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]

Love, you aren't hurting me. I do... want you to know all of me. I don't... I don't always know how to say.

[twicebonded]

. . . then I'll do my best.

[heading to Composition?]

Composition 1

[abardacttofollow]

You can come back any time you need.

You find yourself in a back alley in what looks like the worst part of Haven—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 half a scale, the other half in the door and in some way hooked up to the lock.

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

[twicebonded]

. . .

[looks at this scene for a long moment, shivering. but he knows it's not real, not anymore. though it's in the past]

[he conjures up a handful of silver to place in the bowl, looking at Stefen as he does so]

[abardacttofollow]

[I MEAN I GUESS YOU CAN

DO THAT That will


count to the heart I mean this is real Valdemarian currency]

[the door clicks]

[twicebonded]

. . . it doesn't need to be like this. He has a beautiful voice. And a promising future.

[h-he hurries off quickly after that though. he's not comfortable affecting things here]

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?"

[twicebonded]

. . . hello, Stefen.

[he speaks quietly]

[abardacttofollow]

"Hello," Stefen mutters, relaxing just a little.

[twicebonded]

[gives him a slight smile]

Do you know me?

[abardacttofollow]

"You put down silver and said I was..." He shrugs.

[twicebonded]

My name is Vanyel.

[he pauses to look at the weight again, murmuring half to himself]

The weight of—family. Of love . . .

[abardacttofollow]

Stefen mumbles Vanyel's name to himself.

[twicebonded]

. . .

[takes his outer sweater off, offering it silently. he's still wearing a t-shirt underneath]

[abardacttofollow]

Stefen's eyes go huge. "No, she'll... she'll take it for herself when she wakes up. Keep it. Thank you."

[twicebonded]

Oh. That's true.

[. . . he seems to consider something, approaching the bed and carefully plucking the bottle out of her grip. a gentle mind touch to make sure she keeps sleeping through that]

[if successful, he'll try to put that at the door]

[abardacttofollow]

Click. The door unlocks.

[twicebonded]

[he glances back at Stefen]

. . . I understand.

[abardacttofollow]

Stefen gives him a hesitant smile.

[twicebonded]

. . . I love you, I'm sorry I can't do more.

[abardacttofollow]

Stef's eyes go huge again and he sort of huddles under his rags. "Wh..."

[twicebonded]

[LET'S MOVE ON]

[fuck I have to go back this way don't I]

Composition 3

[abardacttofollow]

[you will yes]

This is another outdoor scene, similar to before, the room an 'alley' running between two buildings, both clearly houses of ill repute; judging from the crudely drawn images on their signs, one caters to men, and the other to women. The lighting is dim, and the ceiling is painted like a clouded-over night's sky. The cord runs through the room and then up, being held by a woman standing there. You can see a key in her other hand; she's spinning it at the end of one finger. She is tall and fierce-looking, stern and alarming, dressed head to toe in scarlet. You may recognize Bard Lynnell.

As before, there's plenty of garbage scattered around.

"M'Lord Herald," Lynn calls out. "I don't suppose you know what the weight of duty is?" She does seem to recognize the irony of asking you this.

[twicebonded]

Ah . . .

[he pauses, just looking at her for a long moment]

I'm not sure that's my answer to give. But may I have that key . . .? I think it's Stefen's to decide.

[abardacttofollow]

"Stefen? Is that the boy? I've been looking for a boy around here. He's apparently got the Bardic gift, so I'm to bring him in."