Disclaimer: I don't own the Ronin Warriors / Yoroiden Samurai Troopers. Those characters belong to their respective persons. However, Skipper is of mine .

Also, I don't have the Ronins in this first chapter because I felt it would make it took long. They come in, in chapter 2. Any feedback would be great. Please do not say my writing is, for example, horrible without suggesting a way to improve it. Thanks for your time, hope you enjoy the story!

Samurai Heart

Pink and white cover the swaying spring grass as the warm offshore breeze whisks the cherry pedals to and fro. The birds sing sweetly as young lovers walk slowly along the garden path, pausing every so often to exchange thoughts both audible and physical. Such days were a blessing after the harsh winter, a blessing to all but one teenage age girl. She sped around the young couples, disturbing the pedal ground covering as she continued on her course.

Her appearance was disconcerting as well: the tattered coat she wore was full of patched holes and much too small. Long dark brown, almost black locks waved in the breeze as she hurriedly exited the garden and emerged onto the busy sidewalks. After a few turns and street crossings, the teen is found to be hurrying along a dirt road, covering her mouth as dust sweeps up from passing vehicles. A group of boys drives past, hooting and whistling at her as if she were a prostitute. In return she glares at them with her dark brown eyes and continues on her way.

The house was nothing special on the outside. A window in the attic was cracked, the shutters were in disrepair and all of the plants in the little garden were brown and frail. This was to disguise the owner's true wealth. Inside there were rich furnishings from the finest craftsmen in Japan. The fabrics were imported from all over Asia, all in gorgeous colors and designs.

The young woman made her way to the back of the house, entering through a rickety door into the kitchen. Setting her bag on the counter she hung her old coat by the door and slipped on her apron. Returning to her bag, she proceeded to unload the groceries.

"Is that you, Doli?" The master of the house asked from his seat in front of the fire. His hair was graying and his body had become lazy over the years, his eyes were a tricky shade of brown that commanded respect.

"Yes, sir," was her simple, quiet reply as she continued preparing the evening meal. The television could be heard over the boiling water as the newsman described the economic crisis that was a current threat to her master's lifestyle.

His wife sat in a chair besides him; the under worked and well groomed body portrayed her as the wife of a company president rather than a farmer. She grew impatient for supper, calling out, "Doli! Where's my tea!? You know I must have my tea precisely twenty minutes before supper to keep my figure! Doli!"

"Your tea, madam," the servant said quietly as she placed the tray on the end table, pouring the fresh tea into a fragile china cup.

The woman was so startled her black perfectly combed and done up hair nearly turned white. "How dare you frighten me so!" She spat, taking a few deep breathes before reaching for the cup. "How many times must I tell you, Doli? Do not sneak up on me!"

"My apologizes madam, it won't happen again." Bowing, she turned to the man, "Is there anything you would like before I leave, sir?"

"No, that is all for now. You may go." His annoyed tone told both women not to disturb him any longer.

Bowing again she took the tray back into the kitchen.

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"Another five rows!" He yelled from the backroom. "Did you hear me, Doli? Another five rows!"

Exhausted as she was she obeyed her master's wishes. Lifting the steel plow she moved it another five feet, starting the next row for wheat crop. Why doesn't he buy a tractor? Her thoughts echoed as she continued to plow. I won't be able to get to the market at this rate! How am I going to have time to make food for him and his fat friends? The dinner party that night was not something she looked forward to. Its traditional theme required her to dress in an uncomfortable outfit and stand in the room watching the master of the house and his guests eat.

Being lost in thoughts was the worst thing to be caught doing while the master was still around, "Doli!" She heard the whip crack, felt it slice through her back, "Doli pay attention!" Another lash brought her to a screeching halt.

"My apologizes master, I was thinking of everything I needed to get for the event…" she was cut short by the whip.

"When I want your filthy apology, I'll demand for it!" Seeing her cringe at the fresh wounds he swung the leather again. "All of the leftovers from tonight's meal will be for the dogs." He wrapped up his weapon and went inside; patting his two overweight dogs along the way.

Gingerly she rose from the ground, feeling the blood trickle down her back as she finished plowing the field. She was all but numb when she returned the plow to the barn. In the hayloft, she found another shirt and headed for the kitchen.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going?!" The master of the house yelled from the edge of the field. "I want wheat growing here now!"

"Sir… the market…"

"You can play around at the market after I have my wheat, Doli! I know your secret, remember? I own you, so do as I say! Unless you didn't learn…" He unraveled his whip.

She bowed, as painful as it was to do so, and returned to the field. Sitting on the cold, damp earth she let her mind wander deep into the soil. There were thousands of seeds in the rows she freshly plowed, making the spread of her power deathly thin. It took a few moments for her to find the strength to will the seeds to sprout. Sprouting seeds was the hardest part of this process and required a great deal of concentration. After some tense moments, she relaxed. When she opened her eyes the wheat had grown four feet tall and continued to grow to their full height as she headed towards the market three miles away.

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There were many friendly faces at the market. The shop keepers all knew her by name and greeted her warmly as she came by their stand. "Good afternoon, Skipper! You're a bit later than usual." The butcher called from behind the counter. "No matter, I still have my best cuts for my favorite customer! What can I get you today?" He was a kind man, always smiling as people passed by. Eying her armload, he laughed, "So the Utadios are having another feast are they? I know just what you need!" Reaching under the glass, he pulled out the largest four fishes along with five pounds of his best beef. As he was wrapping up the meats he noticed a streak of blood on the back of her coat. He's beating her again. "Here you are miss. Would you like me to fetch my boy to help you carry all that home?"

"No thank you. I would rather not take him away from what he's doing." Skipper politely answered. Taking the package she headed out of the shop.

"Poor thing, please take care of yourself Skip," he whispered under his breath as she passed the doors leading out into the street.

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"How delightful! You really do think of everything Mister Utadio!" The mistress of his guest was charming; her gown was a stunning ruby color which accented the ruby pieces in her hairpieces.

Skipper stood in the corner dressed in an ancient robe. The white paint on her face marked her as a servant, a slave that could not speak but was forced to listen to the idiotic conversation at the table. As plates and glasses were emptied, she cleared the dishes and brought out the next course or filled the half empty glasses with more wine. The evening continued in such a manner for hours as the four at the table discussed everything from past memories to current events. Each hour that passed made their servant weaker, never having had the time to properly bandage her wounds.

Finally the evening was coming to a close. The guests headed for the door as Skipper helped them with their coats, a bit unstable as they staggered to their car. "We simply must do this more often, Mister Utadio!" The mistress called from the car as it pulled out of the driveway.

Mr. Utadio simply smiled and waved, bracing himself on the door jam. When they couple were out of sight he returned to his chair by the fire with his wife. Skipper had then went to the kitchen and started on the dishes, placing the scraps in the dog food dishes. She wasn't very hungry after seeing how they ate. Once the cleaning and preparations for the morning were complete, the dark haired girl made her way back to the hay loft. She washed the paint off her face, only to find it was just as pale with or without it. Bandaging her wounds was more difficult than she had anticipated, however. After awhile Skipper just gave up and allowed her torn body to drift into a dreamless sleep.

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"Doli!" Mr. Utadio's voice yelled. He was still hung over from the party earlier that evening, "Doli! Get over here!"

The slave didn't even bother changing out of her night shirt, but ran to her master still pulling on her coat. "Sir," she bowed as a chill wind ruffled her clothes.

"The field…Doli the field's on fire. Put it out!" He hiccupped throughout his sentence and as she looked over at the field, there was no fire to be seen.

"Sir there is no fire to put out."

"Are you calling me a liar?! I am your master!" He grabbed Skipper's shoulders forcefully then tossed her towards the field. "You ungrateful orphan! I took you as my own, clothed you, feed you, put a roof over your head! My sister was right to say you'd be of no use to me! I should have just left you with her in her house of delinquents!" Mr. Utadio kicked dirt in her face and was working to spit when a primal urge overtook his senses. He eyed her youthful skin, took in full her long slender body… Without warning he was on top of her, pounding the girl into the ground in a drunken rage.

"Sir no! Stop! What are you doing? Sir please!" Skipper screamed at him as she fought to get free, but it only made the beating worse.

Her vision was blurring as the master of the house continue his assault. I have to get away before he kills me! But how? As much as he deserves it, I don't wish to harm him. Another powerful shove into the ground joggled her memory. That's it!

The spell was cast with just seconds to spare. Mr. Utadio froze like a statue over her, a menacing smile on his face. Skipper crawled out from under him and pushed her gown back into place, "That paralysis spell will not last long Mr. Utadio. If you can hear me, know that I will destroy you if you try this again." Picking up her coat she returned to the hay loft. There, she changed into a pair of forest green pants, cream shirt and sage bodice. Pulling on her brown cloak and boots she raced down the stairs and out of the barn. The yells of puzzlement and rage of her master were drifting farther and farther into the distance as she ran deeper into the woods.

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