[x] Scout the mountain's damages

"No, sorry. I got something to do." Marisa makes a bit of a face at you, that seems to signify that it can't be helped.

"Ah, well, that's okay then. I had some questions to ask ya, but that can wait I suppose. But hey, next time you got some free time, swing by my place in the magic forest and let's talk a bit, okay?" You're not entirely sure as to why the witch is interested in you, but you give a quick nod before seeing her off. You're left to your own devices now.

You'd like to tell Yukari about what happened, but you feel as if she would be indifferent to it, making the action meaningless in the end. If she isn't going to do anything about it, you may as well try in her stead. You have a lot of things you'd like to investigate here, but first thing's first, you need to check what kind of damages the mountain has incurred. The demon swarm seemed to have been ignoring most of the landscape, but you did witness a catastrophic battle between the horde and the many tengu that you assumed lived here. It's obvious what happened to those who opposed the raging hellstorm, nothing could stand up to such might all at once. Though you're certain they slowed much of it down, which helped you and Reimu deal with the onslaught for a while, you're positive that the tengu and any others who fought here lost. If you're lucky, maybe you can find a few survivors and help them.

As you start making your way down the mountain, your worst fears are confirmed. You didn't think the demons had any interest in the mountain themselves, but the many people who fought back against the blanket of darkness inadvertently turned the mountain into a torn up battlefield that more closely resembles a wasteland then any of the previous beauty of Gensokyo. Along the way you walk past the ruins of several encampments, many fallen trees and broken rocks, signs of battle and desperate struggle, and worst of all, plenty of dead bodies. What irks you most is that only a scant few belong to the demons that flew overhead. Many of the corpses you see appear human... but you're sure no hum

“It's very nice of the two of you to take me in,” you say, “even temporarily.”

The girl across the table from you stares. Her eyes glow with a color you are almost sure should not come from any human being's eyes. Then again, you're almost sure this girl isn't human, though she might just be mutated, the subject of some malicious ritual, or any other of a variety of things. A curve travels down her tails, like a message sent across a pair of tin can telephones—one duplicate, in case of limp string or cut wire. She says nothing, only fixes you against the wall behind you with that unearthly gaze.

You think you would like the other woman to come back soon. She seemed nicer, even if she did have more tails.

“So, I didn't catch your name,” you say, in an effort at admittedly meaningless conversation. Anything would be better than awkward silence, you suppose.

You are wrong. The gaze intensifies. You are the plague-bearing insect pinned to the card point. You are the first hint of water damage against a white wall. You are the embarrassing childhood photograph taken in the moment your eyes were closed. You really don't like that photograph.

The girl doesn't seem to like it, either. “I didn't tell you my name,” she hisses, and the two of you lapse into silence. You're silently debating with yourself whether it would be worth the risk to ask her if you've offended her when the other woman returns.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting,” she says, although her stone-faced expression casts doubt on the presence of any actual sorrow—which is not to say you can glean nothing from her countenance. Her gaze is just as sharp as her less-tailed companion's, but in a different way. If you are the insect, she is the entomologist. “What did you say your name was, again?”

The girl's head swivels away from you with a rapidity reached only by the most aerodynamic of spinning teacups.

[x] Calm down, try to find her through other senses

Ugh, no, you can't get too worked up, no matter how much your body may want to. You close your eyes and try to calm yourself down. Your hearing is obviously not going to work in your favor anymore, and your sight isn't doing much good. It's time to rely on a special sense that you've felt since coming here. The aura that Chen emits, that peripheral vision marking the Yakumo family that you don't necessarily see, but can feel. With Chen so close to you, it's difficult to pin point where Chen is exactly, but after a brief moment, you think you got it. It becomes astonishingly clear the moment Chen opens fire on you once again.

With a quick slash, the bullets are blocked. All of them deflect harmlessly upon your spear. You got it. But the battle isn't over. More bullets approach you from the side. Those get blocked too. More bullets are fired and consequently vanquished in the blink of an eye. You're getting the hang of this, but you're finding it harder and harder to control that burning, fiery sensation in your chest. That feeling that's lighting your body on fire. It seems that no matter how much you may want to cool down, your body continues heating up like an out of control forest fire.

It needs to end. Now.

"Is Satoya wising up? Come on, catch Chen!"

You can see her. The brighter the fire burns, the more obvious Chen's aura becomes. She shifts through the trees at remarkable speed. But it's a predictable pattern. It isn't long until...

"Hah! Ah...huh? Sato--"

Chen's bullets had hit nothing. She stopped for a brief second to wonder and try and pin point your location.

Among many of the curious facts surrounding the figure of Prince Shotoku, one of the least known of all is that he acquired a profound liking for mochi in his final years of life. When he proposed to create a Society of Rice Cakes and Sweets, the then Emperor of Japan asked his wife for advice. Soga no Tojiko, experienced at cooking all kinds of desserts, pastries and other kinds of food, said this to her husband:

"My husband, there have been many a cook who had excelled in the art of making sweets. Especially if we speak of mochi, for the quality of the cook who tryeth to make such a popular dessert can be easily surveyable by anyone. Therefore, I advise thou to halt pondering on the matter of that Society of Cakes, if thou still hath a spock of self-esteem left in thee."

On the other hand, Prince Shotoku's most esteemed friend, Mononobe no Futo, was also against his lord's sudden interest in learning how to cook sweets, and about the same time he sent a letter to the Emperor:

"My friend, I humbly ask thee to abandon thine idea of becoming a cook. It is fairly probable that my prejudices are clouding my sight, but sadly they do not lull my palate."

At this point, Prince Shotoku was forced to choose between his reputation as the Emperor of Japan and his newfound passion for cooking, and he picked the latter. Unfortunately for both. He dedicated his remaining life to master the art of making mochi, and to avoid conflicts with his wife and his friend, he decided to use a pen-name: Prince Shotaku. Soga no Tojiko got wind of this and sent another letter to her husband:

"My husband, if thou usest that pseudonym, everybody will know that not only I am married to a talentless cook, but I am also the wife of an idiot who may have an attraction to young children."

Prince Shotoku admitted that Tojiko was in the right once again, and so he changed his alias: Toyosatomimi no Miko. This finally solved the problem with his wife and his friend, but was also the cause of many complaints and penal charges from seventy-three shrine maidens who did not want their holy profession to be associated in any way with the infamous cook.

Thread 1: >>24467


The Clock:

The (x) after an option depicts how many units of time it will take to execute that option. Encounters differ with the period of time the protagonists are in as well as where they are at that specific time. Unless specified, all options are assumed to take one unit of time. Each "phase" contains two units of time.

The phases of time are: Dawn -> Sunrise -> Noon -> Sunset -> Dusk -> Moonrise -> Midnight -> Moonset -> Dawn -> ...

Inventory:

Unlike other stories, the protagonists' inventory is not a bag of holding. Don't think you can act like a packrat and take everything in tow; the story will specify whether you can take something or if you need to put something down in order to take the object in question with you.

This information is here so the reader knows what he/she is getting into when they choose an option. Thank you for reading this notice!

This is a practice story, to see if I’m truly cut out for this CYOA thing. Hopefully it doesn’t go off with too many problems.
----------------------------

“We are all haunted, all of us, by things we can see and feel and guess at, and many more things that we can't.”

~ Beth Gutcheon ~
----------------------------

Lying in the shade of one of many verdant trees that makes up a little grove just on the outskirts of my village, a young man cozily reads about local legends long past in faraway kingdoms he’s never been. While he may never experience such an adventure himself, he doesn’t mind too badly. He takes to reading any chance he can get, briefly eluding the toils of his work as apprentice to a knowledgeable weapons manufacturer. Contrary to what images may emerge to someone told about his looming profession, the boy really has no wishes to go out and pursue a life of defending the village or hunting potentially threatening youkai. He simply wanted to make something useful for the other men to do, they being far more built and daring to fit the life of a soldier or hunter. Not only that, risking his life in such a gruesome manner would be directly infringing on the duties of the shrine maiden, the local celebrity everybody knows about regardless of their race. So there he sits, his shoulders dug into the exposed base of this oak tree, enjoying a lunch break for all it’s worth.

While it’s certainly a good book, I must admit I’ve grown tired of reading it over and over. There are only so many different selections to choose from in our undersupplied library, as proud of it as we may be. Eventually, one will come to realize he has perused every single text to be found, and must then make a choice to either give up the habit or reread something he already knows by heart. To deny myself the privilege to written works is unheard of, much like the passerby who keeps a package of food all to himself without any though for the monks he may pass. So I’ve come to rotate through stories quite familiar to me by now, always sitting here in the lap of a mighty tree—when the weather permits—usually with a light snack to gr

We all know how the stories go. Someone gets lucky, stumbles upon the border to Gensokyo, penetrates it, and proceeds to romance its denizens. Each time the story proceeds under a pretense: You are special, you are unique, and perhaps you are even the first one in.

Stories are fiction.

The records place the number of former outsiders who entered during the last two years at 1125, not counting outsiders who perished before documentation. True, there are only a few living outsiders active in Gensokyo as of your knowledge, but that is not a good sign.

The causality rate is so high that the villagers have given up properly burying the corpses, and began leaving them out for the animals and feral youkai to feast on at their leisure.

Not like they don’t deserve it.

Some of the records of death in Akyu’s house contain annotations, for when the reason is more interesting than just “fell off cliff”, “eaten”, or “poisoned in the Forest of Magic”.

#1124, committed suicide after love confession rejected by Hakurei shrine maiden.

#1106, brutally dismembered after attempted molestation of Netherworld gardener during shrine festival.

creation@comp-173:~$ cd ISE
creation@comp-173:~/TH$ ls -a
. .. ISE.jar .Data
creation@comp-173:~/TH$ java -jar ISE.jar

Illusive Skyward Eye is a text-based adventure game.
Girls do their best now and are preparing. Please watch warmly until it is ready.

[ ]: New Game
[ ]: Continue
[ ]: Options
[ ]: Extra
[ ]: Scene Select
[ ]: Quit

You run; your legs push against the ground, each quick step causing the wind to smash in your face, drying your eyes.

You can’t hear them anymore. You don’t stop thought; you slow down a bit, heeding the growing aches in your legs.

It seems you lost them. Still, you should make sure.

You dash ahead and jump; you extend your arm and latch on light post, letting it redirect your momentum for a second before you let go, running full tilt down a blind alley. You grit your teeth and, pushing off the floor with all your strength you run one, two, three long steps up the alley’s wall, grab it from the top and pushing yourself over.

You have a second to look down at the piles of boxes and thrash you remember not being there last time, before a feeling of vertigo warns you that this may not go well.

You land on your feet on an old box which immediately crumples under you with a ‘crunch’; you lose your footing and fall on your arms, which you barely managed to lift to cover your face.

That sucked. Anyway, you’re safe now; you gingerly pull yourself up, wincing as your left elbow throbs but otherwise feeling just fine, if a bit winded.

After checking that you have no serious injuries to speak of, you sit back down on the floor and take a bottle from your bag, drinking from it and catching your breath at your leisure, congratulating yourself from getting away from the ‘Golds’; stupid name.

Morning.

The fresh smell of tea permeates the air. Your eyes flicker open as you see the white ceiling of your room again, sunlight illuminated the rest of your room. Letting out a sigh, a small smile forms on your face as you sit up, seeing a glass of tea next to you.

“Ah, what a pleasant day,” you remark, silently chuckling to yourself.

You hear a door open as you turn towards your butler, Wilton, entering in with a tray of food. Gently pushing your blanket aside, you sit on the edge of the bed as your butler sets the tray of food down next to the glass of tea.

“Good morning, Wilton,” you greet cheerfully, “How are you this morning?”

“I am quite fine, Master George,” your butler replies, giving you a quick bow. “And what about you, sir, you seem to in high spirits this morning.”

“Indeed, Wilton. I have to say that I had quite a pleasant dream.”

“A dream, sir?”