Name: Edgar Allen Poe
Occupation: Librarian/Birdkeeper
Time/Date: Day One, Evening
Location: The cellar underneath the dining room.
Tagging: Arthur, Leo, Bram

Edgar sat in complete darkness, perched atop a massive cask that he had managed to laboriously scramble up with the help of a few other barrels as stepping stones, his ear pressed to the ceiling above him. The masonry was solid, and to anyone else the several feet of stone would have completely stopped any attempt at spying on the dining hall above. But Edgar wasn't anyone else.

There were seven hearts beating in the room above him, two of which he was able to recognize. One was Edgar's master, Crassus, and right nearby was his fellow slave Arthur - obviously, Crassus was keeping his favorite pet close to him, as always. Edgar didn't recognize the other guests, but from the position of the heartbeats he could roughly guess that three of them were dining with his master, and the remaining two were flanking one of the dinner guests.

That was a disappointment, to say the least. He didn't really care about whatever was going on at the banquet, truth be told - no, he'd snuck down to the cellar to spy on these proceedings for an entirely different reason. There was a mystery afoot in the manor, and if he'd never accomplish anything else in his wretched existence, Edgar would get to the bottom of it.

The mystery swirled around the nature of the most feared overseer in the Manor - Ivan Vasilyevich. Every slave in the manor knew better than to cross him, lest they 'disappear' in the night, never to be seen again. He was only seen at night, and what was most puzzling of all, Edgar had never heard his heartbeat. The young slave had supposed that maybe he had some way of masking it that had something to do with his penchant for high society, but the abundance of heartbeats in the room above seemed to belie that. Well, it had been a weak theory.

Whatever he was, he was a violent, fearful man, and Edgar had already made peace with the fact that he would never be punished for that - he had power and his victims didn't, and that was how the world worked. But even so, he had to [i]know.[/i]

Something was happening up above. Two new heartbeats entered the room, one of which belonged to Overseer Gilles De Rais, the other to Leonidas, the enslaved pit fighter Edgar bunked opposite from in the slave's quarters. His heartbeat began to move erratically, as did one of the stranger's, both of them elevating and pounding with adrenaline. Clearly, his Master had found some use for a pugilist.

Gradually, Leon's heartbeat slowed, the gradual thumping of slumber. The poor boy had, evidently, met his match at last - such was life. Edgar reached into his ragged tunic and produced a matchbox he'd managed to swipe from one of the Overseers, striking a match and climbing down from his perch. It was a pale, flickering light, but it was enough for Edgar to see by, at least enough to be able to walk. 

He was just creeping over to the stairs back to the servant's corners, prepared to chalk this night up as a defeat, when he heard the flutter of wings from behind him. His longtime friend and companion Usher set down on his shoulder and cooed into his ear, head tilting quizzically. Edgar had sent the bird to the kitchens, hoping that he might see or hear something pertaining to Overseer Vasilyevich, who often seemed to frequent the kitchens at this hour. "Usher," he whispered, "Did you hear anything?"

The raven opened his mouth and from it issued a rough approximation of Overseer De Rais' voice, “Wait… we’re not taking him there.” 
The bird paused, and then changed tone to a burlier, deeper growl. [i]Vasilyevich's[/i] voice. “What do you mean? Lord Crassus ordered us-”

 De Rais again. “I know what he ordered, but I haven’t fed Corpseeater in a while.”

Vasilyevich. “If Lord Crassus finds out that you didn’t-”

De Rais. “Hush, he won’t find out. We will say that the boy’s wounds were so severe that he succumbed to them. Now come, there’s a place in the cellar where we will take him.”

Edgar furrowed his brow and patted the raven on the head. "Good bird. Curious..." A smirk became affixed on the boy's face. "Well now, Usher, you know I'm not overly attached to living in this world, but we shouldn't investigate alone... what do you suppose Bram is up to at this hour?"

The satisfaction of a mystery - what else could a young slave hope for, living in a world as wretched as this one?