The light continues on till it sputters out around the corner, the stairs Inessa mentioned. The door that matches that strange key closed-

No.

A sliver of light around the edges- it is ever so slightly ajar, as though shut in a hurry. Voices come from beyond. The raggling of a chain, muffled words.

Malcolm stops before the door, his heart pounding as if he is about to face some truly awful abominations or blood mages or crazed apostates or power-hungry Templars all on his own. And in a way, perhaps, that might just be what he's doing. He stops against the door to listen, just listen, to get even a hint of what he's up against.

"You shut the door?" One low voice, male, as the dragging continues at an even pace. Some sort of muffled, murmured affirmative. "Seeker saw, though. Gonna have to do something about that-"

More indistinct murmuring.

"But he's a Seeker. We can't just-"

Silence.

"...If we have to."

Good, wonderful, death plotting (or plotting something otherwise horrible, if indistinct), that's always fun. He wants to go in right now, but they're still moving. Maker please don't let this door make too much noise...

He waits, and the waiting is horrible, but he waits until he feels safe enough to try opening the door to keep following. Getting the jump on them might prove easier when he doesn't have to deal with a giant old hidden door.

It's a hall, dimly lit. No sign of the speakers, no sign of whatever they'd been dragging. Further down it becomes brighter- an there are doors.

There are Cells. Fourteen, seven on each side, a young man inquisition scout scurrying to the bars at Mal's approach, voice low. "Ser-"

He hisses, not wishing to arouse the attention of anyone further beyond. "Ser are you with the Inquisition?"

The movement startles him, but it's one of them--it's a scout. They're here, and at least one of them is alive. He moves to the bars, first to look over the scout, then to the lock, but...he is no lockpick. If a door needs taken down, he usually uses more...forceful means.

"Yes, we've come looking for you. Sister Nightingale sends her regards." A quick glance down the hall and back. "Are you hurt? Quickly, what can you tell me?"

"Not hurt, no. None of us are. Us and the Chevalier and whoever they've got in that sack are all that's left- We followed a suspicious trail on the grounds to the Butcher's and got nabbed by whoever's in that Hawke mask. We get brought here and we're- fed. Well. Very well. Only reason we haven't been dragged off down the hall is we aren't heavy enough yet." The scout is, in fact, heavier than they'd been. "Either we eat on our own or we get drugged and force fed. I don't know what's on the other side of that door but it smells of blood and they scrub the whole mess down with soap and lye when they're done. Someone in a bear mask comes back up with five bags that sometimes drip and heads upstairs. Hawk mask goes up with a roll of oilskin."

They're being fattened up. It's everything the signs were pointing to, and yet he did not want to believe, and yet--who would turn another person into a meal? Who loses so much of themselves and their humanity that they would do such a thing? Fatten people up, send them to slaughter, clean it up with lye...

"I cannot pick a lock. There is at least one among us who can, but I dare not simply leave. They have the key that opens the door, and now that they know they're to be exposed..."

To go may be to never see the scouts alive again, or even these hallways. To stay may be to join them.

And they have someone else in a bag. Doing Maker knows what else. He cannot leave if there's anything he can do about this.

"They got the drop on all seven of you, secreted you down here?" He still finds that hard to truly believe, even if the gardener Crow is involved. "And it is just the two that you know of, the Hawk and the Bear?"

"Traps in the hedges. Hard to get away when you have a bear trap around your ankle." Dented the armor, bruised the joint- can still walk.

Mostly.

"One of them has some kind of drug- they found us, knocked us out. Felt like being pricked with a needle or something. Same thing happens when we're trying to not eat so much." It's- disconcerting to say the least. "Haven't seen more. Just the two. Bear comes down and feeds us. Hawk drags us away."

Liddy yells out, something regarding Seeker Reed, and Pamelia is on her feet and opening the door immediately, dagger drawn, peerkng this way and that.

She finds Liddy in the hall and persuades the girl until her room with a kiss and as warning to be aware; with that she's off down the dark hallway, dagger in hand...there's a hidden door, forced open, so Pamelia foes onward and through until she sees the cells, the Seeker, the scout.

"Ser." She keeps her voice down. At her sher bag, a few potions, a few poisons, plus her crystal. "You're bleeding."

Should they deal with that or keep moving?

He's already halfway dug out the sending crystal to ask for whoever isn't occupied, when Pamelia appears down the hall and at his side. And she's worrying over him? "It's but a scratch," he says almost casually. It would've been casual if it wasn't for the situation at hand. "I don't suppose you can pick any locks?"

His grip on the old sword, well cared for, tightens. "Because there are two down there behind this mess, and I'm going to get them." So if she can get locks, they can all have a hand in it, or she can come with. (Or she can be sensible and not go with, because some people like things such as staying alive.) "There may be traps, and there may be drugs, but they have someone they've dragged away in a sack."

"The Baron-" Comes a voice from across the hall, one of the other cells. Orlesian and accented and- not exactly the picture of Chevalier fitness any longer. "The Baron DuCate. He came to court the Comtesse, so he said, and found himself here."

[ CLOSED ] WAR TABLE: INVESTIGATE COMTESSE DE VELONEY

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