Real life is about to start taking up most of my time so I thought I would put up what I have done as of now and let people make suggestions, point out things I've done wrong, as well as any tips or constructive critisisms you think neccessary.
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'thoughts'
"speech"
<Sign language> hasn't been used yet
Our story begins .... , well, our story really begins with an incredibly inebriated Wild mage, Errol the Erratic casting NahalÆs Reckless Dweomer in an impromptu attempt to modify BigbyÆs interposing hand to the far more amusing use of flipping up the barmaidÆs skirt. The outcome of which created, as an interesting side effect, an astral rift centred on a mug of ale held by a young green eyed bard.
No one was quite sure exactly what happened, as it is incredibly hard to describe coherently the visual sight of someone being twisted into eighteen dimensions and disappearing into a dot while singing about pink elephants and indeed one needs to be incredibly drunk to succeed (on a side note the revised spell did actually manage to flip up said barmaids skirt but unfortunately it had other unforseen effects besides aforementioned astral rift, namely temporarily raising the strength of said barmaid so that her returning slap lodged Errol the Erratic in the roof of the tavern).
Normally anything sucked into an unguided accidentally summoned astral rift has the survival chance of a turtle on a twelve lane motorway. So it was indeed statistically freakish when said astral rift shot our young bard into an almost unvisited part of the multiverse, neatly avoiding all those planes which would have since him dead, soul rent from his body by demonic entities, eaten by tentacled things from the dungeon dimensions, enslaved as the last male on the planet by a race of succubi like women, revered as the next incarnation of a major god or otherwise inconvenienced and instead dropping him unconscious into seriously hot water, or as we know, an occupied outdoor womenÆs bath somewhere in Japan sometime in the late 11th century.
He, of course had all kinds of interesting and highly improbable adventures and eventually settled down and had a family (although interestingly enough, the aforementioned adventures seemed to focus on which of the young ladies who witnessed his entrance into this reality would, for want of a better phrase, bag the lovably oblivious fool).
Our part of the story begins with a tune, it was a simple, innocuous, cheerful tune whistled by a green eyed, brown haired young man as he dragged his luggage behind him. It seemed to declare to the world that even though you were leaving home and striking it out on your own, the world, was still a wonderful place full of promise and hope, and that you may as well stop to the smell the roses before you gave it all a go.
Its effect could be seen in the brooding overworked office worker who decided not to go on a shooting spree through upper management and chose instead to visit a relaxing cafÚ, (where he incidentally met a charming young waitress who accepted his suggestion of a date) or the arguing couple screaming at each other who calmed down and sobbingly decided to give each other one more chance (although the screaming did started up again soon after, it was for a completely different and decidedly happier reason).
All through Hinata city a wave of good cheer and optimistic hope seemed to weave through the streets as people set aside their worries and gave things a chance, although if one could have mapped out the time and location of each event it would have correlated strangely with the confused wanderings of a lost young man who was only now gazing at the imposing steps to what he knew to be Hinata-sou.
Gazing silently up the hill, Keitaro Urashima, age 19, took in the majesty of the setting as clouds drifted by under the warm afternoon sun, his green eyes soaking in the idyllic scene.
Green eyes were a throw back in his family when he had asked, only occurring every few generations, indeed the only other family member he had seen with the same eye colour was his great uncle. Although ægreenÆ would be a simplification of the complicated chaotic swirl of colour that were keitaroÆs eyes, shades and swirls of green, brown and grey seemed to move in them, his glasses ensured that few people knew about this though.
æI donÆt remember this many stepsÆ Keitaro thought to himself, carefully lifting his bags so he wouldnÆt knock it on any steps as he carried it up, æbut it canÆt be helpedæ his most precious possessions were in that bag and he had never felt comfortable letting someone else cart them around. Humming to himself he slowly climbed the stairs, the pleasant childhood memories attached to them flooding back.
Memories of playing with his promise girl and the sandpit where the precious promise to get into Todai had been made.
His first instrument and music lesson, the old heirloom family harp that his great-uncle had taught him how to play,
Learning how to bake pastries and cook from his parents.
Watching his uncles get together, talk, get drunk and then play and sing bawdy songs till his red-faced aunts scolded and called them in.
His school music teachers and the four way brawl that had erupted when they realised that he could only play one instrument in the school band.
The disturbing memory of Ito-sensei wrapping her flute around Kobe senseiÆs throat as he knocked out Saito-sensei with a tuba and the look of panic as wizened old Suzuki sensei hefted a piano over his head to end the brawl.
æHappy timesÆ thought Keitaro as he reached the top of the stairs, æNow I wonder what Granny called me here for?Æ
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Nostalgia is a wonderful thing, bringing back fond memories of times past, except for when it clouds observation of important information in the present, like for instance a sign saying Girls only Dormitory, so with out this very important piece of information an extremely complicated and highly improbable course of events was finally set into motion as Keitaro stepped inside the halls of the Hinata-sou.
Keitaro let out a whistle, the two crisp notes ringing like a door bell through the empty halls, æthatÆs funny no one seems to be hereÆ thought Keitaro.
The last time he had visited and announced his presence in such a way, Granny express-freight-train Hina had barrelled straight through his parents and scooped both Kanako and himself into a hug before almost drowning them in wet sloppy kisses. Considering he was upright and dry she mustnÆt be here.
æOh well I may as well bring my stuff in, IÆll leave it in grandmaÆs room for safe keepingÆ mused Keitaro as he walked up the stairs and towards where he remembered his grandmaÆs room was. Finding the room and flopping down on the tatami mats he let his mind wander to what possible reasons his grandma might have for calling him here.
Keitaro stared at the ceiling as he took stock of his life in an effort to come up with a reason why he had been sent for out of the blue. He was still trying to get into that combined Todai / Gedai Education/Music degree after two attempts already, his parents even understood that it wasnÆt really his fault he hadnÆt got in.
He thought back to his first attempt, he had decided to do classical guitar as his audition instrument, the initial theory exam had been easy, music had always made so much sense to him, and the scales and first audition piece had gone fine.
It was the second piece that had caused problems, his fill in examiner had been Aizawa-san a homely if severely dressed lady in her late 20Æs, who had lately been finding the life of a single, highly talented violinist to be a lonely one. All the men she met were either intimidated by her skill or were after the prestige of dating a minor celebrity in the classical music arena.
So when Keitaro began his second audition piece things started to get a bit strange, why you ask, Keitaro played a Spanish Flamenco ballard. Full of passion and emotion, coupled with its exotic mix of cultural influences it began to have a profound effect on Miss Yuki Aizawa. She began to feel strangely warm and tingly, suddenly the highly professional business jacket, long dress and high button blouse felt strangely restrictive, she began to wonder why she always wore her hair in a bun.
Keitaro immersed in the joy of making music had no idea what was going on until Aizawa-san called a stop to the audition. Confused he had opened his eyes and wondered æHow come Aizawa-san is red and out of breath, I hope sheÆs not falling illÆ and as she walked towards him æI wonder why she just pulled her hair out of its bunÆ and then æWhat the hell!Æ as, Yuki Aizawa took the guitar from him, tackled him to the floor and attempted a to reach his tonsils with her tongue.
The commotion had drawn the attention of the other examiners and auditioners outside but they only managed to pry Aizawa-san off when Keitaro had fainted from lack of air and shock. She had then kiss tackled her fellow examiner and long time unrequited crush before recovering her senses and blushing red to her roots.
Needless to say Keitaro hadnÆt made it that year although he did get an invite to play dinner jazz at the wedding reception a few months later, where the happy groom had thanked him for whatever it was he had done that had led to this day.
His second attempt the year after hadnÆt gone much better, in an attempt to stem any such reoccurrence he had chosen the flute solo pieces, Grand Polonaise in D major by Boehm a demanding, virtuostic work and BachÆs Partita in A minor a masterpiece in the Baroque style, there shouldnÆt have been any reason for anything to happen.
The examiner that year had been a cantankerous German professor with the build of a bear and a beard you could hide a wolf in, renowned for being miserable, demanding and universally hard to please, indeed Professor Koertig was known to have sent prospective students away in tears from auditions. Again Keitaro had done well in the theory exam and the scales, all seemed well in the first piece as the difficult and demanding work by Boehm had seemingly impressed the normally abrasive German professor, again however it was the second work that caused problems.
As Keitaro played the deeply religious BachÆs Partita in A minor, Professor Koertig, proud and antagonistic atheist that he was had a religious experience. Was he really happy with where he was now, bitter, lonely, wantonly malicious?
Why did he derive so much joy by crushing the hopes of so many young musicians, where had he gone wrong all those years ago, he had been such a happy and helpful child the brothers at the old monastery school in his hometown had always said. His mother had always said how proud she was of her gentlemanly son, what would she say looking at him now?
Keitaro played on oblivious to the deep soul searching and life revaluation going on beside him until a teary professor Koertig had stopped the audition, given him a bear hug that would have given a bear pause and sent him on his way with such glowing audition comments, the university had investigated him to make sure bribery wasnÆt involved.
The investigation was never completed though, as he had heard second hand that Professor Koertig had resigned and returned to his home town where he had joined the old monastery school as a monk and now taught music to the orphans there. (He and his metal bound bible were now also the symbol of terror for all miscreants and vagabonds in his hometown, indeed the phrase ôThe word of the Lord correctsö was often the last thing criminals heard before waking up in jail with concussion and cross shaped contusions)
No wrong doing was found but the university was always overly cautious, so Keitaro hadnÆt made it in that year either.
Sitting up keitaro resolved, this year he would make it, æI mean how bad could my luck beÆ before deciding æIÆll take a bath, that will take my mind off thingsÆ
This of course would later prove just how unlucky he could be.
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The Hinata ûsou Onsen was a u-shaped pool with a large rock formation at its centre with rock features defining three interconnected pools while partially obscuring view from one pool to another. Keitaro slipped into the side he remembered to be the menÆs side of the pool, after all he wasnÆt a pervert to hide in the womenÆs side and it wasnÆt polite to bathe in the mixed section with strangers.
Letting the warm waters soak away the aches and pains accumulated from walking around lost for an hour and half, and climbing a long flight of stairs with luggage, Keitaro allowed his mind to turn back to the matter at hand.
He had decent grades not amazing but heÆd been good at anything to do with music or language even if the higher maths and sciences had escaped him. HeÆd had a good childhood, true he hadnÆt been popular, ever, but then he hadnÆt really been made fun of much beyond what was to be expected by being a quiet dork.
At school most of the guys were friendly enough to say hi, although the girls always seemed to be wary of him for some reason, when ever he had waved and smiled he always seemed to get the same strained nervous smile and anxious half hearted wave before they excused themselves.
His family had made up for it though, the Urashima Clan had always been close knit, Keitaro had fond memories of those family reunions, they had filled the inn, and the children had run riot while the Aunts gossiped and the Uncles drank and sang in the onsen. It had been years since such a reunion though, as the kids had grown up everyone was too busy to get together again as a clan, although they had tried to make up for it by visiting each other often.
Caught in the nostalgia, his mind drifted through his memories remembering treasure hunts and games of tag, swings and playgrounds, when like an iceberg in a shipping lane he hit æthatÆ memory. Keitaro mentally kicked himself, why did he always remind himself of that, the self loathing welled up in him as the sounds of the truck skidding, the sickening thud of flesh bouncing off steel and the look of fear directed at him played through his mind again.
His great-grandfather had said that if you had enough good memories they would gang up and drown out the bad, but somehow Keitaro doubted he would ever forget that day. Sighing heavily, Keitaro carefully picked up the wooden container that held his bathing supplies, emptied it out and smacked himself in the head, ÆIÆm not some manga character, I refuse to be emoÆ.
Setting down the container, his senses alerted him to the sound of a screen door opening and closing, æthatÆs odd there didnÆt seem to be any guestsÆ, putting his glasses on he turned to greet the newcomer, when the sight being delivered caused his brain to stall.
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'thoughts'
"speech"
<Sign language> hasn't been used yet
Our story begins .... , well, our story really begins with an incredibly inebriated Wild mage, Errol the Erratic casting NahalÆs Reckless Dweomer in an impromptu attempt to modify BigbyÆs interposing hand to the far more amusing use of flipping up the barmaidÆs skirt. The outcome of which created, as an interesting side effect, an astral rift centred on a mug of ale held by a young green eyed bard.
No one was quite sure exactly what happened, as it is incredibly hard to describe coherently the visual sight of someone being twisted into eighteen dimensions and disappearing into a dot while singing about pink elephants and indeed one needs to be incredibly drunk to succeed (on a side note the revised spell did actually manage to flip up said barmaids skirt but unfortunately it had other unforseen effects besides aforementioned astral rift, namely temporarily raising the strength of said barmaid so that her returning slap lodged Errol the Erratic in the roof of the tavern).
Normally anything sucked into an unguided accidentally summoned astral rift has the survival chance of a turtle on a twelve lane motorway. So it was indeed statistically freakish when said astral rift shot our young bard into an almost unvisited part of the multiverse, neatly avoiding all those planes which would have since him dead, soul rent from his body by demonic entities, eaten by tentacled things from the dungeon dimensions, enslaved as the last male on the planet by a race of succubi like women, revered as the next incarnation of a major god or otherwise inconvenienced and instead dropping him unconscious into seriously hot water, or as we know, an occupied outdoor womenÆs bath somewhere in Japan sometime in the late 11th century.
He, of course had all kinds of interesting and highly improbable adventures and eventually settled down and had a family (although interestingly enough, the aforementioned adventures seemed to focus on which of the young ladies who witnessed his entrance into this reality would, for want of a better phrase, bag the lovably oblivious fool).
Our part of the story begins with a tune, it was a simple, innocuous, cheerful tune whistled by a green eyed, brown haired young man as he dragged his luggage behind him. It seemed to declare to the world that even though you were leaving home and striking it out on your own, the world, was still a wonderful place full of promise and hope, and that you may as well stop to the smell the roses before you gave it all a go.
Its effect could be seen in the brooding overworked office worker who decided not to go on a shooting spree through upper management and chose instead to visit a relaxing cafÚ, (where he incidentally met a charming young waitress who accepted his suggestion of a date) or the arguing couple screaming at each other who calmed down and sobbingly decided to give each other one more chance (although the screaming did started up again soon after, it was for a completely different and decidedly happier reason).
All through Hinata city a wave of good cheer and optimistic hope seemed to weave through the streets as people set aside their worries and gave things a chance, although if one could have mapped out the time and location of each event it would have correlated strangely with the confused wanderings of a lost young man who was only now gazing at the imposing steps to what he knew to be Hinata-sou.
Gazing silently up the hill, Keitaro Urashima, age 19, took in the majesty of the setting as clouds drifted by under the warm afternoon sun, his green eyes soaking in the idyllic scene.
Green eyes were a throw back in his family when he had asked, only occurring every few generations, indeed the only other family member he had seen with the same eye colour was his great uncle. Although ægreenÆ would be a simplification of the complicated chaotic swirl of colour that were keitaroÆs eyes, shades and swirls of green, brown and grey seemed to move in them, his glasses ensured that few people knew about this though.
æI donÆt remember this many stepsÆ Keitaro thought to himself, carefully lifting his bags so he wouldnÆt knock it on any steps as he carried it up, æbut it canÆt be helpedæ his most precious possessions were in that bag and he had never felt comfortable letting someone else cart them around. Humming to himself he slowly climbed the stairs, the pleasant childhood memories attached to them flooding back.
Memories of playing with his promise girl and the sandpit where the precious promise to get into Todai had been made.
His first instrument and music lesson, the old heirloom family harp that his great-uncle had taught him how to play,
Learning how to bake pastries and cook from his parents.
Watching his uncles get together, talk, get drunk and then play and sing bawdy songs till his red-faced aunts scolded and called them in.
His school music teachers and the four way brawl that had erupted when they realised that he could only play one instrument in the school band.
The disturbing memory of Ito-sensei wrapping her flute around Kobe senseiÆs throat as he knocked out Saito-sensei with a tuba and the look of panic as wizened old Suzuki sensei hefted a piano over his head to end the brawl.
æHappy timesÆ thought Keitaro as he reached the top of the stairs, æNow I wonder what Granny called me here for?Æ
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Nostalgia is a wonderful thing, bringing back fond memories of times past, except for when it clouds observation of important information in the present, like for instance a sign saying Girls only Dormitory, so with out this very important piece of information an extremely complicated and highly improbable course of events was finally set into motion as Keitaro stepped inside the halls of the Hinata-sou.
Keitaro let out a whistle, the two crisp notes ringing like a door bell through the empty halls, æthatÆs funny no one seems to be hereÆ thought Keitaro.
The last time he had visited and announced his presence in such a way, Granny express-freight-train Hina had barrelled straight through his parents and scooped both Kanako and himself into a hug before almost drowning them in wet sloppy kisses. Considering he was upright and dry she mustnÆt be here.
æOh well I may as well bring my stuff in, IÆll leave it in grandmaÆs room for safe keepingÆ mused Keitaro as he walked up the stairs and towards where he remembered his grandmaÆs room was. Finding the room and flopping down on the tatami mats he let his mind wander to what possible reasons his grandma might have for calling him here.
Keitaro stared at the ceiling as he took stock of his life in an effort to come up with a reason why he had been sent for out of the blue. He was still trying to get into that combined Todai / Gedai Education/Music degree after two attempts already, his parents even understood that it wasnÆt really his fault he hadnÆt got in.
He thought back to his first attempt, he had decided to do classical guitar as his audition instrument, the initial theory exam had been easy, music had always made so much sense to him, and the scales and first audition piece had gone fine.
It was the second piece that had caused problems, his fill in examiner had been Aizawa-san a homely if severely dressed lady in her late 20Æs, who had lately been finding the life of a single, highly talented violinist to be a lonely one. All the men she met were either intimidated by her skill or were after the prestige of dating a minor celebrity in the classical music arena.
So when Keitaro began his second audition piece things started to get a bit strange, why you ask, Keitaro played a Spanish Flamenco ballard. Full of passion and emotion, coupled with its exotic mix of cultural influences it began to have a profound effect on Miss Yuki Aizawa. She began to feel strangely warm and tingly, suddenly the highly professional business jacket, long dress and high button blouse felt strangely restrictive, she began to wonder why she always wore her hair in a bun.
Keitaro immersed in the joy of making music had no idea what was going on until Aizawa-san called a stop to the audition. Confused he had opened his eyes and wondered æHow come Aizawa-san is red and out of breath, I hope sheÆs not falling illÆ and as she walked towards him æI wonder why she just pulled her hair out of its bunÆ and then æWhat the hell!Æ as, Yuki Aizawa took the guitar from him, tackled him to the floor and attempted a to reach his tonsils with her tongue.
The commotion had drawn the attention of the other examiners and auditioners outside but they only managed to pry Aizawa-san off when Keitaro had fainted from lack of air and shock. She had then kiss tackled her fellow examiner and long time unrequited crush before recovering her senses and blushing red to her roots.
Needless to say Keitaro hadnÆt made it that year although he did get an invite to play dinner jazz at the wedding reception a few months later, where the happy groom had thanked him for whatever it was he had done that had led to this day.
His second attempt the year after hadnÆt gone much better, in an attempt to stem any such reoccurrence he had chosen the flute solo pieces, Grand Polonaise in D major by Boehm a demanding, virtuostic work and BachÆs Partita in A minor a masterpiece in the Baroque style, there shouldnÆt have been any reason for anything to happen.
The examiner that year had been a cantankerous German professor with the build of a bear and a beard you could hide a wolf in, renowned for being miserable, demanding and universally hard to please, indeed Professor Koertig was known to have sent prospective students away in tears from auditions. Again Keitaro had done well in the theory exam and the scales, all seemed well in the first piece as the difficult and demanding work by Boehm had seemingly impressed the normally abrasive German professor, again however it was the second work that caused problems.
As Keitaro played the deeply religious BachÆs Partita in A minor, Professor Koertig, proud and antagonistic atheist that he was had a religious experience. Was he really happy with where he was now, bitter, lonely, wantonly malicious?
Why did he derive so much joy by crushing the hopes of so many young musicians, where had he gone wrong all those years ago, he had been such a happy and helpful child the brothers at the old monastery school in his hometown had always said. His mother had always said how proud she was of her gentlemanly son, what would she say looking at him now?
Keitaro played on oblivious to the deep soul searching and life revaluation going on beside him until a teary professor Koertig had stopped the audition, given him a bear hug that would have given a bear pause and sent him on his way with such glowing audition comments, the university had investigated him to make sure bribery wasnÆt involved.
The investigation was never completed though, as he had heard second hand that Professor Koertig had resigned and returned to his home town where he had joined the old monastery school as a monk and now taught music to the orphans there. (He and his metal bound bible were now also the symbol of terror for all miscreants and vagabonds in his hometown, indeed the phrase ôThe word of the Lord correctsö was often the last thing criminals heard before waking up in jail with concussion and cross shaped contusions)
No wrong doing was found but the university was always overly cautious, so Keitaro hadnÆt made it in that year either.
Sitting up keitaro resolved, this year he would make it, æI mean how bad could my luck beÆ before deciding æIÆll take a bath, that will take my mind off thingsÆ
This of course would later prove just how unlucky he could be.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Hinata ûsou Onsen was a u-shaped pool with a large rock formation at its centre with rock features defining three interconnected pools while partially obscuring view from one pool to another. Keitaro slipped into the side he remembered to be the menÆs side of the pool, after all he wasnÆt a pervert to hide in the womenÆs side and it wasnÆt polite to bathe in the mixed section with strangers.
Letting the warm waters soak away the aches and pains accumulated from walking around lost for an hour and half, and climbing a long flight of stairs with luggage, Keitaro allowed his mind to turn back to the matter at hand.
He had decent grades not amazing but heÆd been good at anything to do with music or language even if the higher maths and sciences had escaped him. HeÆd had a good childhood, true he hadnÆt been popular, ever, but then he hadnÆt really been made fun of much beyond what was to be expected by being a quiet dork.
At school most of the guys were friendly enough to say hi, although the girls always seemed to be wary of him for some reason, when ever he had waved and smiled he always seemed to get the same strained nervous smile and anxious half hearted wave before they excused themselves.
His family had made up for it though, the Urashima Clan had always been close knit, Keitaro had fond memories of those family reunions, they had filled the inn, and the children had run riot while the Aunts gossiped and the Uncles drank and sang in the onsen. It had been years since such a reunion though, as the kids had grown up everyone was too busy to get together again as a clan, although they had tried to make up for it by visiting each other often.
Caught in the nostalgia, his mind drifted through his memories remembering treasure hunts and games of tag, swings and playgrounds, when like an iceberg in a shipping lane he hit æthatÆ memory. Keitaro mentally kicked himself, why did he always remind himself of that, the self loathing welled up in him as the sounds of the truck skidding, the sickening thud of flesh bouncing off steel and the look of fear directed at him played through his mind again.
His great-grandfather had said that if you had enough good memories they would gang up and drown out the bad, but somehow Keitaro doubted he would ever forget that day. Sighing heavily, Keitaro carefully picked up the wooden container that held his bathing supplies, emptied it out and smacked himself in the head, ÆIÆm not some manga character, I refuse to be emoÆ.
Setting down the container, his senses alerted him to the sound of a screen door opening and closing, æthatÆs odd there didnÆt seem to be any guestsÆ, putting his glasses on he turned to greet the newcomer, when the sight being delivered caused his brain to stall.
)