abardacttofollow | QUIET MOUNDS

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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.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Of course.

I have no wish to alter your sense of self. Is there anything I should specifically avoid?

I mean, don't go wrecking anything. But my sense of self is pretty secure.

I have no intention of doing so.

[ ... gonna head for one of those doors ]

[Which one? Left, center, right? Ask for guidance?]

[ nah

always go left ]

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?"

[ ugh. rubs his nose with a sleeve at the smell, but. coming to read the door, then look over the people with a critical eye.

kneels near the kid. ]

Stefen. Yes?

"Who are you and how do you know my boy?" the old lady snaps.

[ glancing at the woman. ]

Elder. If I wanted to speak to you, I would have. Does it matter how I know him?

"Since he's my responsibility, you're damn well sure I want to know!"

Stefen shies back.

[ makes a face. ]

Cease your yelling.

The old lady glowers at him.

I am his... friend.

[ or something. i'm vanyels friend, anyway. ]

"Has he been selling himself?" She looks at him, annoyed. He pulls back, shaking his head quickly.

[ father in heaven pRESERVE ME i am going to SMITE THIS WOMAN ]

I would rather you not insinuate I am so devoid of morality that I would do such a thing to a child, Elder.

"Then why'd he have a friend who talks like a little lordling?" she asks back, scornful.

[ he said not to break things. don't break things. don't rain lightning down upon this entire stage. don't. bad. ]

It's none of your concern.

[ turning back to stefen, voice gentle. ]

Do you know the purpose of this door?

"...Keep things out?" he whispers hesitantly.

[ amused, a bit. ]

Surely. It says "What is the weight of security?" Does that mean anything to you?

"Um..." He looks at the begging bowl on the weighted plate. "Dunno what that weighs."

[ looks at the bowl. can things like love or safety be quantified in a heart like this.

turning back to stefen after a moment, though. ]

Would you like to be untied? I don't suppose that's comfortable.

He looks at the old lady and quickly shakes his head. "Can't. We need money."

[ ???? how do i deal with The Poors ]

Does this often work?

"Yeah," he mumbles. "They give you more if you're sick too."

I can't say you'd look healthy even without this.

[ gives his head a pat, though, and stands, looking around again. is there anything else here to see or just this terrible lady and sad child and Smell. ]

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