About the... Junkyard?

[EriChar]

Created by Torin

Name: Funkyard
Size: Large
Location: West Blue
Magnetic Shift: Unreliable, Sporadic

Appearance: Originally the World Governments first land-fill site, an island of massive proportions has lost any form of natural size or shape due to the waste thrown upon it, now a relatively low to sea level flat-land turned mountainous, its shape from above akin to an oval, with its original curvature on one side while its parallel is a man-man straight and narrow. The island itself has three extremely clear towering mountains of scrap, thousands of feet high and descending onto an unfathomable amount of smaller hillsides and sharp climbing towers all of the same miscellaneous materials. The islands original surface is visible, metallic, wooden and natural footing present sporadically and more one way or the other depending on which way you're walking, complete with artificial rivers and streams that weave through the geography. The atmosphere is very Steampunk, apocalyptic drab clashing with harsh neon lights dangling off every piece of high ground that can hold a sign or a light-bulb, while its atmosphere is hazed by the fumes of condensing the waste that resides on the island alongside the fire and sparks of creators that stick around for the rare gems that get left behind.

Local habitats are either gigantic trading sectors on the man-made half of the island, riddled with docks and markets.. Or small time collectives of housings from scavengers, loot parties or nomads to the metal heaps that surrounds them. Most of all settlements resemble shanty-towns or a China-town esque hue with bustling streets and very condensed building patterns, resulting in a island that with so much activity literally never sleeps. The island maintains some natural appeal, outskirts will see occasional greenery and trees within the sectors are idled and nourished, as well as some pockets of land that are only just being used as landfill zones, and are relatively untouched for the time being.

Climate: The scale of the island brings in the harshest of weathers, though the island is relativity warm it can veer drastically to extreme heats, downpours and cold temperatures to boot. The unnatural extreme mountainous terrain towards the islands center catches masses of weather not even intended for the island, combining biomes worth of different weather patterns to the point of providing an extreme in any aspect as opposed to small doses of otherwise natural weather. From its more well maintained half of the island across to its trading metropolis the temperatures adjust from a cool breeze to a heat-sink of fumes and rainfall, overall resulting in a rather unpredictable island. The island itself cannot support any snowfall due to its artificial climate, though hail is a common enemy of the islands occupants.

Flora and Fauna: The natural life on the island has long since subsided with the introduction of waste to an unfathomable degree, ultimately destroying the original habitat that everyone has long since forgot. Animals outside of birds or pets, even on the off chance ocean based mammals or fish that circle the islands shores no longer bother with the islands harsh terrain, and plant-life alongside it has long since subsided. Vigilant flora have stood the test of time with help of the remaining trees that litter the non-waste zones of one half of the island, or the coined trees that remain well-kept within the islands business and trade areas. A few wildlife and plant-life in particular stand out from the odds and ends that struggle to survive in this now harsh wasteland of gears and bolts, if anything they thrive in the habitat, going beyond their usual sizes and natural capacities:

The Glint, a large winged, small bodied raven like creature, is named such for its habit to make massive nests out of the collective scrap that it finds throughout the island, even going as far as to wear its more prized possessions on its wings and head, originally known to travel alone or in duo's, the extreme of the island has led to them being extremely commonplace, and entire flocks live within the depths of the higher mountains. They're an extremely protective species, make-shift fortresses as opposed to nests housing dozens while possessing the wing strength to fend off most wildlife that can reach their abodes. They're sometimes tamed to find rare scraps amongst the thousands of possible locations, and are talented in stealing valuables from the trade zones as well as food and padding for their homes.

The Meks are to no surprise not living at all, a mass production of fairly large failed mechanised hounds, small messenger birds and all other attempts to revolutionise combat with very weak to sturdy frames, hostile or timid.. The sporadic nature of these 'creatures' maintains their vague blanket term. Some believe that they dont even exist, very rare around the more busy areas of the island, Vegapunk was once tasked alongside a workforce to provide the Marines with soldier's who never sleep, and can practice typical day to day routines as well as combat with ease. The concept of cybernetics or even his attention were distant and shrouded in possibility. He instead created a range, combat hounds messenger birds and burly ape like figures tasked with providing assistance to a fighting force through defence, offence and communication. It was an ultimately failed experiment, and though the mass produced models were in their prototype stage, Vegapunk claimed to have found a much better project, and scrapped the production. These creatures vaguely resemble their apparent real-life counterparts, steel rods and wires riddle blocks of metal and light to form silhouettes of birds, dogs and Gorillas, needless to say the entire stockpile of thousands of models were lugged into the scrapyard whether they were functioning or not.. and over the years some have slowly reactivated with basic functions.

Inhabitants: An extreme all walks of life possibility best described the occupants of Funkyard, from pirates looking for scraps, Marines unloading a fresh supply of nuts and bolts, Nomad inventors looking for the quiet life and an infinite amount of possibilities. Scrapers, builders, traders, raiders, looters, workers.. You get the idea. The business and occupied half the island plays as a marketing port for the World Government that slowly morphed into a free for all of bustling streets, thousands of private businessmen looking to sell their wares and a shanty town array of abodes and housing of those sticking around when the goings good. Gambling sectors alongside trading, fighting pits and ship-houses bring the ambitious and greedy to try to make use of the mass produce that was originally thrown en masse onto the island now turned market hub for the well established and shadow companies to the crazy bearded man who tried to tell conch shells and pretend they're dials.

The island isn't short of military presence should the marines be in town, and the island itself converts to a method of night and day depending on whether the military waste vessels clog the shore-line, when the Governments away however, and nowadays even when they are there in short supply.. The island will play. Neon make even the darkest nights a booming light display, heaving streets and everything from dice games to underbelly pirate trades take place on the fly, making those not used to the environment or even the sore-thumb outsiders a fish out fo water. The locals are very close knit, people daily being pulled into the fold but reputation is everything. If you can build something worth coin, know you're way around a blackjack table or have valuables from a faraway land you're more then welcome, and Funkyard isn't short of its celebrities.

However across the way, around the towers of scrap and hillsides of steel nestle the nomads and idle travellers looking to hone their craft in peace with a literal islands worth of supplies. Older inventors and collective builders will set up shop in the depths of the island or more along its natural side for some flat-land with knowledge that they wont be disturbed, raiders and looters will occasionally scour the area for rarer loot, attempting to climb the highest points to find areas people had not yet investigated, while mostly however remaining poised for each Marine delivery to get the best of the bunch through tooth and nail if necessary to sell at the markets that evening.

Organisations: Though nothing is concrete in Funkyard, to call attempts of power and ownership of the islands entirety fickle would be an understatement. Specific parties who call this island home as opposed to a island towards their next location have dug their feet into the metal and waste since it was only a couple of piles and a few huts. And claim right to various aspects of the area despite having no real accurate claim while the World Government owns the entire island, it turns a blind eye to the massive underground establishment the island has become today, while profiting off its prosperity though proxies which eventually lead all gain back to them. regardless, some gangs and organisations have claim to fame:

 - The Steel Talons: A Pirate gang who's original crew and Captain set up a base of operations here under hopes to profit of the coming tide of supplies, and where the original Captain and even the crews name has been consumed by history, Captains and pirates alike claiming ownership of this vague story call themselves the Talons, a collective of Raiders and rough and tumble fighters who control an armada of other crews outside of the island and all across the blues, using the facilities on the island to dish out substandard vessels and crews of hundreds looking for reputation under the ominous masked shadow that is their leader, only known as 'The Steel Talon' The crew turned gang have a strong grasp on the island and is even rumoured to be in league with the Government themselves, and their colours on the walkways and streets of Funkyards capital sends shivers and caution amongst the populace

 - The Cogs: Originally from Cogs Hollow across the way, businessmen and a collective of traders originally on the island with intent to make an honest living. Immediately bought out by the Government to recruit inventors and builders for anything the Government requires. They hold an invisible yet firm grasp on the marketing, trade and gambling circuits within Funkyard, and are the first and gigantic obstacle for anyone looking to set up more than just a stall within the islands bustling business structure.

 - Scrap Scuttlers: Small groups or individuals are named such and seem to appear out of nowhere either out of desperation or a daredevil nature. These nomads are sometimes the original inhabitants of the island, looking for peace and quiet within the confines of barren zones looking to work in peace or delve into secret or taboo projects. Others however are for lack of a better term, insane. Climbers who look to set up camps at the top of the islands thousands of feet tall mountains of metal, those with a death wish hunting Meks for valuable loot to sell in the market, and those simply who have been dropped here by the marines along with all the waste to simply lose their minds, often prisoners or captives not worth the trip to a more established military jail.

Trends:

- Fashion in Funkyard is never really something you can pin down, with such a diverse spectrum of social groups and wealth all clogged into one massive constantly changing area. There is however a commonplace attire, which can be regarded as close to nothing at all. The heat is to an extreme that you need to dress down as much as possible at times, where the rain is just as warming and saves people on washing their clothes.. While occasionally a cold wave will come through the more populated district, even a brisk wind, people will be so hardened to it that the need to change never really dawns on them. Overall Funkyard dons a very Wasteland vibe in their outfits, and the odd leather jacket or metal plating isn't an oddity.

There is the change of pace however, with factions come different colours to sport their side of the playing field. With the Talons comes mantles of scrap and steel on their shoulders or masks, tattoo's are rampant and are a thriving business, and the Talons often coat themselves in their symbols. Cogs tend to wear more upper-class attire, Government standard suits, leather and shades state their presence clearly alongside commonplace guards, being the only people within the community to dress up. While the Scuttlers tend to range from the norm to the insane, donning Mek's parts and scrap of value as prizes around their neck or to cover their body. Marines and Government members on or off duty will often arrive on the island wearing the norm of the blues however, sticking out like a sore thumb in their heavy coats or military attire depending on the conditions.

- Politics is a no one man's land governed by what could only be deemed a Wild West institution within Funkyard, and follows a very clear line of command despite is being hardly held accountable unless through sheer force or reputation. At the bottom of the food chain lies commonplace rabble, as quick to break out into a fight over a small trinket and kill one another than negotiate, the shanties and lower markets, even upper businesses are run by who has the louder voice or better wares.

this rises then to the Talons, who maintain presence in small groups about the market district and gambling sectors with weapons in hand, actively looking to pick fights and take advantage of their namesake, The Fabled Captain of Captains himself governing anything left unclaimed with a shadowed hand. The Cogs, through business and Government protection control anything that earns a fair amount of coin, quick to present themselves in disputes over their land with superior manpower and sharp tongues. And ultimately the World Government themselves pull the highest strings, liquidating any large income through businesses into shadow companies that all trail back to them.

Presence and reputation are everything in Funkyard, and anyone with a heavy fist, good craft or manpower can make their word law depending on where they reside, resulting in a very sporadic balance of power amongst the clear pillars of control, and you're just as likely to end up a body pushed to the side of the road as you are a notable name within the island.

- Industry is a constant boom, If you've traded metal, tools, ships, weapons.. Anything in surplus, odds are its come through Funkyard, And if you're trading anything higher than a small stalls worth of bits and bobs odds are you're in someone's pockets without you even knowing. The island stays afloat through its masses of diverse trade, and if you have enough money and some clear directions you're probably going to find exactly what you're looking for there.. Or something that's very close to looking like it at least. Fighting rings, gambling, trade and anything else you can think of is probably rampant from the top of the most established business to the back-alley of the slums. There's always something to buy, and plenty of places to sell, just make sure you dont get the wrong attention doing it.

- Cuisine, isn't. The most mysterious of foods both quickly prepared or more often than not unprepared are common delicacies within Funkyard, and the common phrase of 'Bringing your own pack lunch' is both humorous and should be taken rather literally. Typically the higher you go through the price range of the market the better stuff you're going to find, but unless you're willing to dish out top beri, you'll probably be eating something that shouldn't be eaten in the first place. fast food is the meal of choice, meats and fishes cooked and prepared under your watchful eye is the safest way to go. But even then, you've been warned.

Notable Occupants:

- Talon: The infamous and island renowned, in control of hundreds of vessels across the blues who all play pillagers and raiders for his ultimate and intricate trading ring, all circling back to Funkyard. Captains and close hands maintain his reality, though no one of even high creditability claims to have ever seen him, yet this shadow still commands the islands lower populace with word alone. Crew members of his receive special privileges in the districts, from free food to free access should they bare the mark.. Attracting madmen and murderers alike to his banner. The rumoured massive man of steel reconstructed himself to a titan with the best parts the island had to offer, and could do a lot more than Funkyard should he ever feel the need to flex his reputation.

- Oxford: A white suit amongst black, the tallest amongst those who bow in his presence, a lanky official seen amongst crowds and at the highest of events, considered the official spokesperson for the Cogs and the direct line between Funkyards business and the World Government. Rumoured to be protected by a branch of CP, and instructs his understudies through gestures and waves. Symbolised as a god amongst the Funkyard people, and the closest thing to a leader the island has.

- Pan: A spokesman for the original community of designers and inventors that have been forced onto the less barbaric side of the island to work in solitude. In his younger years he and the old folk who surround him in what he calls the retirement home of Cogs Hollow were the leading creators and the frontier of revolutionary contraptions and vessels, though quickly left in the dust when people such as Vegapunk began to arise. A pacifist who in his spare time trains those who are willing, and looks for the next big thing amongst the mountains of rubbish. He also in his sleep creates machines of killing intent, by mistake of course.

History: Originally an island known as 'The Yard' A large span of flatlands and occasional hillsides left untouched by the world, though apparently under Government control, originally housing secret bases and design hubs under the green surface secretly working on Government prototypes. The island was quickly scrapped with the introduction of the pirate era, deeming a location so barren and unguarded could be quickly populated by sudden boom of travelling settlers and instead decided to turn the entire island into a landfill site, submerging the island in enough metal waste and ship remnants to completely conceal the bases below, and class the island as a dead zone. The island that originally stood in place of what became the metal goliath was quickly eclipsed, the wildlife and overall geographical nature of its base vanished under what was the Governments quick answer to any waste from conflicts with the pirates. In the sudden uprising of battle however, the idea of that was considered waste was quickly thrown to the wind, leaving within most metal and scrap valuable pieces of materials. Those working in the bases of the island were quick to be dismissed, with the desire for faster production Government development sites were pushed closer to bases themselves and given higher grade staff, as well as the renowned Vegapunk introducing himself to the scene as a prodigy of design.

With the knowledge that valuables lay like a needle to the haystack of dulled steel and cracked wood, the people put out of their jobs looked to prove their worth by literally make something out of nothing, with intent to showcase their creations to the ships that came to dispose waste onto the island as a means to get their jobs back. Though no matter what they brought to the table it was never considered enough, but it took all the time of them attempting to prove something to the government to realise the freedom of creativity they had here anyway, the luxury to do their job without restrictions or time-limits.. It wasn't long before the marines thought they had simply left the island, where all they had done is moved to the other side and set up their abodes there. This was to be called Cog's Hollow, and rumours of this once great team spread about the blues, as well as the concept of there being treasure on an island with no protection. Pirates arrived, shipwrights and inventors to one side and pirate crews on the other, both working off the same constantly growing trash heap from either side of the island for fortune and fame in their own rights.

Markets were established, taking what they found and selling it off to the people who came curious for treasure, pirates began to use the area as a base camp between travels and introduced gambling and fighting to the area. Before the people at Cogs Hollow could even poke over the fence some of their friends had gone to the other side to see what all the fuss was about and never returned, and the trash just kept on piling. Abodes to villages, to towns into a collective city. Rumours of a certain pirate Captain waltzing his way into the area and claiming rights to all that he set his eyes on, while around the same time officials of the marines were left to watch over the progress, and not soon after that shade sporting men and women in suits came along to watch over them. All but a Year or so had passed and the place had become a near metropolis growing out of the man-made metallic soil. Years of power struggle and stacking steel mountains brought us to today. A rag-tag city-scape where Governments rule over businessmen who watch over pirates who handle fresh meat, all the while fighting for their own little patch on the earth. While the growing older group of across the way establish a school and work-site for their never sated inspiration. And Funkyard was born.