[Round 1] Monsoon Island - Silver vs. Awkin

Spring Tournament 2009, Round One - Monsoon Island [Silver vs. Awkin]

As the battle progresses, just remember that each fight will go on for about 25-30 posts, the character that you choose for this first round must be the character you use for the entire duration of the tournament, and that Councilors characters (for example, in this thread, my character) will act as a referee for this thread and maintain balance. Try to keep posts at around 500 words max, and avoid controlling your opponent's character. With all that said, have at it and have fun!

IC:

In reality, it was no more than a heap of sand--a little hill sticking up from the ocean floor, like a misshapen mound built by a small child on the beach, poking out above the tides. But to humans, Ancia knew, land was important. They wanted something sturdy and substanial, and preferably dry underneath their feet. This island was that something, sticking out from the churning blue waves, and long stretches of oceanwater that went to the horizon on every side. It was, supposedly, safe ground.

Monsoon Island was isolated, only reachable by air. Any boats that tried to voyage there soon met their fates in the whirpools and jutting rocks a little further out to sea from the isle's black-sand shores. The only reason its existence was known was because of air patrols that had happened to spot it during one of their sweeps of the region. The island didn't seem to have much to encourage travel there, anyhow. People came to places looking for gold, or jewels, or beautiful vistas or maybe rare fruits or plants. As Ancia walked through the disheveled streets, through the tangles of foliage and in the shade of towering palm trees, all she could see that Monsoon Island possessed were a lot of broken-down old shacks, and in the center, an old coal mine shut down what seemed like ages ago.

Her bare feet carried her over the sandy paths to the clearing that had once been the center of this small makeshift village, bordering the mines, and looked to the sky, shading her eyes from the rays of the sun. In the distance, a mechanical bird with its strange wings on its head was approaching, making a thrum thrum thrum sound. She had been told it was called a "helicopter", and it would be bringing the participants for that day's battle.

She watched the bird as it got nearer, feeling the winds of a possible storm on her back.

Hey-ho! Let's go!

(Ic)

The winter could be harsh out on the ocean. Despite the striking glow of the sun, the wind bit and ruffled Johann as he stepped off the aviation device, fiiiiighting the temptation to grab onto one of the spinning blades and seeing if it would spin him round. He’d very nearly tried it during startup, before they set off – but their pilot for the day, Tikambo, had given him a look that said: ‘Is it worth having your shoulders dislocated?’ and then a wink, that said ‘probably, yeah.’

The way he saw it, there wasn’t much people wouldn’t do for a good seam of coal. You found collieries down valleys, up mountains – lodged into crevices and, famously, under a bar on Main Street, slightly newer Minneapolis. There were mines that stretched for miles out under the sea by digging through the bedrock below – they sometimes met up underground and formed colossal networks of tunnels, all coated in a black dust. Johann had once heard that coal was made out of the same stuff as diamonds, and he could believe it.

But… damnit, that wind stung. You could see right out from here, from horizon to broken shore. Living in places like this could drive you mad, with that glassy expanse pulling at you – the wind tugging you towards infinity, your soul divided by zero. It’s hardly surprising that people faced with the ocean came up with myth and superstition just to fill it up -- and even less surprising that they’d then chosen to leave.

Johann descended upon a speck of scarlet in the sand – a delicate flower on a hairlike stem being buffeted by the wind. So frail that its rigidity could never be taken advantage of, the plant contorted and writhed between his fingers. Grit blew into his face and speckled onto the water.

Tikambo, was praying back with the airship – and the party mulled awkwardly a little way away, as people often do when someone shows unexpected moral integrity. Johann knew he was going to fight his companion on Tikambo’s service – and initially thought it might have been worth putting them in awe of him slightly, but there’s only so much you could do in the confines of a bloody noisy fuselage – and Johann had run out of devilishly witty pictionary ideas after ‘The adventures of Pis the giant: Cocktau and the quizzical shade of beige’.

They both tried not to show any hostility but you could tell there was an anonymity there. Johann didn’t even know their name and, in a polite innercity way, was unsure as to their gender (better to have it confirmed. Don’t make assumptions – and don’t run if it turns out ‘she’ not pregnant, just fat).

The island was mostly flat, and they could see the far shore, right down the main avenue from their landing site – to where somebody had tied a thin red flag to a standing spade.

Tikambo stood and set off and, staff in hand -- idly tracing contours in the sand, Johann set off after him.