***This is an idea I have had for a while, so I finally sat down and started putting it in words. This is my first Ronin fanfic, so I hope you enjoy! I don't own the Ronin Warriors or Mia***
PROLOGUE
The crusty old chief looked at the witch woman wearily. "Have you brought me an answer yet, Ultana? I am tired of fighting a losing battle." He threw himself into his worn chair made of animal hides and tree branches. Gesturing towards a serving woman in the shadows of the room, he rubbed his calloused hand over his tired eyes. The woman instantly brought him a goblet of wine, placing it on the small table next to him. He took a swig and fixed his ice blue eyes on the cowering woman crouched in the center of his hut. "Well, witch?"
The young woman shined her topaz eyes at her leader. Oh how she loathed this man. She was now kneeling in what appeared to be submission, but her eyes blazed in hatred as she stared at him. If she hadn't promised her mother that she would watch after him after her mother's death, she would have run out long ago. As it was, she only came to his hut when she was summoned, preferring to stay in her own home, healing people with her powers. "I have, Lord Attol." She waved her hand at the wall in the chief's hut and he jumped as a picture appeared. He leaned forward at the scene playing out on his clay wall. He saw five young men dressed in colorful clothes defeating many other warriors. They worked as if cut from the same cloth, these young warriors. He was amazed at their abilities to handle their weapons.
"Who are they?" he asked the sorceress.
"They are called the Ronin Warriors, my liege," she answered. "There are five of them and I believe that they will be able to help us." She watched as her lord peered at the picture. She was sure that these young men would be of great help to her and her people, but she was unsure if her powers were strong enough to summon them. But she daren't tell her lord that, since she still bore the bruises on her face from the last time she had displeased him. After she had told him that his remaining son had died, that she had been unable to heal him. Her own brother.
The chief stroked his bushy gray beard as he leaned back in his chair. Sighing, he looked around his home. The dark brown walls held the evidence of a warrior's residence, weapons hanging from various pegs. His favorite, a huge claymore, sat on a table next to his chair, close by in case he needed it. The doorway was covered by an animal hide, and a cool breeze came through the open window next to it. He looked down at the beautiful girl sitting on the ground, her arm waving away the strange image on his wall. He knew she disliked him, could see it in her witch eyes. Her mother had eyes like that, but they had never looked at him in anger. She had always looked at him in fear as a wife should. She had given him several sons, strong men who were magnificent on the battle field. Unfortunately, the battles had taken their toll and all he was left with was this lowly daughter, now kneeling in front of him awaiting his answer on these foreign warriors. Closing his eyes tiredly, he took a drink of wine from the goblet at his side. "Bring them."
***I know this chapter is really short, but aren't most prologues? :) Please leave a review!***