[b][h1][center]Sengoku ichizoku: The First Spark[/center][/h1][/b] The rain began to pour. The two reshut stared each other down, their eyes locked beneath their masks, pure malice and hatred hidden beneath. Then one made the first move, his fist flung forward, launching a streak of magical energy towards their opponent, who dogged it with expert grace, performing a somersault to escape the reach of the deadly blast. Their dance began, but it was not a dance of ceremony or joy, but one of death, each one utilized their acrobatics and martial arts to their advantage, creating bolts of fire and erupting the earth beneath them, their loose forms and stances allowing the mana to flow through them, or so they believed. The two were mages of the Reshut, trained in the deadly and often majestic arts of their clans. And all around them, a battle raged. Two clans fought, bronze and iron blade clashed against one another, reef horses carried warriors effortlessly through the swamp and rocks of their homeland, allowing them to strike down those below them, archers rained down fire while crossbowmen loosed their deadly and effective bolts, trained Kre’Nasha crashed through enemy lines, their ever shifting forms creating a whirlwind of death and destruction, the multicoloured blood soaked into the mud and streams, staining them with the tragic dye even as the rain tried to wash it all away. This battle had no name, the two sides cared not for one, they merely wished to end the other, but in time it would be given a name: the Saisho no hibana, the first spark. For the two clan daimyos did not realize it at the time, but this battle, the first of its scale and size within the isles, would spark the collapse of the fragile peace the Reshut clans held. The great clans would learn of this battle in time, but by then, it was too late to stop the collapse. Already clan alliances had been called, rivalries resurgent, and spheres of influence challenged, the era of peace was over. The Sengoku ichizoku, the era of the warring clans, had begun. [hr] Nearly a month after the spark. Tategawa, Kinoshita Lands A calm breeze blew. Narikazu overlooked his great city from the balcony of his palace. The letter had arrived barely a week ago, but its contents would stretch out years in its consequences, maybe even beyond his own life? He could feel age slowly encompass him as he looked out at his city, the city he and his ancestors had built up, a shining beacon within the Isles. Now, it was threatened with war. Alliances had been called, some clans upon the edges of the Kinoshita sphere had become embroiled in the conflicts closer to the center of the central isles, incursions from outsider clans, something the Daimyo could not just overlook, lest his rule be seen as weak. Yet, the Kinoshita were not truly fighters, they were builders and priests, they had known a period of great peace since their foundation, as he thought the Daimyo grew ever more worried of the future of his clan. The Hashimoto were sure to take advantage of this new state, already their nature of being disconnected from the main isles aided them, but with the chaos unfurling, they were sure to cement their stronghold. And what of the Ohta? They would surely play off multiple sides, buying and selling weapons and arms, protecting trade routes with their horrid vroolish allies. No, he could not allow them to grow, the Kinoshita needed to respond full force, to show that they were not just going to let the reef jackals descend upon them. “Takemoto!” He shouted. The sounds of rushing footsteps were heard behind him, until the paper door to the balcony was opened, with Takemoto, his eldest son standing there. The prince was already wearing his armor and wielded his blade, when he had gotten word of the letter, he was the first to encourage a response of might. “Summon the Generals, and inform the couriers to send messages to every lord, they must gather their armies with the winds of Kalaru,” Narikazu spoke, quickly turning to his son. “The Kinoshita are going to war.” Takemoto bowed deeply “Of course father.” was all he spoke before exiting, closing the door behind him. Leaving the aging daimyo all alone once more. Narikazu looked to the sky, a thousand doubts and worries entering into his mind. But this was no time for that. He had chosen, and history would remember him as such. [hr] Okumaki, Hashimoto Lands The Hashimoto prepared for war. Forges roared with searing fire, weapons of war were crafted as quickly as they could be, Soldiers trained in large fields on foot or upon the great Reef Horses, the mighty Kre’Nasha were trained to fight against armoured opponents, food was stockpiled and even the common reshut could feel the tense feeling rising in the air. Hashimoto Korekatsu knelt upon his cushioned throne, a massive table with a detailed map of the isles stood in front of him, and all along its length sat both his generals and some of his sons, eagerly debating and discussing strategies and preparations. The rising tide of war had not skipped over the Hashimoto, they were skilled and well known masters of the blade, but even they could not stop war from reaching their shores, though they were sure to accept it. The central war would not affect them currently, it appeared merely to be alliances of minor clans, and possibly the Kinoshita, but that did not mean other clans had not become emboldened. Several minor clans beyond Hashimoto rule had gathered together into an alliance and sought to dislodge the great clan from its holdings. They called themselves the “Grey Mask Alliance”, a name that made Korekatsu’s blood boil, for all it reminded him of were those heinous Red Mask bandits that he had spent so long crushing, now it seemed another group needed to be crushed underneath his boot. “My lord?” The voice brought him out of his thoughts, he jerked his head upward, seeing the faces of all those in front of him staring directly at them. The one who had spoken was Katakura Terumasa, a skilled general who had served alongside the Daimyo in the wars against the Red Masks. “Yes, what is it?” The Daimyo replied, looking upon the map to see if anything had been changed while his mind had drifted, gods he was getting old. “We believe we have all come to a decision.” The general gestured to the map, where several yellow pieces had been laid out and their movements marked in regards to grey pieces, representing the two forces. It was a simple plan, utilizing Hashimoto’s natural skill at the blade and martial combat to press the main force of the Grey Masks, while having smaller forces flank and try to mop up some of the seemingly more weaker clans. Simple, but effective. “I see, is there anything more then?” The Daimyo asked. “There is...one more thing,” The general’s voice wavered a slight moment before continuing “Who shall lead the main force?” The question was as well entirely simple, but it spoke magnitudes. Traditionally the Daimyo led the main force, but, in asking this question, the General, and all around him, expressed their concern, and more importantly, their [i]doubt[/i], in his age and abilities to lead. This made Korekatsu’s blood boil even further, the, [i]arrogance[/i] of his old friend asking this! “The answer is simple!” He fiercely responded, making his sons close to him drop their heads to avoid eye contact. “I! Shall be leading the main force to crush these insolent fools! I! am the Daimyo of this clan, unless you all have forgotten that!” His piercing gaze shot around the table, forcing even Terumasa to lower his head in shame. No voice spoke up to disagree. “Very well then,” He continued, the fire in his voice still not subsided. “Gather your forces and ready yourself, we shall march within a week!” With that, he waved his hand, the generals and his sons rose, scattering off into the wind to gather their forces. Leaving the Daimyo to simmer by himself. Such arrogance, such disrespect. He would be sure to show all of them, the glory of the Hashimoto was not over. [hr] Enkoshi, Ohta Lands A Daimyo was dying. Ohta Yasukuni laid upon his bed, he wore the great garb of his clan, and his mask had been removed, so all could see his face. Around him stood his family, his wife and many children, beyond them he knew the doctors stood nearby, in case anything happened, but Yasukuni knew they would not be needed, he could feel death coming for him, and it would come lightly. For all his works crafting trade and deals throughout the isles, he could not have avoided old age, and he knew this. His will had been crafted, his eldest son, Ohta Tokihiro, would become Daimyo of the Ohta, and at no greater of a time. Their vassals had not become involved in the great conflict in the central lands, but Yasukuni knew it would come to them regardless, no matter how much the Ohta tried to stay neutral, they would inevitably need to fight. “Tokihiro” The old daimyo rasped out, his voice growing hoarse and distant. In an instant his son, who was already standing by his father’s side, leaned in close, softly grasping the daimyo's hand. “What is it father?” “Dire times are coming my child, the drums of war call in the distant, and I fear we can not avoid them this time, you must prepare yourself, steel your soul, gather your forces and generals, and be ready to fight for our clan. But...my child, please promise me this one thing.” “Anything father.” “Let not Ohta, Hashimoto, or Kinoshita strike another down, let not the rivalries of the great clans tear them apart, for if we allow such anger and rivalries take hold, we shall never end this growing tide of war, and we shall all falter. Use the connections I have built, I know you do not like the other clans, but we can not allow our isles to become one of rivalry and hate, please, promise me this.” The prince nodded, his eyes tearing up ever so slightly. “Yes my father, I will not disappoint you.” The daimyo nodded, gently squeezing his son’s hand, he slowly looked upwards, before softly closing his eyes, his breathing swallowed, until it fell silent. Tokihiro rose, now Daimyo of the great clan of the Ohta, tears welling up behind his mask, but he could not allow himself to cry. He raised to his full height, and quickly exited the room, he summoned courtiers to begin preparations for conflict, to summon generals and lords, and most importantly, to get him some quill and ink. While he had to first ensure the Ohta would not falter, he had letters to write. He had made a promise to his father, and he would not let the Great clans rip themselves asunder in their anger. Yet he knew, it would not be simple. [hider=summary] First, we tell the brief story of the Saisho no hibana, the first spark of the Sengoku ichizoku, the era of warring clans that threatens to collapse the old order of the Reshut amongst the Kylsar isles. We then once more head to the three daimyos of the great clans: The Kinoshita, Hashimoto, and the Ohta. Each one dealing with the ramifications of the growing conflict, each one taking to it a different way. Kinoshita Narikazu is uncertain, while his son is eager to show his might in conflict. Hashimoto Korekatsu buts heads with his generals as his age begins to show, even as enemies knock at their borders. And finally Ohta Yasukuni lays in his bed, passing away, informing his son that he must not let the three great clans fight one another, lest the entire isles fall. The Sengoku Ichizoku has begun, and the isles are kindling, ready to burn. [/hider]