QUIET MOUNDS - STEF HEART

[abardacttofollow]

You find yourself in a stone room that looks like some sort of medieval dungeon. There are (thankfully), no torture instruments, but there is a man strung up here. One large manacle is around his neck, chaining him stiffly to the door. His hands are free, but each foot is manacled to the matching bottom corner of the doorframe. There is a visible lock on each of the three manacles.

It's Stefen, and there's a knife in his chest. Despite that, he's alive, apparently alert, and doesn't look to be in pain, perhaps due to the lulling, sense-dulling music that seems to be coming from nowhere at all—in fact, if you were in pain before you entered, it's gone here. His wound is bleeding, but only a little, and he smiles his usual bright smile at you.

Behind him, but in front of the closed door he's bound to, you can see three double sets of strings running vertically. Where they meet the floor, they are fastened, and then each runs across the floor to the three doors on the opposite wall, then under them.

There is nothing else in this room.

((OOC: Here's how this will work! Since we're doing individual runs, rather than me putting up individual top levels for areas, just jump the post itself, and I'll run everything for you within your one thread. If you're wanting to do a run with someone else, just stay in the same thread together.))

Comments

[abardacttofollow]

Well, about that. [he draws a deep breath] You're inside Stefen—you're in his heart, the essence of who he is. I'm the Heart's Guard, and, as you can see, I've been put here to keep this path blocked off. I'm sorry that you're in this position, as I can't imagine it's a very comfortable one. To get out, you'll have to find your way to the Heart's Truth. That's the door behind me, and it's got a truth about me even I don't know! As you can see, to do that, you're going to need three keys."

[splashofbourbon]

The hell does that even mean—how'd I get inside you?

[abardacttofollow]

That, I've got no idea.

[splashofbourbon]

Goddamn—

[he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, still agitated]

So I gotta follow the threads, get you free—

[abardacttofollow]

Oh! That's right, you've figured that much out. The keys are at the end of each of those paths: Composition, Performance, and the Gift. None of them are long. They shouldn't be dangerous to you, either.

[splashofbourbon]

What about you. They gonna do any harm to you?

[abardacttofollow]

Oh, no, they shouldn't? I don't really know what happens when this door is opened, but I do know it'll get you out of me.

[splashofbourbon]

That don't sound reassuring if you ask me.

[he scowls, lingering a moment]

I'll get you outta there. You got my word on it.

[abardacttofollow]

Try not to worry too much. If you need anything, you can always come back and talk to me.

[splashofbourbon]

Easy enough for you t'say.

[he turns, following the center thread]

[abardacttofollow]

[it leads to the center door! That door is unlock. Do you enter?]

[splashofbourbon]

[he enters!]

Performance 1

[abardacttofollow]

You find yourself in a medieval classroom in some sort of large, palace-like environment (something like this), with stained glass in the windows and old desks all lined up, slates on each. All of the desks have a different boy or girl wearing brown sitting in it—mostly boys— except for one desk in the very middle, which is empty. All the boys are whispering to each other, a soft, background susurration. The cord runs through the middle of the room and under the locked door behind the teacher's lectern.

The teacher is a handsome young man in red, who is checking a mark on his candle to confirm the time and is sighing. "Well, it looks like Stefen's got himself tied up—" there are titters from the classroom. "—So let's begin. He won't like what it does to his marks, I promise you that. If his work isn't done…"

He doesn't finish whatever threat or promise he's thinking of, just clears his throat and begins to teach a lesson on compositional theory.

The door behind the lectern is closed and locked, and there is a scale set next to it, clearly attached to the door in some way.

A sign on the door reads: "What is the weight of security?"

[splashofbourbon]

[he takes a look around first, no one's taken notice of his presence, have they?]

[abardacttofollow]

Several people have glanced toward you, but apparently it's not so strange for people to listen in on lessons.

[splashofbourbon]

[he scowls a little, watching the teacher a moment longer before he just steps up to check out the empty desk]

[abardacttofollow]

Several of the students whisper among each other again. There's some nudging and eyebrow raising and smirking.

The desk has some writing materials, and a stack of handwritten music.

[splashofbourbon]

[checking out the music, ignoring the onlookers]

[abardacttofollow]

Several pieces, all love songs. One has a title "Ode to Boys".

There's another titter as you look through his music. (Stef is just so—)

[splashofbourbon]

[he shoots a look in the direction of that titter]

He's what now?

[abardacttofollow]

"Are you even from the court? Or are you a pimp from his past?"

The teacher clears his throat. "That's enough chatter like that. If you have time to harass visitors you have time to listen to the lesson."

[splashofbourbon]

Best be watching your tongue if you don't wanna lose it.

[he's making his way to the front of the room now, to the scale]

[abardacttofollow]

The teacher sighs but doesn't stop you.

[splashofbourbon]

[cool, can he just. push on it to even it out? what's going on here?]

[abardacttofollow]

It doesn't move when you touch it with your hand.