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]

You've always been good to me. Have faith in that?

[mindinthegittern]

Alright, alright.

I'll be back, then.

[heading into Performance]

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?"

[mindinthegittern]

[grumbles]

Ha, ha.

[shuffling through the rows to the empty desk]

[abardacttofollow]

"Morning, Medren" "Did Stefen forget something?"

You can get there no problem.

[mindinthegittern]

[waving good morning to people in an automatically friendly way, sort of shrugging off questions, social reflexes okay. sitting down at the desk so he can check it out without disrupting the lesson further.]

[abardacttofollow]

The teacher, who you probably recognize but i'm out of male bard teacher names so whatever, nods to you.

Inside the desk is some homework, including a (remarkably sassily) titled "Ode to Boys".

[mindinthegittern]

[s-snrk]

Stef.

[puts up his hand]

[abardacttofollow]

"Yes, Medren?"

[mindinthegittern]

Sir, his work is done. Uh—we'll see about this, but I think I might just be here to hand it in?

[abardacttofollow]

"What? Oh, fantastic! I'd thought he was going to get a zero. Go ahead and drop it off, then." He gestures to the scale absently.

[mindinthegittern]

[mutters]

Like he'd risk that...

[but yes okay coming up and putting the homework on the scale]

[abardacttofollow]

Click!

[mindinthegittern]

[heads on through the door]

[abardacttofollow]

The next is a shared dorm room, small and cozy, with something like corking up all over the walls. It makes it not the prettiest room, but it's very quiet. Even that background music that won't stop is muffled here.

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?"

[mindinthegittern]

[even though he was sort of expecting it, he's a little startled. he laughs.]

Hello, young me. I guess I know this one.

[abardacttofollow]

"I guess you do! Hello, old me."

[mindinthegittern]

[going over and resting his hand on the platform]

Come lean on this thing with me?

[abardacttofollow]

He does. As you both touch it—click!

"That was simple, wasn't it..."

[mindinthegittern]

At least something was! Thanks. Am I going to need something to trade for a key in there...?

[abardacttofollow]

"I don't know what's in there," Medren says. "Since I'm here, obviously."

[mindinthegittern]

Right. Obviously. I'll just go see, then.

[through the door he goes]

Performance 3

[abardacttofollow]

You enter a room that is… remarkably small, actually. There's just barely room for you to stand facing seven intimidating figures once the door is closed.

They're all tall, varying between middle age and elderly, and all dressed in a brilliant scarlet. Which is probably very alarming to someone who doesn't recognize them as the Bardic Council. The cord runs through the room and then up, being held by the man in the center of the seven—Dellar. As always, he's got a face like a lumpy potato, with a mouth that looks like he could eat an entire loaf of bread in one bite, and bright, black eyes. He is holding a key in his other hand.

"Well," he says, grinning absurdly, "I don't suppose you can tell me what the weight of duty is?"

[mindinthegittern]

—ah. Bardic duty, is it? I sure hope so, sir.

[abardacttofollow]

"Specifically, for Stefen. With what he can do, and with all the..." He waves a hand. "problems we have in promoting him. Which I'm sure you're aware of."