A nature preserve groundskeeper from Bjasktsak Nardzapbzam gets sent to Heian-era Japan.
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Rermjetsest (also called Rermjest or Tsarer by friends) is a fairly large man, tall and heavy-set, with a thick beard and wild black hair (except for on the top of his head, which he usually keeps covered with one hat or another). His friends often say that he certainly looks the part of a woodsman. Today, it's a fairly chilly early-spring morning, and he's doing his usual rounds around the island's paths, dressed in his vest, t-shirt, jeans, and favorite leather boots. The preserve has only been to visitors for about an hour, and the flowers are yet to bloom, so it's probable that he and Dzarmpsaz are the only humans in the entire reserve at the moment. Thus, his attention is mostly turned towards the natural sounds of the island. The rustling of the tree's branches, the song of birds and insects, the burbling of a nearby brook, revived from its wintry stillness.

He spots a strange and unfamiliar slithering sort of track left in the dewy forest earth, and is unable to identify its source before a distinctly non-native snake-like creature strikes from hiding.

There is a sense of falling, and then he lands, hard on his butt, in a new place.

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He's landed on a packed dirt road, and a cloud of dry dust rises around him. It's a sunny clear day, and though the air has a bitter chill there's industrious weeds springing up at the roadside. He can see humanoid figures in the distance down the exceptionally straight road through the clouds of dust, accompanied by hulking shapes that might be carts and beasts of burden. 

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Some part of Rermjetsest feels like he should be having a meltdown right now, but the sequence of events is too surreal for him to really process it as reality. He's not sure what exactly happened, but for now it seems plausible that he tripped and hit his head while he was distracted looking at the unfamiliar tracks. Hopefully Dzarmpsaz finds him and wakes him up.

Still, in this uncertain state, it at least feels like his body is functional, even if his tailbone is sore from the fall. He'll stand up, brush off some of the dust he's gotten covered in, and head down the road towards the presumable people, carts, and oxen. Looking around, this place doesn't seem especially familiar, but it could plausibly be any number of anonymous rural roadsides that he's happened to ride through in the past (assuming that this is being drawn from a memory, rather than being a novel hallucination, or somehow actual reality).

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The presumable people, carts, and oxen resolve into definitely people, carts, and oxen! The people look fairly similar to each other - possibly related - with black hair pulled into assorted buns and light, sun-roughened skin. Their clothes are sturdy, with a pretty plain (and dusty) overrobe, but there's hints of more colorful robes peeking through the dull outer robes. Three of the four are female, mostly young adult to middle aged, with one male who looks barely out of his teens. They don't glance behind them as he gets closer; it's unclear if they haven't noticed him or if they're just incurious, more focused on talking to each other than on anyone else. There's a few shapes of other people further along the road. 

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Well, at least it doesn't look like he'll be too overdressed for the weather, though the styles are certainly unfamiliar. If this isn't a dream, hopefully his outfit doesn't end up being too much of a faux-pas.

Regardless, he'll continue his approach, trying to get close enough to see if he can understand the words they're saying or if his monolingualism will be an even bigger problem than he anticipated.

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