[ 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

[tactical_alert]

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."

[comtessedevelony]

"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."

[anacardiaceae]

"I...will do my best." It's been some time since she's picked a lock but it's a bit like swimming, isn't it? Once one is in the water and being chased by a kraken...

She perches what looks like long thin hairpins from her bag and starts to work on the first lock. "We could release them, arm these people, or I could, and then we could continue on."

Fire in a bottle. Amazing stuff.

[tactical_alert]

"...I know just where to get some weapons from. Hold that thought." He's about to go sprinting back up for more hallway weaponry, but pauses, then slips the hilt of his purloined sword through the bars to the scout. "And that sword."

Sure, time is of the essence, and when he's through he'll likely scout ahead until everyone's out of their cells, but this is going to take a little bit of time. Malcolm bolts off back up through the passageway, through the study, out to the halls and he doesn't consider who would be good with which weapon, he just grabs several off the walls. A few daggers in his belt, there's a spear, and--

He strips off his shirt and lays it on the floor, since he really doesn't need that anymore anyway, and stacks a couple of swords on it, bundling them up nicely and, so long as he's careful, slightly less chance of cutting himself on them. Should be enough for one for everyone.

He's slower to come back, trying not to clatter the metal so much, but when he's back, he'll pass a weapon off through the bars of each cell. Even if they're in no shape to come with, they will still be armed no matter what happens.

[comtessedevelony]

The scout takes the sword, peering after him for a long moment. Wherever has he gone to?

The chevalier nudges whoever is in his cell with him and word is passed, through whispers and murmurs, of rescue. This time of night all have taken to huddling and praying to be skipped, but they rouse, they wait.

The locks are simple enough under Pam's skilled hands, popping after a bit of finessing. The Inquisition scouts are out and prepared to fight- the Chevalier? All the more so. That leaves eight armed in their cells and freed- or soon to be freed- to act as pudgy assistance to the team.

At the far end of the hall, beyond the door? Shouting. A flare of light.The shattering of glass and meaty thud of a cleaver against wood. Frantic Orlesian.

[anacardiaceae]

[ Continued here. ]