Prologue

This story has been deliberately not series tagged. If you really,
really want to know before reading it, check the end of the fic.
I suggest you read it through first though, as was intended.

It's not Ranma, I'll say that much.

Just trust me, eh? ^_^

C&C would be great. Much appreciated, and all that. This is a draft
version, I'll probably go back and clean it up soon.

++++++++++++++++

And then he died.

The serious young girl, a young child with black hair, looked at the 
blasted remains of the room. Such were the dues of working with magic, 
one of the less sympathetic neighbours had noted. 

She sniffled, her eyes trembling. Now, both of her parents were
dead. And she didn't have any idea what she was going to do.

She looked at the seared timber of her father's study table, on
which was a surprisingly intact, if charred wooden box. No-one
had been stupid enough to move anything yet, not in a mage-artificer's
study. Evolution had long since ensured that anyone stupid enough
to do something like that was far too dead to pollute the timestream 
with offspring.

She froze as the box creaked, and then opened of its own accord, the 
insides glowing a deep white. Slowly, a ball of energy rose from the 
box. the girl couldn't shake the feeling that the ball was looking at her.

She watched the glowing ball, wanting to back away, to run, but her
muscles were locked, either from fear or some form of magic. Her
eyes widened as the ball floated to her, and she had managed enough
control of her muscles to scream as the ball touched her forehead,
searing magic into her mind.

++++++++++++++++

"Get back here right now!" 

The brown haired girl ran, her thirteen year-old face set in an
angry grimace, her eyes screwed to hold back tears of rage. 

The bard's guild had rejected her, just because of her parentage. 
The guild serviced the nobles more often than not, and they had
become quite draconian in their recruitment, only allowing those
whom the nobles could stand to join.

She had not fit that bill, apparently. And so, with that last hope
crushed, the city watch had escorted her to the orphanage. 

She had stayed long enough to hate the place, and then she had
escaped. She didn't need to be a bard, they were just a bunch of
stuck up fops who thought they were the gods gift because they could
strum their lutes in public.

She'd show them. She'd show them that she didn't need their damn
training.

++++++++++++++++

The old Abbot crinkled his hands, and resisted the urge to sigh. He
didn't want to do this. Most of the other Brothers of this monastery 
didn't want him to do this. And yet...

"I am sorry to do this to you, child, but our Order is a celibate one, and
your recent growth spurt is putting a strain on the vows of the younger
acolytes." the Abbot gave in to his urge, and sighed as he looked at the 
young girl sitting nearby, separated from him by a small writing desk. 

The girl, who was soon to reach her sixteenth year, brushed a stray
lock of dark hair out of her face. She was dressed in a set of old
acolyte's robes, obviously hand-downs, which failed to hide that
she was turning into quite a young woman. "I understand, Father 
Abbot." the girl replied. "I'm sorry to cause so much trouble."

"Nonsense, nonsense. You've been a ray of light in our hearts ever since
you came to us. I only wish that things could be different. Brother Cadmius 
has ensured over the last year that you can take care of yourself, I 
believe?"

The girl nodded. Warrior priests. Surely a misnomer, and yet that was
what the monks here were. They were from a sect that served one of
the death gods. A functional god, needed in his own right and actually
quite a decent fellow as far as gods went, still the populace feared and
mistreated his followers. The priests had long since learnt to defend
themselves, and they had been all too glad to pass on their knowledge
to the closest thing to a daughter any of the celibate brethren could have.

"What shall you do, do you think, once you are out there?" the Abbot
asked softly. 

"I don't know." the girl admitted. "I just don't know, Father Abbot."

The Abbot sighed. "Well, I am sure the gods shall guide your heart
to wherever it should be. Brother Gisu shall give you all the money 
we can spare, and Brother Hachi will be all too glad to give you 
whatever food and clothing we can." The Abbot rubbed his left hand
through his balded scalp, and smiled. "Sadly, our work was never
meant to enrich us in any way but spirit, and we have little more we 
can give you, to help you in your life. But here is one last thing, a 
personal gift from us.." He leant across the small table, handing 
over a band of yellow cloth, one side of which was covered in runes, 
the other left blank.

"It was blessed by all of us." he added as the girl looked at the 
cloth. "Wear it with the blessings against your skin, and you
shall always be looked over with favour."

The girl smiled. "Thank you, Father Abbot." She took the cloth in
both hands, placed it high on her forehead, and tied it at the back
of her head, letting the tails of the cloth cascade down her back,
turning the cloth into a headband.

By dawn of the next day, the girl had left the monastery that had been
her home for the last two years. She had been orphaned nearby, in
circumstances too... political... for the nearby village to accept her.
The villagers had been all too glad to dump her on the doorstep of
the monastery.

It hadn't been a bad life. She hadn't taken to the religion, and it hadn't
been forced on her. It had been a little strange, growing up in such a
secluded place, with only the men and boys of the Order to talk to. She 
hadn't even seen another woman since she'd come to the monastery. It hadn't
helped that she'd led a sheltered life before coming here, either.

She walked down the path that would take her to the village. By now, no
doubt, the villagers would have forgotten about her existence. Out of
sight, and all that. The monks had managed to get her some peasant 
clothing, so that she wouldn't be ostracised like she would have been if
she had walked around in one of the Order's smocks.

After an hour of travel, the girl reached the fields surrounding the
fair-sized village. On one of the larger, untilled fields, most of
the villagers were setting up tables and roast pits, for the annual
post-planting celebration common to most farming communities. In the
middle of the field, some of the younger villagers were practising a
dance, so that they would not be embarrassed when it was performed for
real, later in the day.

The girl watched, mesmerised, as the twelve or so couples danced around 
each other with varying skill and poise, in a complex, weaving pattern
that was probably meant to symbolise something once, but these days only
symbolised a real headache to learn to do right.

She vaguely remembered seeing something like it, before she was taken
to the monastery. It was so beautiful...

"What is that thing they're doing?" the girl asked one of the old men
who lined the field like crinkled, living scarecrows. 

The codger sipped from his cup, having started his celebration early,  
before he raised an eyebrow. "What, are ye simple, child? Don't ye know 
a dance when ye see one?"

The girl turned away from the codger, looking back to the flowing coil of
humanity. "Dance..." she breathed, her eyes alight in wonder.

++++++++++++++++

"Are you listening, Apprentice?" the old man hurumphed, adjusting his
mage robes.

The young red-head blushed, flashing a cute smile calculated to 
break down the old man's defences. "Yes, Master Hyaki?"

The mage sighed. Five years ago, he had seen a ten year old child
in a dirty street, her parents too busy with work to tend to her. 
The potential he had felt from her had been all he had needed to 
prompt him to offer to the parents an apprenticeship for the girl. 
She was an intelligent one, inquisitive and quite quick to pick up 
on her lessons. But...

But gods help him, did she have to act so cutesy half the time? He
didn't have so many teeth left that he could afford to lose them
to her sugary disposition. She didn't have that serious motivation
to drive her to learn beyond what she already knew.

But perhaps a show of power would impress her, get her to apply
herself to her study.

"Watch, and learn, as I perform a simple summoning." He pointed
to the traditional summoning circle that was painted in a corner
of the spacious lab/sleeping room/kitchen that was their home.

He started chanting, waving his arms around in a complex pattern.
Eighty percent of it was pure guff, of course, but that was part
of the lesson. If the student truly wanted to learn, they would
figure out which parts were necessary, and which were not. "I
summon thee to this mortal plain, oh minor... minorggghhh..."

The mage clutched his chest, doubling over. Why now?

"Master?" the girl rushed over to the old man, supporting him
with her thin arms. "Are you all right?"

"Not... quite dead yet, girl." he wheezed, his face pale. "It
happens to us all, eventually. That's why you have to learn
now, while I'm still around. Who knows what--"

A growl interrupted them. They looked over to the summoning circle.
It was big, it was mean, it had very large claws, and looked to
have the disposition to use them. Lucky that the summoning circle
was designed to hold such creatures.

Unfortunate that the thing had been summoned to just outside of the
circle. Magic had to go somewhere. The mage had gone too far into a 
summoning to stop. Sadly, magic also needed control, and a heart 
flutter generally wasn't the best thing to get in the middle of a 
spell. The summoned beastie licked its jowls, a visual reminder of
that basic precept of magic.

"S... stay away." The girl stuttered, shivering as she stared at
the growling beast. She stepped in front of the mage, trying to
distract the thing from her incapacitated teacher. "I... I'm warn... 
warning you!"

The monster chuckled slightly, before it started to walk towards
her in a contemptuously slow stride. It raised one of its taloned
hands, flexing it in an obvious gesture.

The girl screamed, desperately weaving one of the few defence spells
she knew.

In spite of his pain, Hyaki could not help but feel pride for his
charge. Scared out of her wits, well beyond her depth, certain she
was going to die, and yet she still did her best.

But her best would only stop that thing for a second or two at most.
The situation was well out of hand, he only had two ways left to defeat
the monster, and one required sacrificing the girl for time.

No choice, really. At his age, death was his constant companion anyway.

"Forgive an old man for trying to show off once too often." he whispered
to the girl, before he staggered past her, his eyes glowing with white
energy. 

"And as for you, I banish you--" the beast plunged its claw into the 
mage's stomach. Hyaki wheezed, looked down to the wound, then back up at 
the creature's eyes, "--to hell." he wheezed, smiling sadly.

The beast had time to gruffle a puzzled query, before white energy
burst out of the dying mage, travelling through the wound, up the
monster's arm, quickly engulfing the creature. 

The girl squeezed her eyes tight, throwing up her right arm to ward
off the blinding light. Finally, the light faded, and she took down
her arm, and opened her eyes, to see...

Nothing.

"Master Hyaki?" The girl whispered, looking at the empty spot that had
once held her teacher. 

"Master Hyaki?"

++++++++++++++++

"Wine, please."

The barmaid nodded, curtsying slightly in case the woman happened to
be a generous tipper. This wasn't the sort of tavern that you 
normally expected the higher class types to frequent, but a lot of
them liked to 'slum it' there, probably because the entertainment
was better than the usual amateurish fare.

The wine orderer, a young, dark-haired woman with a face serious enough 
to set stone, settled back into the shadows of the wall that backed her
table.

The woman waited, sipping the substandard wine she was brought. When
another woman, young with brown hair, walked into the tavern with a gait
that spoke of barely controlled fury, the wine drinker set her cup down,
and watched. 

The angry woman approached a table where two well-off men sat. She 
started to speak, at first soft, her voice soon rising into accusing
shouts. When one of the men half-stood, fury in his gaze, the woman
punched him.

A brawl erupted, as the entertainment for the night started. This tavern
was infamous for the brawls it had, and drew in people from all over who
were eager for a harmless fight. Perhaps calling it 'The Drunken Fight'
had not been the wisest business decision of the owner. 

The fight soon encompassed every table except for the wine drinkers, as
people kicked, punched, smashed, and kneed to the groin their way to a
fun time.

The only ones not having fun, besides the wine drinker, were the three
people who had been the starting factor for the fight. The two men, 
deciding to cut their losses, had just run out the front door. The
brawler woman, who now had a broken bottle in her hand, was running after
them, her mouth drawn into a snarl.

"Wait." the upperclass woman said, stepping away from the safety zone of
her table, and grabbing onto the brawler woman's shoulder.

"Get your hand off of me!" the brawler snarled, whipping her broken bottle
around, aiming for the other woman's face.

The upperclass woman deflected the brawler's wrist, before she tripped
the brown-haired girl with her left leg.

"If you chase after them, you'll only be arrested, or worse." the serious
woman said to the brawler, looking down at her. "You can't win anything
this way. But I know of a better way to get your revenge, if you're 
willing."

++++++++++++++++

She danced. 

Grace, beauty, fluidity, style, poise, agility, energy, she danced.

She danced, her loose pants and shirt ruffling around her, the tails
of her yellow-ribbon headband floating around her.

She danced, making the town square her own.

She danced.

She stopped. She looked down at the small bowl that she used to take
offerings. She saw it was empty, and she sighed. There were slim
pickings for dancers who didn't work for the established guilds, or
for the Imperial Opera.

The dancer raised her head when she heard someone clapping nearby.
She stood, hesitantly, to face the woman clapping.

The woman looked at the dancer, and then tossed a sizeable amount of
coins into the bowl. "You dance with a lot of soul. It's hard to see
how they rejected you at the Imperial Opera."

The dancer's eyes narrowed, her gaze never leaving the other woman
as she bent down and scooped the coins. "How did you know about that?"

"Why, I was there when you danced. And I was impressed, even if the 
Imperial selectors were not. I have a proposal you may find interesting."

++++++++++++++++

The young, red-headed woman wiped her brow with the back of her gloved 
hand, scraping off the worst of the sweat. Her black clothing merged her
with the shadows, masking her from casual walkers on the adjacent street.
She took one last look around the fog-writhed alley, before she shimmied 
through the cellar window she had just 'liberated' from its locked state.

Or at least she tried to shimmy. The cellar window was a tight squeeze,
and the woman had to wriggle a fair bit to get through. Finally, with a 
groan, and a muffled crash, she fell into the cellar.

The woman froze for a few moments, straining her senses, making sure
no-one was coming to investigate the noise. Finally, satisfied, she 
crept over to the wall, nearly kicking over a pile of old debris in
the process.

She muttered softly to herself. Lucky there was no such thing as 
an official Thieve's Guild in this city. If there was, she'd have 
probably been laughed right out of it for the way this job was going 
so far.

The woman straightened her shoulders, adjusted the cloth mask which 
covered her face from the nose down, and then pulled her thin gloves
tighter. Enough fooling around, if this merchant's defences were as 
good as she'd heard on the rumour mill, she'd need to keep her wits
about her.

The thief-girl ran her hands over the wall, feeling the rough, cold, 
slightly moss-slimed walls through the cloth of her gloves. Carefully,
slowly, meticulously she lightly touched every inch of the wall that
her short height would allow, before she moved to the next wall.

Several times, a stray sound - water dripping from the ceiling, a cat
yowling outside, and the tramp of a nearby patrol of the city watch -
had the girl flattening against the wall, to blend in with the rough,
dark stone.

"Come on... it has to be here somewhere." she whispered when she was
halfway through the second wall. Finally, almost at the end of the 
third wall, she stopped, and smiled in triumph.

She settled back from the wall, idly dipping into a pouch at her belt
and bringing out a sweetcake. She munched on the food as she stared
at the wall.

Three sweetcakes later, she was still staring at the wall.

If this merchant was supposed to be so security happy, how had 
her contact found out about the secret door she was facing? 
Where were the guards? This was way too easy, it had to be 
harder than this.

The thief frowned. Unless...

She raised her hands, palms forward, as she started to glow a
soft pink. She walked back to the wall, and placed her hands on
the poorly-hewn stone. The pink light oozed off her, seeping into
the wall, swirling and coalescing before her until it formed a
large sigil, which resembled a cross between a Y, a C, and a plus
sign.

The woman stepped away after the glow had completely left her. She
looked at the sigil, her brow creased in thought.

A watchdog spell. A very complex one at that, no doubt designed to
call upon some sort of intruder countermeasures spell. One wrong 
step around that thing, and half the city guard would be down upon
her before she could draw another breath. That's if it didn't do 
something nastier, like explode or summon a demon or worse.

She looked at the dim stream of moonlight oozing in through the small
cellar window. She should go, she should just leave and find an easier
mark.

But...

But half the reason she'd become a thief in the first place was for the
thrill of pitting herself against the defences of the merchants she
robbed, of finding ways around new and interesting traps. This...

She stared at the still-glowing sigil.

...This was very interesting. She had heard that this merchant was a 
tough mark, but this was ridiculous. That spell was way beyond what
a trader such as this one should have been able to obtain.

Every thief had their bag of tricks. Some were skilled at charm and
flattery, and so they mingled among the socialites at functions, 
picking their earnings with one hand as they kissed a lady's hand with
the other. Others were acrobats, accessing the houses they robbed through
seemingly inaccessible rooves and other unlikely places, where the guards
could not easily patrol.

And she had her magic. Sure, it wasn't the noblest of uses for her
gift, but it was fun, and nobody got hurt. It wasn't like she stole
a whole lot, and what she did take could be easily afforded by the
victim. That was how she justified it to herself, anyway.

Whatever it was that was beyond that sigil, it was obviously worth
way to much to take. The sort of person who would put THAT rune there
was the sort who would hunt a thief to the ends of the planet, and 
would have the resources to do it.

But that didn't mean she couldn't take a quick look.

The next two hours were spent examining the sigil, lightly sending
probing spells into it, and trying to generally 'map' the limits
of the watchdog magic. 

Another hour-and-a-half of careful, but hurried preparation later, and 
the thief cast her spell, being as careful as she could, considering that 
daylight was less than two hours away now.

Ignored sweat dripped off her nose as she mouthed directions for the
spirits at her command, sending them to massage and manipulate the
watchdog spell, so that it would accept her as its 'legitimate' owner. 

After fifteen minutes of continual spirit manipulation, she was starting
to worry. She couldn't keep this up forever, after all, and the worst
thing was, if she stopped now, the watchdog spell would definitely go
off. She set her mouth, concentrated, and kept directing the spirits.

Finally, another ten minutes later, almost four hours after starting the
attempt to unlock the sigil, the rune pulsed in an almost friendly
way, before fading back into the woodwork.

The thief silently pumped her right fist into the air several times,
too exhausted to dance about. She'd done it! Ha haa! Yes!

She snuck over to the wall, and caressed the hidden release she had
found at the beginning of the night, activating either some magic or 
a set of concealed mechanisms, causing a small section of the wall to 
swing outwards.

The thief crept through the new entrance into an antechamber, her eyes 
darting around for any obvious traps. When the concealed door slammed 
shut behind her, she felt one of those really, really bad sinking 
feelings. She peeked out of the alcove into the room beyond, and felt 
the pit of her stomach sink a little further, if that was possible. The 
very merchant she'd come to rob was sitting in what looked to be an 
underground study, and was staring right at her.

"Welcome." the merchant said, leaning forward in the chair, placing
her elbows on the large, impressive-looking desk before her. 

The thief sweated nervously, her eyes darting between the merchant
and the rest of the room, as she tried to look for an escape route.
"Uh... I'm the ratcatcher you called?" she tried weakly.

The merchant smiled slightly. "Well done, you got in at least an
hour before I expected. Tell me, how would you like to apply your 
abilities to something a bit more important than petty theft?" She
pointed to an empty chair opposite hers, and added "I have a little
proposal for you."

++++++++++++++++

In an underground armoury, four armoured figures faced each other in a 
cross formation. Each set of armour was painted in a distinctive 
colour scheme - a primary colour, such as red, highlighted by other
colours, orange for one, white for another, and so on. Runes adorned
some of the armour-work, including a distinctive set of sigils on each
of the helmets.

"I'm still not sure about this." the one who wore red armour said.

"We weren't sure either." The one in blue said, adding "About you
fitting into your suit, that is, after all that food you ate for 
dinner."

The green-armoured one giggled, before coughing down the laughter.

"All right. Save it until afterwards." The white-suited warrior
said calmly. "Knights of the Saber... let's go!"

++++++++++++++++

Coming just as soon as I write more on it:

The Knights of the Saber
An alternate tale of the Knight Sabers.

Character templates are the design of Kenichi Sonada. No disrespect is
intended in this work.

So, just how quickly did you people spot it? Anyone didn't realise
until the armour colours? Anyone who didn't guess until I actually
gave the title? Any BGC fan who's going to rip my throat out for this 
one? I'm sure a fair few of you realised pretty early on in the fic, I 
wasn't trying too hard to hide it.

The idea's been bandied about before, of course, and I've seen a
couple of BGC alterniverses using ancient Japan, but I thought I'd
go for more of a westernised Slayers/Fam and Ira type world.

This is, in essence, a whimfic. One I'll try to have fun with, instead
of this spiral of angst and seriousness I seem to have fallen into.
(Oh, great. I go serious for Ranma and Sailor Moon, and decide BGC
is the one to have fun with!?) Still, this won't be a parody, or overly
comedic. Just that I won't be taking it _too_ seriously. For instance,
I have a fair few "bawdy adventures" up my sleeve(see below), and no, 
that one's nowhere near the worst I've got. ^_^

Ok, so I went straight to the generation 2 suits. I'm a naughty
boy. It's really only for one reason: I really, really can't 
stand Nene's first suit. That pink and blue colour scheme makes 
me wince every time I think about it. Red's far better. Goes faster,
too. ^_^

Just because Nene's a thief doesn't mean she's still not the innocent one.
Just because Linna's had some time with a bunch of priests doesn't mean
she's not the normal one. Sort of. Just because I vaguely followed how 
the true BGC people were recruited(I did say vaguely), doesn't mean I'll 
just rehash the crisis plot in a fantasy setting. Just because I'm saying 
all this doesn't mean I might not be lying. ^_^

And finally, don't worry if you feel this prologue doesn't really do
much. It's a prologue, something that can be skipped for the true
story.

  Four knights were riding one day,
  When one to another was heard to say:
  "'Tis uncommonly cold, know it to be true.
  Why look, even mine armour hath turned blue."
      
      - Third stanza of the infamous 'The Bawdy Adventures of
        the Knights of the Saber', by the itinerant drunkard
        bard, Koe of Okata.     
    

************  
Mark Doherty  -  mdoherty@mailbox.uq.edu.au
The Weekly FFML Synopses Lists are at:
http://www.uq.edu.au/~zzhdoher/list.html
My fics are back - 
http://www.tass.org/~mdoherty/index.html

"Time grows short, but I remain tall."