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

:It would not. And Stef is helping your pain...?:

"He is," Randale says. "This session is taking a while though, I hope he's not overdoing it."

:Can you end it early, your majesty?:

"I can try..." He looks tiredly at the people waiting for his attention.

[sighs lightly]

:...we'd worried that Elspeth Peacemaker's strategies for keeping the peace relied too much on her as an individual. I'm sorry to hear that our worries had some heft to them.:

[she glances back at the people, eyes lingering on Stef again]

:I expect that his role in court is to help you?:

Randale nods, wry.

:...sire, would you give me your crown for a moment?:

"If it will help you?" Randale hands it over.

[she nods shortly and goes to put it on the platform; there are a lot of things tied up in this particular symbol of security, unfortunately, both for Stef and more broadly]

Surprisingly (?) Nothing happens.

[pricks her ears in interest at that; she's also sort of coolly bitter at the whole picture, privately. that doesn't really have a place here tho. goes to Stef instead]

He looks up at her, partially tranced but coming enough out of it to recognize her and shaking it off more as she approaches. His fingers have blistered, and the blisters have started to tear on the strings.

[leans against his shoulder; can she lend him her Gift? she can't heal much, but if he's been playing that long he's probably magically as well as physically exhausted.]

He leans against her in return, drawing a breath as she gives him a bit of extra energy. "Thank you."

:Of course, my dear. Have you been doing this to your fingers with every audience--?:

"Not every one," he says.

:You shouldn't play your fingers off, my dear. That's far too literal, even for a performer as spirited as you are.:

[it comes out far more gentle than teasing]

He smiles a little. "It's him or me, you know? And most of the time, it's him. I can at least make it me when he needs it to do what he has to do."

[glances at the useless crown on the dais]

:It's something I fear you must both put down at times, or no one will be playing shortly.:

"It won't be indefinite. He's..." He bites his lower lip, like saying it is going too far.

:Dying. Yes, I can see.:

[her 'voice' is oddly calm and final about it, but it may just be that she needs to process a lot around that at once right now... the tone gentles more again.]

:What will happen to you then, Stefen?:

"I'll be fine." It's at least half-confident. "Others will figure out the trick soon and I've... I mean, I've helped out the next in line."

Gives her a tired look like, I'm not proud.

:...I don't think you need to worry. I think you've more than proved your place here, my dear.:

He looks down at his bloodied fingers.

"I wish I could do more. But I can't, can I."

Edited 2017-08-08 02:53 (UTC)

[her mental 'voice' is kind, but thoughtful]

:We can all only do so much. That tends to make most of us feel less secure-- not more.:

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