[ ] 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.

"Mgrgrlbleh..."

Muttering nonsense in my half-awake state, I sit up from the makeshift bed. While leaves aren't the most comfortable cushion, it does not irritate the stems of my wings like the bedrock would. The first thing I notice is the lack of heat. With a flick of my pale hand towards the small pile of coals, the makeshift fireplace smolders to life. I look around lazily, brushing my mahogany hair out of my eyes. This helps little, as my brown eyes aren't meant for the darkness that being four feet underground tends to have.

All I can make out with the lightly burning lumps of bark is that nothing changed overnight. The small hole I found under the tree is still unaffected by the harsh winter blizzards; my routine of melting the snow that plugs the only entrance is likely a factor. Yawning, I debate on whether to sleep through the day again or not.

Hopping off the pile of leaves, I rip of a piece of one and use it to blow my nose. While being just under half a foot tall has it's downsides, I never tire of it's benefits, with "using small objects in ways larger fairies couldn't dream of" being in the top 5. I flash-burn the leaf into ash and wipe my hands onto my already-soot-covered red, one-piece dress; after ruining my only other outfit by trying to turn the dress into a shirt/shorts two-piece, I figure that nobody is going to see me in this thing, anyway. Stretching my almost-invisible two pairs of wings, I stare into the small fire and let my mind wander...

=-=-=-=

[ ] __________

Chapter two
Previous Thread: >>22517

The update should be up in the next day or two.

As far as the picture in question? It's both a hint at the update and something Yuki and Wriggle discussed at Rinnosuke's shop.

It's been a week and a half after falling into this strange world and being saved by the black-white witch. If it weren't for her, you'd be frozen to death by that damn blue haired fairy, although you wouldn't agree with her (somewhat extreme) methods of rescue. You got over the flight sickness easily enough. She introduced herself as Marisa Kirisame(a curious blend of European and Japanese names) and offered you a place to stay for a while. You decided to pay your dues to Marisa by working as a helper in her magic shop but man oh man, you're beginning to regret it. Not only are you now an accessory to at least 3 counts of robbery but you also find that your back is about to break from all the lifting she's having you do. Still you can't really complain. After all, she let you sleep in her guest room which is actually rather cosy compared the place you were living before you ended up here. She's a good cook, and despite the fact that the floor is a mess, it's still strangely navigable. It's like the floor is in some sort of orderly chaos.

You stand in front of a bubbling cauldron in the fireplace, keeping an eye on its contents for Marisa while she looks for stirring equipment in the adjacent room. You hear her shouting something urgently. "Hey! put .... potion in .... cauldron, I'd say it's .... ready!" You can barely hear her due to the acoustics in the room. "Do .... quick it should be about to .... over ze!" She's right, it is about to boil over. You spot a couple of potions on top of the mantelpiece. Working quickly, you pour in....

[] The yellow smoky potion.
[] The blue swirling potion.

_____________________
This will primarily be a /d/ story, the specifics of which will be revealed in the next post. and I hope to keep it a brief as possible as I don't think I have the stamina for a long ass story.

Continuing a trend of having very confusing outlays for stories, I present to you a new quest, a slightly different take on Gensokyo.

It'll all be very confusing, especially at the beginning. But hopefully this will clear up shortly. As before, please bear with the moderately tedious prose, the run-on sentences and perhaps lengthy time between updates - though since this isn't /th/, I'm sure you don't expect daily updates anyway.


---

"Wake up, dearest one."

The first sensation is her voice.
Alice's voice is melodic to our ears as it always is, you tell me. Guided by your instruction, I reach out and feel the soft touch of her fingertip with my hands, relishing the moments before fully waking that only occur once in a lifetime.

"Are you ready to meet your family?" At last, I open our eyes to see her, our mother, and all the host of dolls that are our sisters. Once again, like the hundreds that have come before, I smile as a newborn for the very first time.

Yet even as I do so, I feel my mind expand, far beyond the reach of this single, if well made, body. I see through hundreds of eyes, can feel and move a legion with my will. And I can hear each of your thoughts as clearly as you can hear mine.

And halfscore past, and childehood's end past, and whereas my mind too past, locomobile lought stilhouette in the road. Peaces scatter, stoneskip ofer the asfalt to wards the gutter, Corpus Callowsum! To haven't twohold, to half and half-not.

So we leive. So leiving. So livted, hopefully ever after.

And morowse and agonious day: I, we, dullboy, schooleryboy. Ruler smart me for days and doze, betwist dreamamine of farrest and would, listenless to Professer Reid and harkan not, but open amyway his thirstory deksbook to peige, en peige, en peige agone to his spielling out of Overlaud and Nomandy, when on due tree! Spring is aground up, is shoots, is rowse, until the Professer is lost beyonder trunks and stands-up not afore me, him nor classmet, nor linestone backwall.

Saw robin and bird sing: Halloo halay! And ill a tune I, I kept, and kept quite.

So begain:

[ ] The grase-estaimed, the songstress herselve.
[ ] Forest fliege, the papilia.
[ ] Fair and fairrow, with glosamer-span.
[ ] The whitte fibres cut, and dusken after.
[ ] Dolce, all-a-one, her poppet-fallows friends.

Discord. Usually a source of entertainment. Often a catalyst for a complete break. And after that came the joy of rebirth. It always followed that pattern, not caring who or what it destroyed. It was best observed, not experienced.

The time was not right for gambling. Even if what emerged from discord were to be stronger, the uncertainty involved was too big to be ignored. With carefully laid plans, the need to minimize risk was pivotal. A century of plot would not be undone by chance.

The strength of the bond was weak, but not had not completely given way. For someone of her abilities it was trivial to reach out as necessary. Already she made the most of the fledgling link, whispering half-truths and tempting promises. It would work. It always did. Events would be shaped to her liking. It was, after all, her plan. And it would not be changed without her consent.

“You'll catch a cold like that.”

“I could say the same to you,” I opened my eyes slowly. As expected, Marisa was still as exposed as before. Somehow she had gotten her clothes wet while in the bath and had emerged wearing nothing more than a towel. In an attempt to cover herself, she had left much exposed. The towel only extended to just above her bosom and barely reached the very upper extremity of her thigh. Though highly suggestive of the body underneath, I did not make an active effort of looking at her figure.

“I found the shirt,” She said.

“Put it on then, instead of just holding it.”

“Right,” I looked away just as the towel dropped and she unabashedly dressed in front of me. My mind was preoccupied with another female and spared her no second thought.

It’s time for a story about fairies. A fairytale, if you will.

The focus of the story is "nameless" fairies. Humans and Youkai are not very important to them. Some named fairies may appear over the course of the story.

There is no big, over-arcing story.

There are no routes, penalties for dying, bad ends, or time limits.

If there is nothing going on, I have a small library of prepared events, incidents, and mini-plots to draw from.

It’s like a sandbox full of immortal, shape-ambivalent little hedonists with magical powers.

Now, to build a protagonist-

Your aspect is what facet of nature your embody. You draw power from being around your aspect, and your abilities relate to it, at least in concept. Some examples can include types of plants, classical elements and their variants, weather conditions, minerals, heavenly bodies, and generally any aspect of nature itself. It can be changed any time you die or sleep.

This is a tale of a young Gensokyo native and how he ends up witnessing various events in the course of knowing everybody's favorite bug-girl.

Select character archetype; this determines the MC's personality and preferred choices. A name would also be preferred, but not required. Voting ends late tomorrow.

I'm also taking suggestions for the title.

-------

[ ]Hotblooded -- A talented novice hunter and fighter, his aptitude in other areas is not notable at all. Despite his dimness, his confidence gives him a sort of charisma smarter folks might lack.

Life story: Orphaned by a youkai, an older hunter and his wife took him and raised him as their own. Under their roof he learned how to hunt and kill, and he has just started to work with other novices. He's a bit perplexed by the soft stance his "father" has in regards to non-feral youkai. Also, his father discourages acting recklessly for glory and profit, something his personality predisposes him to do. He has a fondness for tales of heroes, which caused his reckless streak.


Stats:
Combat: A (Melee based)

Page after page of yellowed paper passed by my thumb as I searched for what I was looking for. Each page was filled from margin to margin with small-font text that the casual onlooker might confuse for streams of ants neatly crossing the page, annotations in flawless penmanship next to the text, and the occasional elaborate illustration. There were no chapters, headings, or any other markers that could otherwise show where the content I was looking for would be. I had to rely on dumb luck and sketchy memory, trying to correlate familiar words and drawings with the approximate placement of the material. At last I found what I was searching for towards the back of the book. I took out my own notebook and transcribed the passage I needed. The reason I had failed last time I tried to cast was that my reagent was added at the wrong moment. Or so I believed. All other explanations left me wanting. Uncertainty was something that had to be avoided, something which I had been taught was a crutch.

I closed the ancient book, lifting up a column of dust in the process. I coughed, and was aware of my surroundings. The dark little closet where the older tomes were stored was barely large enough to fit a chair and a small knee-high podium for perusing. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of lore and the door was as heavy as it was secretive. The whole place stank of mold and negligence and was more of a hiding place than storeroom. Needless to say, no natural light dared to sneak in either because of how remote this place was to the rest of the house. My source of light had been an ethereal wisp floating around my should, an elementary display of magic which helped me deal with the circumstances. It cast the whole room in a ghostly hue of white light. I felt compelled to leave as soon as possible and seal the tomb-like repository.

The wisp was extinguished by a single muttered word when I felt the warm rays of sunlight on my face. I walked towards the nearest window, reading my notes.

I still was not confident that I had found the real issue when she spoke, “Are you ready yet?”

“I think so,” I replied, turning around to face her. As had been the case lately, I found her