Post by Blackwater on Sept 23, 2013 14:06:02 GMT -5
After mooring the ruined merchant sloop to the docks the group conjointly decided that a little rest would do the mind good. Tang eagerness to leave battle-scarred decks of the sea vessel had little to do with the desire for sleep or indulging in trivial festivities; he was home.
A thousands sights, sounds, and smells assaulted his senses as he ventured from the port where muscled men from foreign lands worked bare chested, lines of hard work creasing their skin as they labored for their living. Tourists and businessmen alike dotted the pier, their glassy gazes betraying them from the cool-eyed serenity known to the martial artists of Karate Island. Alice began to speak on plans for meeting up at an appointed time, but she couldn’t keep Tang’s ear for long as the familiar lull of his native land pulled him towards the inner island without even acknowledging that he’d heard her plans. I’m finally home. The thought traveled through him like a jolt of electricity. Amidst these people whose lives were guided by the ways of combat, honor, and duty Tang didn’t feel so awkward. From the port a main street carried many along a swelling dirt road that was packed daily by those who were just arriving or leaving the mainland; today was no exception. Filthy bodies jostled the pristinely clothed merchants whose wares they valued above the lives of the citizens around them.
Many faces were grubbed with dirt—a sign of the poverty that still licked at the heels of the warrior’s civilization. It was always hard to look away from the children whose faces were filled with hunger and eyes glossy with pleading for food. As one approached him Tang removed him pack and broke a piece of hardened bread before handing it to the scruffy-haired child whom he struggled to identify as boy or girl. The island’s heart bloomed into view, the South Blue sun painting in a golden aura that hung above the amalgamation of buildings of varying heights and hovels that leaned against the structures beside them. Much of the architecture in Karate Island was that was bamboo stakes which demanded that all housing be elevated above the ground during the rainy season. Even from the distance he stood he could make out children scuttling beneath ‘flooring’ of buildings hoping to catch a view of something interesting. Journeying further he came upon what he wanted to see; the dojos.
Clustered together in a region that was almost isolated from the rest of society, the dojos dominated the eastern half of the island as an invisible line warded away those unwelcome amongst the ranks of true warriors. It was here that the warlords resides, the dictators of the island and those who controlled dealings with the government. A few buildings here were constructed of mortar and brick, a testament to the favor that the particular school of fighting had earned with parties of power.
Face shadowing in remembrance, Tang recalled a time when he had resided within a veritable mansion. Although his father had never been the elected warlord—‘elected’ being a term used loosely for those who murdered and slaughtered their way to political power—the Unrivaled Tiger of Karate Island had a been a man few refused appease; those that didn’t abruptly met their end. After crossing the division between man and warrior Tang felt the atmosphere shift as the noises of hawking vendors, starving beggars, and uncouth drunkards faded into the backdrop of the high morning. Controlled noises of striking movements, sensei shouting commands to their students, and masters lurking amongst paved road that led to the most current warlord’s abode. To Tang, this had been his real home. Without looking to see Tang felt eyes following him as he walked the lonely street searching for a house or dojo controlled by the 72. It took great will not to meet the eye of any who watched him from afar; to do so would invite challenge as they considered him nothing more than an intruding foreigner until one of their own acknowledged him. Of course. I’d forgotten how tense things could be around here for strangers; I’d better find my father and the others soon he told himself while maintaining downcast eyes.
Suddenly a violent cry ripped the apprehensive silence in the air and two forms exploded from a nearby building, their faces etched with crude lines of malice. A fight.
A thousands sights, sounds, and smells assaulted his senses as he ventured from the port where muscled men from foreign lands worked bare chested, lines of hard work creasing their skin as they labored for their living. Tourists and businessmen alike dotted the pier, their glassy gazes betraying them from the cool-eyed serenity known to the martial artists of Karate Island. Alice began to speak on plans for meeting up at an appointed time, but she couldn’t keep Tang’s ear for long as the familiar lull of his native land pulled him towards the inner island without even acknowledging that he’d heard her plans. I’m finally home. The thought traveled through him like a jolt of electricity. Amidst these people whose lives were guided by the ways of combat, honor, and duty Tang didn’t feel so awkward. From the port a main street carried many along a swelling dirt road that was packed daily by those who were just arriving or leaving the mainland; today was no exception. Filthy bodies jostled the pristinely clothed merchants whose wares they valued above the lives of the citizens around them.
Many faces were grubbed with dirt—a sign of the poverty that still licked at the heels of the warrior’s civilization. It was always hard to look away from the children whose faces were filled with hunger and eyes glossy with pleading for food. As one approached him Tang removed him pack and broke a piece of hardened bread before handing it to the scruffy-haired child whom he struggled to identify as boy or girl. The island’s heart bloomed into view, the South Blue sun painting in a golden aura that hung above the amalgamation of buildings of varying heights and hovels that leaned against the structures beside them. Much of the architecture in Karate Island was that was bamboo stakes which demanded that all housing be elevated above the ground during the rainy season. Even from the distance he stood he could make out children scuttling beneath ‘flooring’ of buildings hoping to catch a view of something interesting. Journeying further he came upon what he wanted to see; the dojos.
Clustered together in a region that was almost isolated from the rest of society, the dojos dominated the eastern half of the island as an invisible line warded away those unwelcome amongst the ranks of true warriors. It was here that the warlords resides, the dictators of the island and those who controlled dealings with the government. A few buildings here were constructed of mortar and brick, a testament to the favor that the particular school of fighting had earned with parties of power.
Face shadowing in remembrance, Tang recalled a time when he had resided within a veritable mansion. Although his father had never been the elected warlord—‘elected’ being a term used loosely for those who murdered and slaughtered their way to political power—the Unrivaled Tiger of Karate Island had a been a man few refused appease; those that didn’t abruptly met their end. After crossing the division between man and warrior Tang felt the atmosphere shift as the noises of hawking vendors, starving beggars, and uncouth drunkards faded into the backdrop of the high morning. Controlled noises of striking movements, sensei shouting commands to their students, and masters lurking amongst paved road that led to the most current warlord’s abode. To Tang, this had been his real home. Without looking to see Tang felt eyes following him as he walked the lonely street searching for a house or dojo controlled by the 72. It took great will not to meet the eye of any who watched him from afar; to do so would invite challenge as they considered him nothing more than an intruding foreigner until one of their own acknowledged him. Of course. I’d forgotten how tense things could be around here for strangers; I’d better find my father and the others soon he told himself while maintaining downcast eyes.
Suddenly a violent cry ripped the apprehensive silence in the air and two forms exploded from a nearby building, their faces etched with crude lines of malice. A fight.