One year after the Watery host of the North Sea had settled its three hundred and sixty seventh quarrel with the armies of the mountains of Fire, the landslides swallowed Daizen-town.

Daizen was a good village of 2000 souls, with its own volcano to boast of, and a lord who had taken more than 50 heads in battle. Daizen had the largest fountain in all of the Northlands. It was 30 strides across, as tall as the colossus of Gyodo, and fed by an artesian spring that rushed up through the wondrous clay that lay beneath Daizen Mountain. This clay was the chief export of Daizen-town, and because of it, the fountain gushed all the colors of the rainbow. But when the King of Stones was angry, Daizen was like any other town of men. Daizen-town was fragile and soft.

Yet before that disaster, Daizen-town was as great a place as there was in the north, famed for her magical clay and rich from the profits and wisdom of her Lord. The Lord of Daizen-town was a powerful warrior, victor of many wars and veteran of many more. Yet he was kind too, and generous. He gave the scraps from his table and more to the hungry, put his horses in the fields and cleaned his stables to shelter vagrants, and even provided masks for the tax collectors when they came to call on his little village. He had a beautiful wife, and a fine strong daughter he called Miazoko, which means Jade Hiding Gold.

His vassals were good men as he was, tired soldiers in search of a final place to protect. He welcomed veteran samurai from all over the Kingdoms, though some of his peers said he was too trusting of cripples and deserters. They said that his vassals were not vassals at all, but greedy thieves come to make off with his wonderful clay. But they never said these things to the Lord of Daizen-town's face, for he was a renowned fighter in both field and square. It is said that the Lord spent more years as a ronin than a samurai. That was quite an accomplishment in those days, not because he'd been punished that many times for having too quick a blade, but because he had survived his many years of self-reliance. To be ronin then meant to be severed from the guidance of one's master, and those people prized their own obedience above all things. For them, independence was a dangerous thing. No one protected a ronin, no one would miss him if he died.

Village, Wife, Quest