Bard Stefen (
abardacttofollow) wrote2017-08-04 09:15 pm
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Entry tags:
QUIET MOUNDS - STEF HEART
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.))
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I don't know what that means!
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[goes to take his hand anyway]
But you're still part of Stefen, right? So you see why this is a little worrying.
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...of course it's—what am I going to say, here, "no, some part of you is unacceptable"? Come on. Of course it's okay. I just don't want to do anything that... could hurt you.
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I'll be back, then.
[heading into Performance]
Performance 1
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?"
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Ha, ha.
[shuffling through the rows to the empty desk]
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You can get there no problem.
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Inside the desk is some homework, including a (remarkably sassily) titled "Ode to Boys".
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Stef.
[puts up his hand]
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Like he'd risk that...
[but yes okay coming up and putting the homework on the scale]
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There are two twin beds crammed in, with a small desk beside each. Both desks are absolute messes of writing utensils and musical instruments and parchment. One bed is made up like it hasn't been slept in, while the other is all rucked up and has a sweet, but slightly sweaty, scent coming from it.
A young man is here, sitting on the tidier bed—it's you, much younger, brown hair at an awkward length and his shoulders just a little too big for his current form. He's maybe twelve or thirteen at most. He's plinking away at a song on a gittern and laughing about it, the sound warm.
He looks up at you and says "Well, one of us is going to have to go change..."
As before, the cord runs through the room and under a locked door with some sort of weighted platform next to it.
A sign on the door reads: "What is the weight of family? What of love?"
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Hello, young me. I guess I know this one.
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Performance 3
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The Gift 1
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The Gift 2
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The Gift 3
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The Truth 1
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The Truth 2
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The Truth 3
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