'Allo.  This teaser is for a fanfic I'm planning to write, based on a 
concept of the Scriviner.  Since he used the character designs for that
idea as the ones for Sentai Morituri, and because he said I could make
some of my own, I'm trying to go ahead on it.  I'm still iffy with the
designs, but the plot has a format now.  The following are huge chunks
of excerpts from the prologue.  I was planning on posting the whole
prologue, but I seem to be in a rut on some parts.  Tell me what ya 
think, eh?

***

	The moon shivered coldly in the winter night.
	The old man hobbled on his staff, eyes shadowed by the task he had 
before him.  It was belittling, true.  But it was also a station that his 
forefathers held before him.  It was tradition;  it was family.
	Sadly, he feared that it was to end soon.  With the passing of two 
wives before him, without a single heir.  He feared that he was cursed, 
but the lucky gods were anything but unwise.  Upon the Ki-rin's beard, he 
prayed for some kind of sign, some kind of omen to signify that someone 
up there believed in the necessity of the post that had been given to his 
house so long ago.
	With intense concentration, he started the murmuring of 
incantations that would, in succeeding centuries, only be uttered by 
madmen and demonists and disbelievers.  An effort that shook his sickly 
frame, he raised his arms in supplication and defiance.
	Lightning flashed.
	Thunder cracked.
	The man flinched.
	Buckling to his knees, he pushed at the ground.  A muttered curse 
escaped his cracked lips, as he took his staff in hand and unfurled his 
broken frame.  He thought to shake his fist at the now calm sky, but fell 
into a defeated funk.  Turning from the ponds that were his livelihood, 
he ambled back into the hut where the warming fire coldly ignored him.

	The moon shivered oddly in the winter night.
	Beside the sleeping hut, a most unheard sound of terminal velocity 
and an inhumanly soft *crunch* ended a future soul, and started a new 
legend.

	Morning broke.
	"Good morning!"  A boy and his dog rolled happily down the snow-
nipped slope into the valley.  No matter how aggressive the climate 
became, the valley was always in the best week of spring.  Old Man Hermit 
though, as the children of the nearby villages called him, was 
permanently on the monsoon season schedule.  Shifting his arms slightly, 
he pushed the rickety bamboo door in with his shoulder.
	"Hey!"  He found the man on a chair, leaning back.  He recognized 
the rolled-eyes, lolling-tongue gag:  his father used to do it to him all 
the time.  (It didn't REALLY mean he was dead.  His father didn't look as 
goofy in death.  Death was a serious thing.)  He squealed in delight, 
willing enough to let a first-time playmate get the jump on him.  "Mom 
said that I could give away some of the puppies our dog had.  You know, 
the yellow one with the snow-white streak, Sun Skunk?  Well, after she 
got big 'n'all... where is she?"
	A canine yelp and a splash alerted the boy to the miracle that he 
witnessed.
	A naked blond girl of about ten years of age stood staring at him 
with huge brown eyes.  Her hair, which hung to the small of her back, had 
a distinctly white, almost silver, streak.  She held an infant in her 
arms:  a small, yet obvious, tail protruded from its spine.

***

	The woman found herself falling.
	"What a nuisance."  At about twenty feet above what seemed to be a 
fetid marsh, she slowed her descent to a generous margin to hover in.
	Though it was foggy, she was able to ascertain that she had been 
sent apart from the others.  She shook her head.  She started the 
initialization sequence.  How was she to find out where in Time she had 
ended up in?
	"You!  Amazon!"
	A group of three figures about thirty feet off to the side stopped.  
Apparently, the largest one, the one in front, had spoken.
	"I assure you that I am no Amazon."
	The large one spoke again.  "You lie!  By the great mother Sun 
Skunk of the Musk Dynasty, you play games with us!  There are no females 
within a hundred miles other than the Amazons!"  Cueing the flankers, he 
pointed at her.  "Seize her!"
	She grimly smiled, "stupid."  Somewhere in the past, gauging by the 
backwater thinking of these people.  In her overconfidence, she did not 
notice the neural net that shorted out her psionics, and brought her to 
the ground.
	The last thing she noticed before blacking out were the hideously 
grotesque gashes on the man's face, telltale signs of irradiation, 
cannibalism and anticipated rewards.

***

	He remembered the doll.
	The skin was young and soft, terrifyingly real to the touch, with a 
grease that lubricated his hands.  The hair was black, as his was, but it 
was lifeless and wild.  It had the two arms and the two legs that stemmed 
from its mimicry of a human form, and it had joints in its arms and its 
legs, a degree of freedom which the human body shared.
	Its face was blank, a contoured surface lacking in receptacles for 
eyes, ears, or a mouth.  And yet the skin was taut over the jaw, a 
testament to the scream it still possessed.
	It was alive.  As much as the lifelessness in it was true, so was 
the life.

	He was in a playroom.  A cold, sterile room with a soft carpet, and 
white walls.  People in white coats stood watching over kids of all ages 
as they sat and played.
	They gave him the doll.
	He never noticed it before.  He saw all the other kids with dolls 
of their own.  This... this was the same doll.  All the time that he was 
here, he was given the same doll over and over.
	It had been a soldier, a flying man, a doctor, a father.  
Somewhere, deep within the doll, it remembered every single detail.
	The doll remembered him.
	"Don't... squeeze..."
	It was a chilling voice, one that struck daggers at his mind.  He 
eased his death-grip on the now-animate doll, not quite letting it go.
	"Thank... you... Father..."

***

	The once proud turrets of Fushimi Castle fell into the charred 
mists of defeat, history and death.  Inside, the cries of the dead and 
dying had long died out.
	"Dammit, Akane.  We've searched through the whole fort.  I can't 
keep up this shield forever."
	She grunted, but he wasn't too sure that it was an answer.
	"If I we get caught, they're not gonna ask questions.  They're 
gonna shoot us with those antique muskets, or with arrows, or hack us to 
itty-bitty bite-sized -"
	"Shut up, Tsubasa."  Her eyes quite literally blazed with an all-
too-burning desire.
	"Fine."  Tsubasa did not want to have his only ally set against him 
right now.

	"Master?"
	The sharp and dangerous nature of the man sliced the air with his 
words.  "What is it?  Can't you see that I have preparations to make?"
	"Master?"  The servant wiped his brow.  "They... they've been 
found."
	The man did not like riddles.  "Who?"
	The servant tensed at the word, as though an arrow had lodged in 
his back.  "The prophesied ones, milord."
	This took the man aback.  With a hushed tone, he continued, "then 
we must make haste.  Prepare for our departure, and leave nothing of 
value.  What must be done must be done with the greatest of precautions, 
for nothing is what it seems, and war must always end in a prelude to 
war."

***

Fr         acti on     al            Ge ne ra ti ons
a Gen13-inspired Ranma 1/2 story-of-sorts

***

Any questions?

Switch
Nikholas F. Toledo Zu @ http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/3145/mezza9.html
Vector, Switch, Yebah, Rain Man, goo, Pervert, Scruples, Hollie, NomaD,
Blitz, Gee, Datzo, Jewel, Elf, Radler, Pinball, Mayhem, Chaos, Father, Attar
Fanfiction @ http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/3145/fanfics.html
Warp Zone @ http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/3145/thirteen.html
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The logo of the Church of All Worlds is nine concentric circles.
Word from the Laity:  Wipe yer feet!  Bloody 'ell...
http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Gallery/3145/index.html
Currently under construction... confessional at the links.
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