Breaker
08-20-08, 04:30 PM
Closed. All bunnying approved. Other characters will enter and exit throughout the thread, just a heads up.
Joshua Cronen's shadow stretched long across the sandy beach, ironed out of proportion by the early morning sun. He stood stoically, staring across the choppy white-tipped ocean waters, waiting for his challenger to arrive. He would have been a statue save for the way his close cropped hair jumped about in the playful breeze. A wide palm rose, angled just so to shield his hazel eyes from the sun. He could see the familiar rowboat gliding gracefully through the brutish sea.
"Another farmer who thinks a little skill with a stave makes him a fighter," he mused to no one in particular. The wind whistled through his ears and snatched his words, tossing them into the rolling breakers that laughed in response, foamy water sizzling on the hot sand as if it were a bed of coals. He inhaled slowly, enjoying the fresh scent of sea salt. Soon it would be marred by the heady odor of the farmer's freed blood.
"Why do so many men pay to die?" Josh wondered aloud, and got a mouthful of windswept sand for his curiosity. He spat the grit out, running his tongue along his teeth in an attempt to chase away the dry, dusty flavour. He imagined a gory aftertaste, for the sand had been painted red many times by the blood of challengers. Shuddering at the thought, he spat again. The rising tide washed away the daily bloodshed on a nightly basis, but to Josh the beach would always be a place of carnage. Already gulls circled overhead, shreiking and calling, ready for a grisly meal. They would not be disapointed; all of Breaker's opponents ultimately met with an untimely demise.
He scuffed one heavy metal boot across the ground, drawing a half crescent in the sand. It was rough, gravelly, not unlike the coarse stubble which decorated his chin. He scratched at it almost pensively and gazed upwards, past the swooping gulls, and considered the neverending blue sky. Harmless fluffy clouds moved and morphed, bustled about by high altitude winds. They captivated him almost hypnotically until he heard the familiar crunch of the rowboat landing on the beach.
Time to kill, an eager voice spoke from the depths of the martial artist's mind.
Yes... Josh responded, abstractly observing his opponent. Time to kill.
Joshua Cronen's shadow stretched long across the sandy beach, ironed out of proportion by the early morning sun. He stood stoically, staring across the choppy white-tipped ocean waters, waiting for his challenger to arrive. He would have been a statue save for the way his close cropped hair jumped about in the playful breeze. A wide palm rose, angled just so to shield his hazel eyes from the sun. He could see the familiar rowboat gliding gracefully through the brutish sea.
"Another farmer who thinks a little skill with a stave makes him a fighter," he mused to no one in particular. The wind whistled through his ears and snatched his words, tossing them into the rolling breakers that laughed in response, foamy water sizzling on the hot sand as if it were a bed of coals. He inhaled slowly, enjoying the fresh scent of sea salt. Soon it would be marred by the heady odor of the farmer's freed blood.
"Why do so many men pay to die?" Josh wondered aloud, and got a mouthful of windswept sand for his curiosity. He spat the grit out, running his tongue along his teeth in an attempt to chase away the dry, dusty flavour. He imagined a gory aftertaste, for the sand had been painted red many times by the blood of challengers. Shuddering at the thought, he spat again. The rising tide washed away the daily bloodshed on a nightly basis, but to Josh the beach would always be a place of carnage. Already gulls circled overhead, shreiking and calling, ready for a grisly meal. They would not be disapointed; all of Breaker's opponents ultimately met with an untimely demise.
He scuffed one heavy metal boot across the ground, drawing a half crescent in the sand. It was rough, gravelly, not unlike the coarse stubble which decorated his chin. He scratched at it almost pensively and gazed upwards, past the swooping gulls, and considered the neverending blue sky. Harmless fluffy clouds moved and morphed, bustled about by high altitude winds. They captivated him almost hypnotically until he heard the familiar crunch of the rowboat landing on the beach.
Time to kill, an eager voice spoke from the depths of the martial artist's mind.
Yes... Josh responded, abstractly observing his opponent. Time to kill.