One of the many travails of life is how tedious it is. When one is young, they dream of their future life, and how great it will be. One believes that they will soon reach out and touch the stars, as if they were points of light just inches beyond his grasp. Fantasy is behind every nook and cranny, with legendary creatures hiding just out of sight.

As time begins to take its toll, one starts to realize that reality does not coincide with fantasies. There are no monsters that hide under one's bed. There are no fairies that dance among the trees, giggling as they watch the giant humans that ignore them. Stars are not just beyond one's reach; they are instead untouchable. Even as high as one can jump, he will never lay a finger upon them.

Realizations like that must be accepted, in order to grow. When one becomes a man, they must put away those things that are childish. Dreams and hopes are all well and good, but will dreams end up sustaining one? Will hope keep one's body warm when the shivering cold of the long night approaches? Worst of all, if one does keep those beliefs, one larger question looms.

If those hopes and dreams come true, are they something wonderful? Or are they, instead, just the opposite?

Such is life. Such is the life that everyone must accede to. Such is the life that you have agreed to. Where once you were a vivacious child, jumping and bouncing hither and thither in your joy, you are now just one of many. A face that is hardly different than any other in the crowd.

Where you once had your dreams, you now have tedium. Gray cubicles in a larger gray room are all that you know. Instead of touching stars, you now touch the keys on a board, writing documents that never seem to end. All of it done just so you can make it to the end of another week, and to start all over when you reach the next.

The contact you have with those like you is sparse, merely enough to survive the long days. Even if these are faces that you have seen for years, they are faces that you know no more than the names of. They could potentially become friends, maybe even something closer. However, you fear the chance that they might be

Previous Thread >>23522
Chapter 3

I apologize for the delay as I had to contend with work and a mind that just wouldn't focus.

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[X] I’d be honored to visit soon.
[X] Mother would be happy to hear that.

After thinking about it a little, I figure it’d be an honor. “I would be honored to visit your house, and I believe that my Mother would be happy to hear you’re coming over for dinner.” Happy, however, may be something of an understatement.

Wriggle smiles in response. “Sounds great! Could we head over to your house now? I wanted to look at some books with you while we still had time.” That actually reminds me of the book store in the area, though I don’t go to it much. My family already owns just about everything worth reading, and whenever something new is written Father ends up buying it.

“Sure, though I’m not sure if my parents are home or not at the moment.” Judging from the sun, it’s about the 16th or 17th hour of the day. Still, she takes my hand in hers and practically drags me home.

-----

We leave our shoes at the door and enter the house to find Father sitting in his usual spot, reading. He looks up as we come in, and grins as I set the plant down on the kitchen table. “I see you two are having a good day. Though, I hope you’re not planning to eat all that candy in a single sitting, Wriggle,” he remarks. I’m reminded of the time Marisa got her hands on a bunch of candy and proceeded to eat it all.

“I won’t, Mr. Kojima, though the honey drops are a little tempting.” I can’t exactly blame her in this case. She notices Father’s statement wasn’t directed at both of us, and asks, “But why didn’t you ask Yuki the same question?”

“Because I know he wouldn’t ever since he saw Marisa manage to eat a whole bag, getting herself quite a stomachache afterwards. We had to put the candy in a hard to reach place after that.” He means it, too, as Marisa had a way of climbing on things when we were littler just to get at certain books or candies.

Wriggle and I both chuckle as h

Previous >>23859
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I poured through a few documents, trying to maybe find anything relevant buried within the text. A surprisingly common cause for any misfortune was the actions of a rogue magician. A witch, in the bad children-eating sense. Hexes and curses and spells with the power of dominion over others were the more common agents. But their elaboration and execution varied as wildly as the types of casters described. Most significantly, Alice did not seem to have any books that actually explained that sort of magic. It was natural, I felt. She had no interest in that sort of magic or doing others harm. At least not in such indirect ways.

A lot of the text was, well, of dubious quality. Some of it read like hearsay and baseless rumor. Particularly any reference to love potions. They always contained either mythical items, required a strangely unsound ritual or simply could not produce the intended effect. From what I could see, of the last category, you were lucky if you ended up only vomiting violently. Death was certain for the drinker for a lot of other formulas. It was so striking that I thought that it was maybe purposefully hazardous. So as to discourage any would-be fool and punish anyone who actually went through with it. Alice did not care about material luxury nor whimsical folly like using magic to alter someone's feelings. If there was anything to the idea, I wasn't going to find it in those books.

The most consistent cause for memory loss was, sadly enough, a curse. That didn't give me much to go on since curses were not 'hard' magic. They often involved spirits and things that went outside the normal scope of energy and powers. There was usually an external force, besides the caster, that kept the effects continuous. That was the distinction between a more direct spell that drained energy and a curse that sapped vitality. Still, it probably wasn't a curse. Usually marks appeared on the victim's body, quite prominently. One text equivalenced that curious side effect to a way for the hexer to brag and show off.

There was another possi

Thread 2! Hey, I'm alive!
I know a lot of people were ragging on me for dropping my other story, but I came out and said I would. This one went on break because of some personal life problems. I'm still here.
Also I feel like people may have deleted their votes for the last choice or something (besides the votespam) but I'll write with what the votes say now.

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"I don't know." I respond quietly. "This story is so vaguely written. It is more of a legend than a historical account. I can't glean much from it. The people seemed to like him, but it doesn't say what he did. Sure, he killed some youkai, but did he kill ones that were a major threat? Or did he kill them just because he could?"

Keine smiles. "This is a part of interpreting history. Often times people only have a vague story written about them. Sometimes they seem great, other times, not so great. However.." She gives a small smile.

"This is just one account. There are other was to understand something. For example, this story is recent enough that some people may still be telling it and may know something about it. So, for your first assignment in my class, I'd like you to find out as much as you can. You are free to use any resources you can find, and you have until next week to report to me with your new opinion on the hero and his story."

She stands, and bows.

"Class dismissed." Keine gives a cute giggle while looking me in the eye. Class of one dismissed, huh? I suppose it is time to meet up with Marisa..

But it is a bit early. We said we'd meet in the evening, but class today was rather short. I have a few hours, so I decided to head home. I don't make it very far, though, before a sharp pain strikes my head.

Or, I should say, a dull rock lands on my head.

"Ow! What the-"

I look up, and see a broomstick, huge grin, a black-and-white outfit, and a hint of bloomers.

Oh, sweet bloomers.

I'm relieved to see her..it means she is unharmed and not involved in whatever happened last night

Well, whatever. What happens in the beast's lair is none of your concern, as long as you and your human are safe. And since his offering seems to have appeased the beast itself, even put the both of you in its favour, you see no reason to go wandering. The sound repeats, slightly louder this time, almost insistent, and you just ignore it. The subsequent silence is almost petulant.

However, it is quickly broken by the return of the red-white. She sets down a small tray and pours tea for the three of you. Taking a place at the other side of the table, she relaxes quickly - or at least appears to. She settles onto one elbow.

"So. What do you want?" She cuts right to the chase. Your human doesn't answer immediately, instead electing to take a drink from his tea. He looks down at it curiously, and speaks.

"You know, if you use the smaller, lighter leaves, you get a much better flavour." He laughs at her expression. "Now, now, don't make that face. I had to make do with weed tea for a few years, myself. It's admittedly a bit of an acquired taste, but you learn a few tricks after a while." Curiously, you pick up your own cup and take a sniff. It's certainly a strong-smelling sort of tea. However, it's all you can do to keep from spitting it out when you taste it. It's really terrible. You make a face, and set the tea down. He continues, "But yes, I did come for more than to just give you money."

"Of course. What's your problem? A particularly troublesome youkai?" She slides her eyes over to you for the barest second. "Or maybe not. So? What is it?" She manages to somehow sound just as impatient as she does laid back. Taking a sip from her own cup, she looks as miraculously unperturbed by the taste as your human. ...Maybe it's just a human thing. Speaking of humans, yours is pulling that rectangle from earlier out. And a little stick. The terrible creature across the table simply looks slightly curious.

"Tell me a story."

“…Excuse me?” She’s surprised. Off balance.

“A story. You resolved all those ‘

This is a thread of what might have been, what may yet be and what never could have been.

Basically some stuff that I've been toying with for a while. Let's see how it turns out.

This is not the Gensokyo you may know in your heart. I, Matsuo Heikichi, am not a hero. I cannot fight the youkai who seek to feast on me and my friends and family. I have no defense. If I run into a youkai outside the village, I am most likely doomed. That is how my mother died, when I was very young.

My hopes and dreams are not all dead, though. I live a happy life in the human village with my father, who is a blacksmith. While I often work with him, I am not being forced to pick up the family trade like most kids here. I'm a bit clumsy compared to him, and while I appreciate his work, I think both of us would rather I do something a bit more...scholarly.

My highest hope, though, is a girl. A personal hero, someone I have admired for a few years now. Marisa Kirisame. Sometimes she flies over the human village, and I am in awe of her speed, and defiance of the laws of nature that bind me. She flies, like a youkai, proving that
humans are not inferior. I hear tales of her defeating youkai in combat with her magic, and I can't help but idolize her. Last year I spent all my year's allowance getting one of the neighboring shops to carve a tiny wooden statue of Marisa flying on her broomstick, smiling and waving. It is my greatest treasure, and I don't regret it at all.

And today? Today is special. I'm going to confess to her. I don't care what she says, but I want to get it all off my chest, to thank her for what she has done for the village and for inspiring me. A man today laughingly told me that she'd be at the Hakurei shrine visiting her
friend, the caretaker.

And here I am, making the climb up the stairs in the summer heat, wishing I could fly more than ever. I hope my sweat doesn't make me unattractive to her, but I'm not the most impressive guy as far as looks anyway. At last, I reach the top of the stairs, and my efforts are rewarded already with the sight of my hero.

Marisa is talking to the shrine maiden, laughing cheerily at her expense as the two drink tea.

"Oh? Looks like you have a pilgrim, Reimu!"

"A human, too! Are you here to make an offering to the shrine, by any chan

I stood by the doorway, hesitant to commit fully to disturbing her. The memory of the last time I questioned her instruction was still fresh in my mind. I hoped it would not be like that again, “Mistress, a moment of your time if I may?”

“What is it that you want?” She did not look up from her cup of tea, eyes fixed on the hot vapor rising from the beverage.

“I wish to know of your assessment regarding my performance,” I put it directly, “What you believed happened and why it did.”

“Why?” She asked simply.

“To better myself if possible,” I explained.

“Are you incapable of reaching a conclusion yourself?”

“That is not it. I merely thought that your insight might reveal something I overlooked.”

Alice finally raised her gaze, giving me a hard stare. The warm wisps of steam were a sharp contrast to the coldness of her expression. She rebuked me harshly, “I am your instructor, not someone whom must hold your hand every time you waver. Do not waste my time without attempting to even resolve matters yourself. I have given you all the tools you need to learn and grow in skill. The paucity of result should not be my responsibility as it is not my effort that determines the outcome.”

“...I apologize,” I said weakly, “I did not mean to presume.”

“Your perfidious statements belie your apology,” Alice remarked. Her delicate finger still held the tea cup gently by the handle. She gently placed it on the saucer, adding a few more words to the chastisement, “Whatever conclusions that I have drawn from your failure today are inconsequential. I did not think it an impossible task but did not think it too simple either. If outright hostility and admission of failure is what you expect from me, I fear that I shall leave you wanting.”

“Excuse me for taking up your time then,” I tried to cut my losses.

She wouldn't let me go so easily, “Perhaps I should not betray your expectations. What punitive measures should I undertake?” She smiled to herself, looking somewhat pleased with the idea, “A more brutal teacher would employ the cane or whip to castigate failure. A more

Previous thread: >>21491

[ ] Introduce yourself as...
- [ ] The song-smith of the north, weaver of verses and skald of skill.


A moment flashes past, one of judgement and doubt entwined into one. Thoughts race through your mind, wondering whether you should seek to find the answer she must be looking for, or whether you should tell her what you feel in your heart. Perhaps these are one and the same, perhaps not.

Still, Sons of Odin are not ones to hesitate, and in a sudden flash of insight you choose which one among the many titles you could claim you should choose. Silver tongue unbound, song forged with wit and skill, tale told truly, these do you bring with you, for no other skill is as great as the stave-smithing.

You stand tall and proud, you face the guardian of this strange town, and you sing.

"Hail, glorious guardian, you who would know the one who now stands before her.
Hail, listen to the words, tangled tale untwisted when silver togue speaks.
Listen, you loyal thane who would stand before your hearth and home,
You who would shield the town of spellbound realm, hear honour's voice.

Ask, you who stand sentinel o'er hold and hearth, ask him of his deeds and daring,
Question, you who would wish to know him, answers aright he does as Odin bids.
Wonder, true-hearted thane, what warrior stands before you, know he is a tale-weaver,
Hear his deeds and name, those both who mark a man for judgement, who weigh his worth."

You pause for a brief moment, for dramatic effect as well as for a quick breath, then you catch the trusty thane's gaze with your own and you speak again, power flowing over your tongue and into your words.

"Listen, for one who stands before you is Sigurd Thorgrimson, son of Odin, song-smith.
Verses he weaves, staves of skill summoned when tongue tells truth, as when fable is fashioned.
His is wit and wisdom, well-versed with praised poems he sings staves smithed by skalds of yore.
Words he wields, warrior of blade and song, when glory is greatest he is its author or witness."

There is silence as you let the words end. In the eyes and expression of the great g