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

[originsong]

I guess that's true... and his classmates were gossiping about it... so it's possible that, I guess, people might think that kind of thing. In that case, is his responsibility to make sure his private life stays private, so that it doesn't creep into his professional life?

[abardacttofollow]

"That would certainly make our lives easier."

[originsong]

I'm sure he'll get better at it, when he matures a little. Children are impulsive.

[abardacttofollow]

They discuss amongst themselves for a moment, then the man says, "I think that's a reasonable answer." He hands the key over.

[originsong]

[ takes it! ]

Thank you very much.

[abardacttofollow]

"You're very welcome."

[originsong]

[ HEADS BACK INTO THE MAIN ROOM WITH THE KEY FOR STEFEN ]

I found one!

[abardacttofollow]

Thank you! That's for one of my feet.

[originsong]

Oh! Good.

[ goes to unlock it! ]

Which one would you prefer next? The other foot?

[abardacttofollow]

Sure, that's fine. That'd be Composition.

[originsong]

All right! I'll be right back.

[ scurries off in a hurry!

trips

gets up. SCURRIES OFF ]

Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

[OHNO CUTE]

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!"

There is a cracked wooden bowl on the ground between them—sitting on what appears to be a weighted platform, attached to the door.

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

[originsong]

—Oh... if you're hurt I can heal you. I don't have any money, though...

[abardacttofollow]

"I don't trust those fancy court healers," the woman says. "Besides, out here, we need the money for food and medicine to keep on hand more than an instant of help."

[originsong]

Maybe I can try both... I'll sing for you, and maybe like that... your feelings will reach everyone, and they'll help.

[abardacttofollow]

"Are you daft, girl? We're starving..."

"I like music," the boy mumbles. "I'd like to hear."

[originsong]

This is all I can do.

[ Closes her eyes and sings with a very pretty voice. the instruments just kind of happen as she sings as do any overlaying vocals it is Extremely mystical and amazing. If there are any real injuries they are healed and it is Very Moving to hear, if a little sad. it may INSPIRE SOME PEOPLE ]

[abardacttofollow]

[after a few moments, Stefen adds his voice to yours. It's thin and uncertain, but has real power behind it regardless.

A bunch of people? Images? Float through the walls, flinging coins into the bowl. The door clicks.]

[originsong]

[ oh! smiles at baby stefen ]

If you practice, I'm sure you'll be able to reach people with songs even more easily.

[abardacttofollow]

He blushes, ducking his head.

[originsong]

[ heads on through the door! ]

Composition 2

[abardacttofollow]

The next room is a very small tenement room. There's a heap of rags making up a bed. In it is the same old woman from the previous room, snoring loudly and drunkenly. There's no mistaking her condition—an empty bottle is still clutched in her hand.

The boy is huddled in the opposite corner from the bed. He is stretching out legs that are clearly sore, a shiner of a bruise on his cheek and his fingers are shaking, though whether it's hunger or pain, it's hard to tell. There are resentful tears unshed in his eyes as he silently goes about his business. He too is on a pile of rags, and he stares at you suspiciously, shoving them a little more behind himself like he thinks they're about to be taken away. A crutch leans against the wall near him. A rat scurries through the room as you take the image in.

As before, the cord runs through the room and under a locked door with some sort of weighted platform next to it. This time, there's no bowl, but it's clear something should still go there.

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

[originsong]

Oh...

Are you all right? Do you need help?

[abardacttofollow]

He shakes his head. "I'm fine."

[originsong]

I could heal you, if... will she wake up if I sing?