abardacttofollow | QUIET MOUNDS

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

"You're a nice doggy," Stef tells you, quietly.

I'm a dragon, child.

"Oh," he says. "Should I stop petting?"

[ HEAVILY DEBATES THIS ]

... it is fine for now.

"Okay." He resumes petting, but with a lighter touch.

[ tolerates this for a while, perfectly chill.

eventually speaks again. ]

Can you not just sing.

"Why would I sing...?"

[ simply: ]

Because that is who you are.

"No... I'm just a beggar. I'm trash like the rest of this," he mumbles.

It is not possible for thinking, feeling creatures like us to be "trash".

You are young yet. Try it and see.

He fidgets. "Do you know any songs...?"

[ quietly thoughtful for a long moment

and starts gently singing. his voice isn't bad but. he's no singer, really. he can hit the notes for the most part. ]

Stefen listens for a little while, then joins in. His voice is uncertain, but pure.

Suddenly... people? Images? Spirits? Start coming through the walls, throwing coppers into the bowl. The old lady lets out a crow of delight, and the door clicks unlocked.

[ slows to a stop and looks at the door, ears perked

and looks back at stef. ]

And so?

Stefen looks up at him in awe. "Just by singing...?"

Others can appreciate a good voice.

[ retaking human form and standing again ]

He hugs his knees, watching the old lady collect the coins. "Thank you."

[ ... gently pets his hair, and goes through the door ]

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 for a moment, shoving them a little more behind himself like he thinks they're about to be taken away—then recognizes you, relaxing. 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?"

[ takes a look at the door but stares at the woman for a moment. This is clearly his past and thus already over with, but the anger is sill burning beneath the surface.

Hee goes to stef and kneels next to him, gently stroking that hurt cheek with his knuckles. ]

He flinches a little. "I'm all right," he mumbles. "She's slow when she's been drinking."

Pain is pain.

Would that my retribution on her do anything for you at all in here. But I will refrain.

He shakes his head. "S'better than being alone out there."

[ ... sighs. ]

I suppose that must be true.

QUIET MOUNDS - STEF HEART

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