I Blame Romper Room

 If I had to pinpoint when my addiction to anime started, I would have to say that it started around the age of four or five. In the kitchen of the historical and haunted house on Prince Edwards Street during the fashion-challenged era of the 1970's.

Said historical and haunted house on Prince Edwards Street is located in the Virginia town of Fredericksburg (if you ever meet me in person, ask me to tell you the story about my dad, the ghosts and a World War One trench shotgun), and yes, it still exists to this day. Although it now has a pool in the backyard instead of the swing set where my dad, bored, somehow ricocheted a small stone off the set's support bar and into my forehead.

If you are a Civil War buff, then you don't need further explanation. For those of you who decided to skip that module in history class, Fredericksburg was the site of a major battle where the Confederates ably kicked the Union's collective butt because the commanding Union general whose name was Burnsides (he had great muttonchops), was completely inept and got a lot of boys in blue killed. He was one of those generals who kept throwing troops at fortified positions because he felt that just one more push was the key to victory.

The fortified position in this battle was a defender's wet dream: the attacker had to cross a long field with no cover, going uphill all the way, with a stone fence at the top where a small, but concentrated group of defenders could rain down consistent and accurate fire with such ease that the attackers would never get near.

This dream fortification was called St. Marye's Heights, or the Sunken Road. There was a ditch right behind the stone wall that made it very difficult for Union troops to kill the Rebel soldiers who were behind it. The Rebels stood in the ditch, just a head sticking up and taking a shot at Union soldiers. Then they probably spat tobacco juice at their feet after pulling the trigger and blowing out the back of someone's head.

So, obviously, Fredericksburg was a Civil War tourist town. There were the historical tours, re-enactors...people who did historical cos-play...you could buy trinkets and cap-gun rifles and other stuff made in China to commemorate this event in American history.

The Civil War tourist industry was so over the top that at one point, in the town's one lone McDonald's, a bas relief sculpture was created and hung in the dining area. It depicted the scene from the Sunken Road. The art showed, in hideous 70's bronze and black decor, a line of Rebel backs as they faced the enemy at the wall while their wounded comrades lay on the road behind the wall with mouths inhumanly wide open in the silent screams of unknowable pain.

Next to the wounded were the dying Rebel soldiers who were clutching at their blown-out bellies, eyes wide in fear, but not just because they were about to die. But because they saw something horrible coming. They saw some, multi-tentacled demons squirming up from some lower circle of Hell, and were realizing in their last few moments of life that the hell waiting for them...could be identified today as tentacle porn in which they would be the unwilling participants for eons to come.

It always amused the locals to watch the tourist stare at this horrific scene as they tried to eat at this horror-show of a McDonald's. The kids just sat there with mouths dropped open, eyes unblinking, tears welling up, whatever trinkets they had bought earlier left forgotten next to their uneaten fries. Meanwhile, the parents were slowly munching on their burgers, never tasting the food as their eyes surveyed the scene of horror and carnage so readily available in restaurant whose mascots were supposed to be a loveable clown and an adorable, big, purple lump and a hamburger political figure.

And that, my friends, was part of the backdrop of my life in Fredericksburg, Virginia. The other part, had to do with the actual house I lived in on Prince Edwards Street. It was haunted. But not by the ghosts of Union and Confederate soldiers endlessly battling each other for eternity that you would expect. Nope.

You see, my house used to sit on the site of a school that burned down prior to the Civil War. With kids in it. Yup. The ghosts were kids. Dead, burnt up kids. We were on the year-round ghost tours. Even better, my parents claimed that I used to play with the dead and crispy children when we lived there. Thank Christ that is one memory that I do not have.

But, it does goes to show you that at the age of four, I was already living with a Tim Burton background narrative. Gothic, haunts and haunted things, ghosts, the macabre, violence, blood and death...and the never-ending, cheerful rendition of the historical hellscape that was Fredericksburg done by fresh-faced, local college students trying to earn money to buy an awful beer called “Red, White and Blue”. All in the futile effort of drunkenly whistling “Dixie” at four in the morning in an effort to forget the fact that...they were stuck in Fredericksburg.

So. Now you get the idea that my little mind was already warped. I already had a good imagination that was skewed by this lovely place. I just needed some fuel. It didn't matter what. I just needed that one, magical ignition key to start the engine in my mind. Some level of inspiration and wonderment. I would soon get it, my future addiction at the tender age of four. I would get my gateway drug. The thing that would lead me to anime and a lifetime of addiction.

It was Romper Room.

From 1953 to 1994, a kids' show called Romper Room would air. It was a supposedly wholesome show. It talked about being polite. To be considerate, helpful and kind. There were activities and a story-time segment. It was the perfect, hour-long babysitter for busy moms.

Romper Room had an unusual production format. It started as a simple broadcast out of Baltimore. But it syndicated itself out. But instead of sending tapes to other broadcasting areas, it simply sent out scripts to broadcasting stations who then produced the show on their own. That meant that the hostess of the Romper Room aired in the Washington, DC markets was different than the one who appeared in the Chicago markets.

There were also a few other...darker things about Romper Room.

You may have heard how some shows like Romper Room had a waiting list for kids to appear in the show. Parents who didn't even have children yet were putting their non-existent spawn on the wait-list. Hoping that their future child might get on the show, so that they could proudly show off their little snot-machine on the television for a few seconds, staring blankly at a wall or picking a booger out of one nostril to the neighbors. And just how did they get their little darlings on Romper Room?

There is a rumor out there that Romper Room may have been one of the first kids shows to make parents...”donate”...to the show. And then their kids would be on television doing jumping jacks badly and staring out to space like a clothing store mannequin on heroin with a thin line of drool coming out of one corner of the mouth during story time. Obviously, this was illegal. But Romper Room was never caught. The kid show mafia knows how to conduct business.

But even more insidious was the end of the show. At the end of a Romper Room episode, the hostess would pull out a mirror. It was a magic mirror. One side had swirls on it. And as the swirls slowly started to move and then picked up on speed, the hostess' voice would drone out a mantra:

“Romper, bomper, stomper boo. Tell me, tell me, tell me, do. Magic Mirror, tell me today, did all my friends have fun at play?“

Then the hostess would go on to say that she could see kids out there in “television land”. She would rattle off a list of names. It was eerie. I would go to pre-school later in the day and invariably one of my friends would be jumping up and down screaming as if she ate amphetamines for cereal that morning that the Romper Room hostess saw her.

I was completely baffled by this. How did the hostess know I was there, in my kitchen, watching? How was this possible? What kind of effed-up magic was being used to say hello across the world? Even though I was child at the time...there was sense of something not right. This should not be possible and it made me anxious.

And when the Romper Room hostess (I never remembered her name) finally said my name, you know...you know, I freaked the hell out. How the hell did she know where I lived? Seriously, how? My four-year-old mind was convinced, convinced, that she was hiding in the hallway closet, spying on me. I remember thinking, “Is she in the closet right now? She's in the closet, isn't she? Oh God, she's in the closet! She's in the closet! OH DEAR, SWEET, BLEEDING JESUS, SHE'S IN THE CLOSET!!!!”

Later in life, we would come to realize that she was never in the closet. That was just the silliness of a four-years-old's mind gone awry. No, we all know now that it was really a low tech version of the MK Ultra Program run by the CIA to shape and mold the minds of America's youth to turn them into perfect Commie-killing machines.

Okay, okay. There was no kid-show mafia. No MK Ultra mind control programs for really young, potential assassins. Nor an invocation of the black arts to communicate with children via the television in an effort to steal their little, innocent souls. I know that, you know that. Romper Room wasn't any of that in reality.

But that freakin' show was creepy as hell...

And when you a are a real little kid in a town with a messed up history and the place you live in is an actual haunted house, it really isn't that much of a stretch to think that way. Especially with the abundance of dark and gory stories and weird people willing to tell an impressionable child these stories just to see the look of abject terror on the poor cherub's face...as a kid back then, I just want to escape that crap for a little while. Simple escapism. And what did I get to escape to? What was my escape into a fantasy world of fluffy clouds, funny dwarfs, kindly old wizards and other fun times to help me forget, just for a little bit the weird world around me?

Romper Room...the Stepford Wives show for pre-schoolers.

As a developing person who was just graduating from being a toddler, your thought process isn't that complicated. It is not exactly complex. But even a little person with an ill-defined and very naive worldview still has needs, wants and desires. I just wanted a moment or two of rainbows and puppets.

Sadly, I lived in a creepy time. I lived in a creepy place. My house was embodiment of creepiness. And my poor mom who wanted an hour to not have to worry about me (I really was the poster child for the combined use of a kid's leash and Ritalin) would turn on the small television in the kitchen, sit me on a stool, give me a non-spill cup of water or milk and have me watch that damnable, creepy-ass Romper Room.

But what I truly wanted was escapism. I wanted something colorful. I wanted to watch a show with a real ending where something good happens, not a face peering through a demonic mirror. I wanted to see bright-eyed and hopeful characters running around and having adventures, not watching drooling automatons that were my age aching for death at story-time.

I wasn't afraid of the local stories about death, but I wanted a story about life, too. I wanted new ideas and things, not cobwebs and weird historical hellscapes at McDonald's. I wanted to laugh and feel safe for a little bit. Just a little bit. I just wanted a few minutes, that's all.

And one morning, it happened. I got what I wanted!

It happened just by chance. My mom had taken a longer, morning nap than usual. She was exhausted because I was in rare form the night before (I was trying to understand the physics of shaving cream and the toilet) and she desperately needed the sleep, poor woman. I got lucky; she did not sleepwalk with me in tow and then chain my hyper-ass to the swing set out back that morning.

Instead, she sat me on the stool. Turned on the little, kitchen television. Went to the sofa in the next room and promptly fell asleep.

So, I endured Romper Room. Alone again. I was squirming in my seat by the end, hating the whole, black magic mirror bit. And then the show was over and I turned around on the stool; no mom around. I got off the stool with my little, non-spill cup and went to the living room. Saw my mom sleeping, and not knowing what to do, I just went back to the stool and kept watching the television.

Then this show about a boy who could swim under water came on. I thought it was really cool because he could chew this gum and stay underwater for a long, long time. He had these other powers and had a friend that was a dolphin. So cool!! And he had these adventures where he was saving people and doing cool things!

And the eyes were big and friendly! The boy in the show was like that nice, older kid down the street. Someone I knew I could play with and not be a bother! Someone who would keep the bullies away. Due to my near-illiteracy because I was just four, I paid very close attention to the announcer when he told the name of the show: Aqua Boy (aka Marine Boy). I really liked that show.

It was my first anime.

For the first time in my extremely short life to that point, I got to see something that wasn't creepy. It had nothing to do with the haunted house of the four dead kids that I lived in, the town with a truly bloody history behind it or best of all...it had nothing to do with that evilness known as Romper Room. It was just nice and comforting to watch.

And once I discovered Aqua Boy, I would later discover more anime. Kimba the White Lion; who can hate Kimba or be creeped out by him? And then Starblazers (aka Yamato), which I didn't really understand at all, but it just seemed so big and epic and awesome to me at the time; a battleship in space with a big-ass laser cannon!

Now, did I know at the time that it was called anime? Nope. Did I know it was from Japan? Nope. Did I like it? Yup. And most importantly, it was so distinct to me, that when I saw animation that looked like it, I gravitated towards it and always gave the show a try.

The only thing was that I had to endure everything else to get to these shows. After the morning, I had to deal with where we lived and then in the next morning, I had to deal with Romper Room. But, if I could just endure Romper Room for one hour...I would get to have another almost two hours of things that would make my day great! I got my first taste of anime and I was jonesing for more!

So, I blame Romper Room.

If I hadn't had to deal with Romper Room, I may have not encountered anime until I was truly ready for it: sixth grade. But I needed that hopeful fix so, so very badly that at my young and tender and innocent age of four, I let the talons of anime addiction to sink in and never let go. Ever.

The good thing is that Romper Room is dead. Canceled in 1994. Thank God. It can't creep kids out anymore. That show can't hurt anyone anymore. I hope they burned all of the mirrors in dumpster.

So, ladies and gentlemen, this is where I wrap this diatribe up. I'm beginning to get that itch. Have to get my three-hours of anime in. The three hour hit of anime is kind of like methadone for a heroin addict; it takes enough of the edge off that I can be functional for the rest of the day. The curse of anime. Oh well, could be worse.

C'est la vie; such is life. 

 

DRAGONS OF THE CHIME - 3 - Station One (by Steve Gearhart)

("DRAGONS OF THE CHIME" is based on the world building exercise that was done at On-Con 2020, hosted by Geek Archaeology, panel by Brent P. Newhall, world created by attendees. The stories in "DRAGONS OF THE CHIME" are written by Steve Gearhart, me, unless noted otherwise. Please enjoy! - Steve) 

Itsuki presented himself to the militia captain of Station One ten minutes early. Itsuki had no desire to create any animosity between himself and his final commander. He knew that the captain would either make his last few days reasonably comfortable, or the captain would turn him into a janitor cleaning toilets for his last few days.

Station One was on land, not on a pier over the water. It was just inside of the gate to the commercial district, to the right of the wide street. The station itself had the outward appearance of a normal, militia blockhouse. It could double as a small fortress. Not that it had needed to be one for many years.

There was a stable for six horses and one carriage on the far side of the building. As Itsuki came around from the gate, he saw the attendant for the horses, grooming one of them. The carriage looked to be in the best condition. Ready at a moment's notice.

The doors to the blockhouse were already open, making the foyer and the report desk available to anyone who came to Station One to report a crime or to help find a lost pet. Itsuki walked in and approached the polished desk. The militia guard was still setting the desk to his own standards after replacing the night shift. Itsuki stood at attention and waited for the man to address him as was custom.

The man's uniform marked him as the desk militia officer. A simple, purple robe, tied off with a black belt. Underneath, Itsuki could catch a glimpse of the white, panel-armor shirt underneath. The robe hid the standard-issue dagger at the waist and whatever other weapon the man might have mastered. He was bald and looked to be just a little too old for the position. Itsuki wondered what this man had done before coming here.

The bald man looked up from the desk with no visible emotion or greeting and simply held out his hand. Itsuki provided the transfer papers and the man quietly took them. He read the papers quickly, gave Itsuki a glance, and turned to the wall behind him.

On the wall were a large number of small levers. The man reached for one in the middle and gave it a sharp push downward with one hand. All station houses had a call board like this. Each lever was attached to a tether string, much like the ones used to connect to the sky islands, and went to a corresponding bell in an office or boarding room. Faintly, Itsuki heard a bell somewhere behind the desk and to the right.

With no emotion, the bald desk militia officer said, “ Stand to the right of the desk at attention.”

Itsuki did as he was told. He didn't have to wait long for the captain of Station One to show. In fact, he barely had time to re-adjust his own dagger before the captain suddenly appeared before him.

For a brief moment, Itsuki forgot about his troubles as he stood at attention. Only one other time in Itsuki's life did he stand before his hero, Captain Hideki Sato. And that was when Sato presided over Itsuki's inclusion into the militia after the pirate battle.

Captain Sato was a renowned officer even before that fateful battle. He had taken down two crime organizations and countless gangs. He was also known for having the highest rate of solving murders of any militiaman. And on the day of the pirate battle, he was the one who led the main attack after Itsuki's moment of bravery with the mermen allies.

Sato's presence commanded respect. He towered over most people on both the sea and sky islands. He had short, brilliant white hair cut very short and an equally white, but trimmed beard. He never wore the dress uniforms, preferring the patrol uniforms with just the three gold conchs on each shoulder of his black top robe to denote his rank.

What also commanded respect from others was his saber. It was reputed to be an heirloom of his clan. A blade that could suddenly become ethereal. However, it still caused the pain of being cut or stabbed by it...but without any physical damage. Rumor was that only a member of the Sato clan could activate that power after a moment's concentration.

For the briefest of moments, Itsuki was thrilled to be in the presence of his hero. Then that small joy was crushed when he remembered why he was at Station One to begin with. Stoically, Itsuki stood at attention and waited for the words of disappointment from his hero, Captain Hideki Sato.

Captain Sato looked down at Itsuki with a stern face, hands balled on his fists. The large man took a deep breath, sighed, shook his head and said to Itsuki, “At this moment, a dead crab at the bottom of a rotting basket sitting in a gutter next to a whorehouse has better prospects than you do.”

Itsuki felt his heart sink, sure that he would spend however little time he had left at Station One as a janitor. He took a deep breath, eyes still forward, “Yes, Sir.”

It greatly surprised Itsuki when Sato laughed loudly, head thrown back. Smiling, Sato slapped Itsuki's back so hard he almost fell over. Still chuckling, the revered captain gestured towards the hallway, “Let's go to my office, perhaps have a small sip or two of kiwhisky.”

Numbly, Istuki followed the captain, murmuring a thank you for the drink before realizing how early it still was in the morning. Sato's office wasn't far away and when they entered the bare room, there was already a small container of the kiwhisky sitting in ice with two small cups laid out.

Captain Sato's office had only the bare essentials. A desk. A chair in front and behind the desk. One small table and a wastebasket in one corner, the rest of the office open to the outside, the doors open with a view of the harbor. Itsuki noticed that they could immediately leave for the militia pier just outside.

Just like the report desk, there were multiple levers that would ring bells throughout the blockhouse. They were labeled with each officer's name and room, as well as the report desk, the kitchen, the stable and out to the pier master for Station One. Beneath the levers were the requisite communication tubes. One sent messages, the other received messages. All of the tube communications went to a central terminal at the militia's main headquarters to be sent to the proper locations.

Sato gestured Itsuki to sit. Itsuki obeyed and eyed the small cups and liquor with growing alarm; he still hadn't heard the morning bells yet. Surely the captain wasn't going to get him drunk this early...right?

Sato pulled papers from his desk: Itsuki's file. He placed them to one side and sat down himself. He sighed heavily and stared at Itsuki for a few moments, before talking.

He waved at the cups and kiwhisky and smiled, “Yes, I intend to serve you a drink.”

Itsuki glumly nodded. You only got a nice drink after being told the not-so-nice thing that was going to happen to you to take the sting out of it. Itsuki was hoping that after being made the janitor that the militia at Station One treated their toilets well.

“And, no...you will not be cleaning toilets.”

Itsuki blinked and sat straighter in his chair.

Sato waved at his file, “We both know what this file says. We both know what you have done. Had your uncle decided not to cut away his island and disgrace his family, you would have ended up here at some point on your own merits.”

He poured out the kiwhisky into a cup. The green, fermented liquor issuing a pleasant aroma.

He continued, “I will not lie to you; you will most likely be kicked out of the militia. But I do not know when that will be. My contacts at the council chamber have not yet heard the decision on what to do with you. I just know that you will not be facing any charges of any crimes or any charges of treason. The city is too indebted to you.”

Sato poured the second cup, “For however long you are here; you will be working your job as expected. I already have a partner set up for you. Once we have a drink, I will give you your orders and off you will go. Here, take your drink. I don't do toasts. Welcome to Station One.”

They both slowly sipped the kiwhisky until it was gone. Kiwhisky was expensive, good and unknown. The only thing people knew of kiwhisky was that the process started with fermenting kiwis. The other thing people knew was that it was sweet, went down so smoothly and then exploded like a firebomb in the stomach.

The makers of kiwhisky, no matter what island they lived on, demanded laws to be passed that would protect the secrets on how they made the special liquor. It was believed that the process dated back to ancient times and the mermen sold the secret to a number of brewers. If the island government wouldn't pass the necessary laws to protect the secrets, it would not be made. The laws were always passed.

After both men felt the burn, Sato continued, “I'm pairing you with Tezuka Ibsen. Yes, he is a half-breed. His father was the lighter-skinned one. Doesn't matter...what matters is that Tezuka is wonderful at rooting out corruption. But...again, he gets it from his father...he likes food a little too much. He needs some muscle to help him with the more physical aspects of this position. That would be you.”

As Sato stood, so did Itsuki in preparation to leave immediately after Sato initialed his orders. Itsuki felt good for the first time that day. Part of it was the kiwhisky, part of it was knowing that he would at least be allowed to do his job for the little time left that he had it.

There was a thud and then a chime as a messenger canister arrived into the office. Sato immediately flipped the communication tube open. He quickly slipped the message out of the canister. His face went grim. Itsuki wondered if this was the message to terminate his services.

Sato reached into the drawer and pulled out a small form. He pulled out his dagger from its hilt, slit his thumb on the sharp edge and pressed it onto the paper. He handed it to Itsuki whose eyes went wide after reading it.

Sato nodded with his chin back to the hallway, “Go to the armory and get the weapons you are most proficient with. Then go out to the old man on our pier and have him take you to Tezuka using the spring-boat. You need to be with Tezuka as quickly as possible. You understand what that piece of paper means?”

Itsuki nodded brusquely, “Both Tezuka Ibsen and I are acting with your power of authority. May I ask why?”

Sato nodded, “Despite the fact that a dead crab outside of a whorehouse has more prospects than you...due to your service against the pirate fleet, I feel that you deserve one last mission to complete before you leave the militia.”

After a moment, quietly, Sato added, “Your actions saved the men under my command.”

Itsuki nodded. The battle against the pirates. He bowed deeply, felt the honor that had been bestowed upon him by Sato, was immensely grateful for it. Captain Sato returned the bow and handed the message over to Itsuki,

“It would appear that during Tezuka's audit of a certain, corrupt merchant has led to the discovery of murdered merman. Help Tezuka find the killer and bring him to justice. Go.”

Unagi Radio #3

This week's comes mostly from a mix CD I made for someone, enjoy!

Unagi Radio #2

Enjoy!

Unagi Radio #1

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DRAGONS OF THE CHIME - 2 - Itsuki of the City Militia (by Steve Gearhart)

("DRAGONS OF THE CHIME" is based on the world building exercise that was done at On-Con 2020, hosted by Geek Archaeology, panel by Brent P. Newhall, world created by attendees. The stories in "DRAGONS OF THE CHIME" are written by Steve Gearhart, me, unless noted otherwise. Please enjoy! - Steve) 

The harbor was placid. Almost no discernible movement. The water still dark, but starting to take on a sparkling brilliance as the sun rose. The city was just quiet enough to hear the gentle waves lapping at the stone sides of the canal. The gulls were just waking up.

At the inner harbor, the markets on one side extended far over the water. A network of piers and buildings of various sizes and designs. No more than three feet above the tranquil water, they were sitting on solid and ornate pilings, whose designs went into the water below.

The stately buildings hid large rooms of expensive décor of stone and coral, with enormous, lacquered tables where items were presented with suggested prices. The closed doors would eventually slide open to the air, allowing the customers to walk in to appraise the goods within.

These rooms were being attended to by women in smocks who would then disappear until nightfall. Then they would return from their nearby homes to come back to clean and to stand watch overnight. At this point in the morning, they still had an hour before they would slide open the large doors and slip away as the salesmen sang their welcoming songs to potential customers.

And in every single building that sat on these piers and pilings, there was an opening with marble stairs leading into the tranquil water below. The last thing the women would do before sliding open the doors would be to kneel before the water entrance, and press down with both hands, a wooden tile to the right that had the image of a conch shell engraved on it.

Once depressed, there would be a click. The water would ripple for a moment and depending on how far down the gate was, the women might hear the gate slide back and end with a bang; now open. At night, on the left side of the entrance, they would turn the crank until it stopped, which denoted the underwater gate's closure and locking.

Outside, the piers went back to shore. The buildings became somewhat smaller, somewhat less fancy as they got closer to the shore. The ones furthest out into the harbor sold art, rare items of wonder from a past age, examples of rare fish and kelp and the rare unfinished stones from the deep ocean and sometimes even metal.

The buildings closer to land dealt with spices, fruits, vegetables and lumber. Also included were the machines of springs and gears. Examples of industrial-sized equipments to simple trinkets. They were still impressive stores, just smaller as many of the items were things the merfolk often did not need.

All during the morning, there would be customers looking over the merchandise, whatever it may be. And if a sale were to be started, the customers would indicate a starting price on piece of paper and given to the salesman. He then placed the bid into a container. The container was then given to the merchants who owned the buildings.

They would then place it into a tube, press a button and a powerful spring would launch the offer through the tube, that ran along the bottom of the harbor to a corresponding building on the other side. At that point, the representatives of both the sellers and buyers haggled and would send back the final price for confirmation.

The commerce made the harbor area of the city refined and orderly. No one wanted business to be interrupted. No one wanted violence here. No one wanted a disturbance. It was quite frankly the safest place in the island city. Commerce was good for all, so why disturb it?

The trade between the men and women of the city and the merfolk was often prosperous. Centuries ago, the merfolk came to the people of the islands in good faith. They made offers of help and badly needed materials for things that only those who lived above water could supply to them. The relationship was mutual and satisfying.

The merfolk would come up the stairs to trade, using a rod to tap to announce their arrival. Then, like the other customers, would peruse the items on display after setting up their own goods on tables reserved for them, close to the stairs. The merfolk could walk on land, but only for so long.

Violent crime here was almost unheard of here. Sometimes, there would be pricing scandals, but such crimes rarely needed brute force as a solution. However, appearances of stability were needed. Even if they were small examples.

There were only two militia police stations in the inner harbor of the city. One on each side of the harbor. It was the best, most relaxed and safest duty. Each station had only ten men, and they had private rooms not a barracks. They got the best food and equipment.

If a member of the militia police were to be stationed here for any length of time, it was because they were about to retire after a lifetime of good service or as a reward for being a hero. One was only posted here for a job well done.

Or, as Itsuki mused, one was posted here as a final mercy before dismissal.

Itsuki was leaning on the railing of the Kuula Bridge. The first bridge to cross the canal right as it met the harbor waters. Like all of the canal bridges, the Kuula was tall enough for ships to pass under. But unlike the other bridges, the Kuula Bridge was made of stone.

Itsuki looked down and watched the waters of the canal and the harbor swirl where they met just before the bridge. He had read the news yesterday on the community bulletin board outside the main precinct house. The crowd had parted and looked away as he left the board after reading the news.

He was disgraced.

Then the posting came this morning. No mention of what had happened. His superior simply nodded and left Itsuki to gather his gear to transfer to Station One, on the customer side of the inner harbor. While many would consider this a well-earned post, he knew he was being held in a fancy prison until the militia decided what to do with him.

Itsuki believed they did not consider him as a traitor. He became a hero at a very young age, just two years after arriving here to be married.

It was an arranged marriage. He was thirteen when he came down from the sky to be a husband to the daughter of a militia officer. He was fifteen when he became a hero of the city.

He wasn't even supposed to enter to the militia. His wife's father had wanted him as a son-in-law due to his ability to shape wood and give it the permanence of ironwood. The father had wanted his family to become richer in the lumber trade and to get away from generations of militia service.

Then two years after being married, all males strong enough to hold weapons were drafted into a fight with pirates. It turned out that Itsuki was good in a fight and he developed a deep bond with the merfolk soldiers. Then he did one heroic thing and his father-in-law was forever denied a rich, family legacy and forced to keep Itsuki on in the militia.

But now, that looked to change. Itsuki sighed, pushed away from the railing. He turned to walk to his new posting. He wondered what would happen next. His wood-working magic was strong, but he was never properly trained. He was married off too young. There was no time to learn anything but to be a good soldier and to police the city.

He knew that the worst thing that would happen to him now would be dismissal. Everyone knew he came from the sky islands. That right now, the sky islands were starting to buck their traditional role as subservient to the sea island masters. But no one held any fault to him for that.

However, the unthinkable happened. And he had a direct, familial link to it...and that meant he may not be trusted to be in the militia anymore. A job he was good at. Far better than his ability to work wood. If he was dismissed, he would be jobless.

And not only would he lose his rank and station, but his wife as well. Honor would demand that he leave his marriage behind so that his wife and her family would not be tainted by his disgrace.

Itsuki looked inland at the mountains. He looked to the highest peak and found the tether. He followed the tether all the way up to the large sky island above. So much larger than the island he had come from. He shook his head.

He was Itsuki Tenchi, a surviving member of the Ryuzo clan from Yasahi Kaze. Great-grand-nephew of the sky island's last chieftain, Musui. Ordinarily, this lineage was somewhat impressive.

But Musui had sent letters out to many of the leaders of different sea islands and denounced the sea islanders and their greed. Blamed them for the decline of the clans of Yasahi Kaze, the destruction of the beloved keijo forest and damned them for the death of his wife. And then he committed blasphemy by stating that he would try to invoke a dragon.

Itsuki's eyes cast downwards. This was a Musui he did not remember. The Musui he remembered was kind, smiling and his great-aunt a lovely woman. Itsuki did not know this Musui. If it had just been the letters, then Itsuki would not be mistrusted. But Musui did more than write provocative letters.

Musui cut the tether to Nagashino, the sea island Yasahi Kaze was to serve. He and the island floated upwards, into the clouds...taking away resources from those below. All in an effort to invoke a dragon to help him in what could only be assumed as revenge.

Itsuki was not only part of the Ryuzo clan, but a blood relation of Musui. He knew he would be dismissed. Musui had disgraced him. It was just a matter of time before the order came.

He lifted his head. In the meantime, before he would be judged, he still had his job. He still had a wife to take care of. He could still protect and do what he did best. And at least his last few days on the job would be at an easy post.

In fifteen minutes, he would report to his last duty post at Station One. And by mid-day, during his first patrol of the piers, he would learn that his last posting was not going to be peaceful, easy or enjoyable.

DRAGONS OF THE CHIME: 1 - Musui's Floating Island (by Steve Gearhart)

("DRAGONS OF THE CHIME" is based on the world building exercise that was done at On-Con 2020, hosted by Geek Archaeology, panel by Brent P. Newhall, world created by attendees. The stories in "DRAGONS OF THE CHIME" are written by Steve Gearhart, me, unless noted otherwise. Please enjoy! - Steve) 

Old Musui looked up at the wind chime as it made its delicate notes. The breeze wasn't strong enough to make the chime play the whole song, just enough to remind Musui of his wife's beautiful, young face when he presented the chime, his family's heirloom, to her on their wedding night. 

The chime still looked new after all these years. Musui smiled; he and the previous generations of his family took great care of the chime. The weekly polishing always took place at the shrine on the eastern side of Yasashi Kaze. Once polished, the chime was lifted by the family chieftain as an offering to the sky, to the dragons. Then it was lowered and walked to the edge of the island that floated one thousand feet above the ocean, and in a hushed voice so that the rest of the family could not hear, recited the incantation that only the chieftain knew. 

It was a message to the patron island of Nagashino. He wished they could hear it so far down below. Musui smiled, recited the words to himself. They could never have the chime. It would never be theirs. It was his, it was his family's treasure, it was for the love of his wife, who was gone for so many years now. 

 Still sitting on the porch of the chieftain's hut, he gazed out at the empty buildings. In the middle of the tiny village was the one tether holding Yasahi Kaze to Nagashino down below. The sky island only needed the one tether as it was so small. 

At first glance, it looked like a giant well. Then one would see the large crane that assisted the tether in transportation of goods. Badly needed refined items and supplies in exchange for the tiny amount of rice and the incredibly more important keijo lumber. However, it would be ten more years before any keijo wood would be mature enough for trade. Musui frowned and thought, damn their greed.

[4:26 PM]

There was the store house on the other side of the tether well. Next to it was the home of the Kokichi clan that worked the rice. A happy and loving, and tough clan. The clan that was always drafted by the leaders on the ocean to help defend Nagashino from pirates and invaders. Until the entire clan was killed off. The last one dying badly five years ago. 

 Next door to the empty Kokichi hall was the tiny hall of the Yamanai clan, the caretakers of the small keijo forest. But the keijo forest was destroyed by greed. They needed so much keijo wood down below that they took everything; and threatened violence and exile to those who tried to conserve the small forests in the sky. The clan was spiritual and tied to nature; never wanting strife. 

His wife was of the Yamanai clan. His wife's clan did not fight when ordered to murder the keijo forest. They simply obeyed. The clan's one last act for nature was to plant the seeds after razing the forest. Then they did the unthinkable. One by one, they walked to the tether well and they...and they...

[4:27 PM]

Musui clapped his hands and prayed, thankful that his wife was on the other side of the island when it happened, he clapped again and prayed and thought; damn their greed. 

 Next door to his chieftain's hut was his family's home. The Ryuzo clan. The magical clan. The ones who could mend and shape wood, especially the keijo wood. Down below, they would simply send up by way of the tether schematics of the cogs they wanted, whatever parts they needed created or fixed...even art sometimes. 

 But, with no keijo wood, without the ones to help the forest, without the supplies to weather the ten years before the forest would come back...the young of the Ryuzo clan were married off to the other islands in the sky to have a future, leaving the elders to stay, to fix the odd thing that came up the tether.

His children, her children. His wife, his poor wife. Her delicate and lovely heart broke each time a child left to be married so that they would not die and starve on Yasashi Kaze. Never to be seen again, but only in letters. Until finally, there was nothing left of her heart to break after the last one was married off and Musui kissed her cheek that night and found her peaceful in death the next morning. 

Damn their greed.

[

He picked up the one piece of keijo wood he had been working on all morning. Tracing a finger over one end for a few minutes. Finally finishing the wood sculpture: a dragon. He placed it in a box with a bunch of letters. The last letters to everyone, even to the rulers of Nagashino. He sent it down the tether. It took only a few minutes. The tether shined once to note they received it down below.

Musui nodded, took out the knife that was his wife's family heirloom, that was given to him on their wedding night. A knife that would never dull, the precious metal always sharp. He cut the tether.

 The island shuddered. Musui almost fell. He felt an odd sense of vertigo, then realized the island slowly rising up into the sky. He looked down the tether well, watched the strand float back down to Nagashino as that ocean island became smaller.

Musui was not certain his plan would work. But he would try. He was the last one left. He had to try. He would slowly rise up into the sky. And once high enough, he hoped that he could find them...and perhaps, one of them might even help him.

 But he had to be high, so high, in the sky; the chime had to play the song, the entire song.

If Musui got high enough into the blue sky, if the chime could be made to play its song and have it carried on the wind to the ears of those who were magically bound by that simple song...

Then, perhaps, a dragon might come.

(BONUS: below is the the real first story of the On-Con 2020 world building event, written by Brent Newhall, enjoy!)

Tears streaming down her cheeks, the girl stood on shaking legs a few yards from the pile of sacred broken stones. The words of the ritual continued to tumble out of her mouth. The wind whipped through the bare branches of the trees around her, despite the dead calm of only a few minutes ago. She paused, the next phrase of the ritual hazy in her mind, then finally forced herself to remember it and forged ahead. Would that small pause be enough to break the ritual? She didn’t know. She was only 14, halfway into her training as a keeper of the shrine. She knew she shouldn’t be out here doing this. She might be dismissed and disgraced if the priest found out. But she couldn’t forget the look on her mother’s face as she died. She couldn’t forget the lump in her throat and her inability to get any words out. Her failure to tell her mother everything she meant to her. To simply say “I love you” for the last time. The unnaturally cold wind howled and cut into the girl’s simple dress. She shivered violently as she forced the final phrases of the ritual through her now chapped lips. The wind died and the world itself seemed to pause.

[]

The shattered stones in front of her glowed with a faint blue light. The girl’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it was leaping out of her chest. The light coalesced into the faint outline of a human, a human woman. Her mother. The lump returned to the girl’s throat, but this time, she forced the words past it, finally able to say it. “I love you!” she called out. The words seemed to hang in the air. The faint spectre seemed to take this in, then spoke in the voice the girl hadn’t heard in what seemed like so long, saying, “I know. I always knew.” The glow faded, and now the girl simply stood shivering in the small clearing in front of the stones. She crumpled to the ground, great sobs pouring from her sore throat, but for the first time since that day that her mother died, the tears seemed to be washing something away.

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