At 08:57 PM 5/6/97 -0700, Damon Casale wrote:

Well, sort of.  I have no idea of what to use for a plot.  I have great
ideas for setting and "perspective", but I think the plot ranks a little
more important...yunno?  ;)

Indeed ;)

Consider the most powerful clan in all of Tokyo and their ruthless (but not honorless) agenda that would see all of Tokyo under one banner. While their plans for the nation might be seen by some as an effort to unite the people, there are a few who know the Genom clan more intimately, and have seen their methods of persuasion first-hand. Rumors persist among the common class of the Genom clan's true intentions to rule the country with an iron fist. But no-one dares to publicly raise their voices against the Genom clan. Until a small group of mysterious and cunning warriors rise up from the shadows to keep the Genom clan's pursuit of domination in check.

Just one *very* rough version of many possible beginnings... 

     The soft but persistent "tang, tang, tang" echoed in the late evening air, as Katsuhito's hammer rose over his shoulder and descended repeatedly in a steady rhythm. Steel upon steel, flesh against wood, fire into water, steam into sweat. The ancient process was repeated methodically until the metal began to take its predestined shape.
     The craftsman's hands occasionally moved over the still-warm metal as if seeing by touch, looking for tiny imperfections. For a moment the hammer's song was silenced, then the song began anew. Still not quite right.
     The craftsman's attention to detail did not go unrewarded, for his skill with metal and the fashioning of armor were known far beyond the village in which he lived and worked. Samurai would travel for many weeks from all directions to simply gaze in wonder at his creations. And while those who could afford it would return home wearing Katsuhito's armor to defend their clans, the majority would return home as they came. That was until the dark stranger paid a visit.
     Clad in flowing robes of black and bearing the banner of the Genom clan, the man known only as "Mason" had offered Katsuhito more wealth than he could possibly spend in a lifetime, if he would consent to making armor for the Genom clan, and *only* the Genom clan.
     The money was very tempting, but there was something about this man that made him wary. The fire in his eyes burned cold, passionless but fueled by ambition. Looking into the man's eyes, even for a moment, was like looking into a pond at his reflection just as the wind blows.
    After much deliberation, he sent word to Mason that he would enter into this contract on the condition that the armor be worn only by warriors who were sworn to protect the common folk. Mason agreed, and soon Katsuhito's suits of armor were racing across the many battlefields that the Genom clan had created in their bid to wipe out the last remaining clans that refused to bow to a new leader. Unbeknownst to the master armorer, his creation was being used to take life indiscriminately. And still his hammer sang.

     A tiny voice fought to overcome the hammer's metallic ballad. The hammer suddenly fell silent once more as the craftsman turned to face the voice. "Sylia? It's late! Why are you still up?"
     Sylia stood in the doorway to the smith, the warm glow of the forge highlighting the concern in her youthful gaze. "Father, when will you be finished? You've been at this for so long now. Mackie and I are wondering if you'll ever be done!"
     Katsuhito smiled sadly, the worry in his daughter's voice gripping his heart. "Soon Sylia. Very soon. I am working on something very important, that someday I hope to be able to tell you all about."
     Sylia stood staring at her father in the firelight, his warm smile drawing a little comfort. She smiled back weakly and nodded, then turned and closed the door. As she made her way up the dark path back to the house, the gentle "tang" from her father's shop began again, masking the soft footsteps that passed close by in the shadows.

     Sylia awoke to the sound of her brother's screams and the smell of smoke. 
A reddish glow filled the room as a distant roar drew her to the window that overlooked the smith in the courtyard below. Giant flames grasped at the early morning sky, and showers of sparks rained upwards as her father's tiny smith was consumed by the blaze.
     Moments later she stood frozen in the courtyard before the burning building as frantic neighbors passed buckets to each other in a vain attempt to extinguish the blaze. In her heart, somehow she knew her father had not survived. The pity-filled faces of those that looked upon her had already told her the answer to that question. Now, she could only stare blankly into the fire, as she tried to remember the sound of her father's hammer as it sang the night before.


Of course, then the mysterious scrolls arrive :)


Andy Skuse
-----------------------------------
Co-Maintainer FFML FAQ
"BG Cross" <http://execulink.com/~askuse/bgcross/>
"Dark Traveler", "The Dragon's Tower"
Raven's Garage: <http://execulink.com/~askuse/ravengar.html>