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]

[He's calm, loving, determined to help you]

It's more that I'd like to help you! Which I don't think can be done unless you get to the Truth behind me. I know this all looks terrible, but I've never felt like I'm not supposed to... be?

[ahorseforgood]

[distracted slightly by that phrasing]

:Not supposed to be-- terrible?:

[abardacttofollow]

To exist? As I am now. I mean, I think you like me okay.

[ahorseforgood]

:Y... yes. Yes, of course I do...:

[existential crises are what she's used to expecting to discuss with VANYEL]

:...if going to the Truth is what you wish me to do, of course I'll try...:

[abardacttofollow]

I mean, I don't know what's back there, but I know it'll help get you out of this mess of my heart.

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… I don't think they should be.

[ahorseforgood]

[and there are good reasons for Stefen to want her out; that makes sense. p r i v a c y, among others]

:Which shall I travel first, then?:

[abardacttofollow]

[That is a big one]

They can be done in any order. Composition is my earliest life, so it may provide some of the understanding for the others, but if you think you know me well enough, it shouldn't matter.

[ahorseforgood]

[softly]

:I wouldn't assume that.:

[nods to him, stepping back]

:Thank you for your help, Stefen.:

[abardacttofollow]

Of course. If you need help at any point, you can always come back to me.

[ahorseforgood]

[ruefully]

:Of course. I appreciate your poise in this situation. It must be much more awkward for you than for me.:

[abardacttofollow]

I mean, for me, it's just life? I'm the Guard.

[ahorseforgood]

:For Stefen overall, then. It's very like him that his first instinct in this situation is graciousness, however.:

[abardacttofollow]

[blushes!!] Go easy on me, m'lady!

[ahorseforgood]

:Never.:

[shaking her head at him a little, lightly amused; with that, she'll head through the Composition door]

Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

You find yourself in a back alley in what looks like a medieval city—or rather, some sort of stage set of it, decorated cloth hung up to cover the four walls to show city streets leading off, the back of some sort of house of ill repute . The smell of it is terrible, though, and a lot of the props around seem real as well—a cracked barrel with almost all of its contents leaked out into the flagstones under your feet, sewage running past in a small channel by one wall, garbage scraps of food around, most of it too rotten to eat. There is a huge pile of garbage in your path, and on the other side, you see the other door. The cord runs through the middle of the room and under that locked door.

At the base of the door are two huddled rag figures—an old lady, and a young boy with a lock of brilliant auburn hair hanging around his face. They are both shivering, and the boy looks to be injured or deformed, his leg at an odd angle and bandaged, wounds seeping, though someone familiar with the scam can probably tell it's all false paste wounds and his limbs carefully tied into those positions. His hungry eyes and sunken cheeks are real, though. One hand loosely clasps a moldy roll with a few bites taken out of it.

"Alms," the old lady calls in a weak, shaking voice. "Alms, please. If not for me, for my poor boy, alms!" She seems to be reading you as a person, not a horse.

There is a cracked wooden bowl on the ground between them—sitting on what appears to be a weighted platform, attached to the door— essentially, one half of a scale somehow hooked into the locking mechanism.

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

Re: Composition 1

[ahorseforgood]

[...not being read as a Companion is baffling... nods to the woman and focused on the boy, for now]

:...hello there, youngling.:

Re: Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

Honestly, in an area like this, you'd be less likely to read as a Companion than a Horse anyway.

He seems startled to be addressed, shy. "Hello..."

Re: Composition 1

[ahorseforgood]

:I have nothing with me, child. But I would like to bring something back for you. Will you and this lady be at this spot for a while...?:

Re: Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

He nods, even shyer. "Until it starts to get dark, um..."

Re: Composition 1

[ahorseforgood]

:Call me Yfandes, my dear. Do you have a place to go once it gets dark right now...?:

[sympathetic interest, but not trying for more details; doesn't want to give the impression she's planning to follow them home.]

Re: Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

He nods, fingers grabbing lightly onto the old woman's sleeve.

Re: Composition 1

[ahorseforgood]

:I'm glad to hear that. Everyone should have a place they can at least go for a while.:

[nods to them and sees if she can't step behind one of those sets...]

Re: Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

You can't. This seems to be the limit of the heart's area.

Re: Composition 1

[ahorseforgood]

[time to see if she can detect anything useful in le garbage pile, then... approaches it, trying to sense what she can without actually touching it first. she's certainly seen worse sights, sigh]

Re: Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

There's not much to tell with psychic powers, unfortunately. You do catch a few glints of things people may not have meant to throw away? Some usable tools, some glints of metal, food that might be still edible in some places.