[closed] DANGEROUS GAME

[esquive]

WHO: Kylo Ren, Anna, Etienne, and Marcoulf
WHAT: In exchange for his support at the front lines, a small group has been dispatched to clear bandits from the Comte Chantral de Velun's estate. Spoilers: they're not bandits.
WHEN: Early Harvestmere
WHERE: Orlais, the Heartlands
NOTES: CW: violence, death, murdering innocent folks on the behalf of THE RICH, setting-typical discrimination; it's not great, bob. ASSIGNMENT INFO

The Orlesian Heartlands bloom in every season. In Spring, it is daisies and apple blossoms; in Summer small white flowers and black-eyed susans and poppies all red; and here at the beginning of Autumn the trees burnish themselves and black-green and golds, yellowing grasses ceding to white limbed poplar with their spinning coin leaves. Even far from any field for growing in, the Velun lands paints itself in harvest colors. The land and air recognizes what Celene might not yet admit - that change is a season rotating, and that some things have been the same for long enough that they insist on circling.

Comments

[sangsues]

"I am suggesting we omit elements that will see us condemned," Etienne replies, just edging on sharply. "Not advertise that we are doing so."

He shakes his head. "The Inquisition is full of people with soft sentiments towards the elves. We have done what's necessary, but likely they'd see us villainised for our pragmatism."

[esquive]

The stench of the fire as it begins to builds is unpleasant in its familiarity and there seems to be no direction where one can stand upwind of it or the fingers of smoke that have begun to hang uselessly in the air above them. There's very little breeze to speak of and most of it doesn't dip down here among the copse of trees to chase it away. Marcoulf tosses a rolled up piece of canvas that had been seeing use as a shelter onto the fire.

"I'll mind the reporting." There's a hand or two he might trust to write it as it should be. "Commander Coupe will need to know the basic pieces to this, but if it's as Etienne says" --and he knows it is; he isn't stupid-- "then better not to say much about it elsewhere."

[notched]

There's no visibility to the look on her face, all covered up and looking like a killer, but she finds some ugly, spiteful irony in anyone here protesting being villainized. Then again, maybe they were all too small and aimless to be so important as villains. She keeps her thoughts to herself.

[letoldthingsdie]

"If they're soft, it's for a reason." He shrugs, conceding that he is right about the pragmatism. "Omit what you like. I doubt the Division leaders are fools. Coupe wouldn't have sent warriors if she expected the elves to be all in one piece. If they wanted diplomats they should have sent diplomats."

As long as they burned the bodies, he didn't care. Elves, humans - they were all the same to him. He didn't care terribly much about their oppression. It was something that predated his arrival in this place. It wasn't as if letting these elves live would have suddenly changed their circumstances.

"And what of the two children? Do we just turn them loose?" His gaze lifts from the fire to the two children who still remained. All their adult companions were dead. They sat crying to themselves, huddled away from the four of them who burned the bodies. They hadn't killed the children but they knew what happened here. If Etienne wanted it kept quiet they'd be hard pressed to find it completely concealed if these children spoke up.

[sangsues]

Etienne casts a long look to Marcoulf, assessing. "If we turn them out, they'll likely starve, or freeze."

That doesn't sit well. The children weren't responsible for the stupidity of their kin - anyone can understand that much. If they could spare two lives, it was worth doing. The weather is starting to turn, and hungry mouths aren't needed by anyone. There might be some charitable souls willing to take them in, but struggling farmers and townsfolk, taking in elves?

"The Chantry, perhaps."

[esquive]

"The Chantry," he says, wiping his hands on the front of his coat. There are dark smudges there already - ash and crime and Maker knows what else. He grimaces, scuffing at the marks as he sees them. It'll take a solid brushing to see those out. "We'll ask in the village where the closest one can be found and be done with it."

They can have been rescued from the wood or taken from bandits. One of them may be young enough to recall nothing different as he grows. Deliver them to the Chantry and there is every opportunity a few elf blooded children might find themselves in better circumstances than the ones they'd been discovered in here. It might almost be kind.

"Come, let's finish this and be off."

He at least has very little interest in discussing the matter further and leaves them to it, angling to fetch one of the last remaining corpses onto the fire.