Coconut Island (138)

ZK

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Coconut Island

The perhaps tritely named Coconut Island is home to a dense and homogenous forest of coconut trees. There are no landmarks on the island, very few even small animals and no permanent settlements. A very small number of coconut processing workshops have been constructed on the island, and some locals make a living off of collecting and selling the coconuts on Kinai, but otherwise the island is a stranger to intelligent life. The surface of the island is, like most of the archipelago, almost perpetually covered by mist.
 

Mudo

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Arriving from .


Activating his sensory technique, Jack walks along the coconut trees as he makes one final boarding on a small raft toward the arena.

(Chakra Henkanshi no Jutsu) - Chakra Sensing Technique
Type: Supplementary
Rank: C
Range: Short - Long
Chakra: 15 (- 5 per turn)
Damage: N/A
Description: This is a very advanced of advancing the ability to feel and sense chakra. The technique allows the user to concentrate and detect someone's chakra. Users can use this to determine the nature of a jutsu used as well as sense masses of chakra. The use of this can be compared to Sharingan's brutish level of sensory, able to sense collection of chakra but not the level of clarity and precision Byakugan has.

Note: Can only be used by bios with Sensory ability.
Note: After having on a bio for 1 month, users gain the ability to activate Sensory passively.


Leaving landmark.
 

Jᴀʏ

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Spawning here..


Genji would arrive onto the shores of Phanagoria with little but the clothes on his back, his blade tucked at his waist: Indra. As well as his personal summons Alexzander, the young warrior would watch as Alexzander used the plethora of water surrounding him to transform into an adhesive slime with a multitude of teeth or (jaws) covering the exterior of the slime. This slime would then begin to coat Genji in no way hindering his movement or his combat abilities. Genji would continue on his journey to the next landmark. Taking another boat to Witchwood Arena.

(Same Kuchiyose: Alexzander) - Shark Summoning: Alexzander
Type: Summoning
Rank: S
Range: Short
Chakra: 40
Damage: N/A
Description: After exploring every corner of the water country, Taek would discover a unique shark with special abilities. This shark was known as Alexzander. A medium-sized shark summoned along with a plethora of water in which he is capable of merging with at the cost of a move in order to transform his body into a transparent adhesive slime. He is capable of using this transformation as a form of evasion in battle, manipulating his now gel-like form however he pleases. The adhesive slime although it is very similar to that of the "Sticky Syrup Jutsu." That being said, this form is also somewhat comparable to that of the Hozuki Clan, as both are susceptible to lightning based attacks. While in his slime form Alexzander is capable of absorbing large quantities of chakra upon contact, up to S-rank energy based techniques (Wind/Fire) at the expense of a move, when it comes to Lightning, B-rank and above techniques are capable of knocking Alexzander out of his slime form and causing considerable damage. Additionally Alexzander is capable of manifesting a plethora of jaws onto the surface of the slime capable of devouring physical techniques, similar to that of "Paelmon's Touch". These jaws can be manifested at the same time Alexzander enters his slime form, or after the fact with the cost of a move-slot. The jaws devour up to A-rank physical techniques (Earth/Water) within a single time-frame passively. As well as being capable of defending against Taijutsu attacks of the same rank. Due to Alexzander's adhesive slime form, he is more than capable of latching on to and coating physical constructs. Alexzander's last and final ability is this ability to use any shark and water techniques the user knows up to and including S ranks.

Note: There cannot be any summons on the field, in order to summon Alexzander. Lasts four turns. Can only be taught by Jᴀʏ



Leaving landmark.
 

Gutsy

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Biography [Mandos]: https://animebase.me/threads/námo-judge-of-spirits-v-2.773684/


Approaching from: https://animebase.me/threads/south-west-kinai-island-146.756159/page-5#post-22038703


This post marks the beginning of my (our) mission using these storyboard elements:


  • Stop a revolt [A-rank - Clan Mission]
Summary: Mandos journeys to the nearby island to conquer it in the name of the Emperor of the New Dawn.




Blood on the Grass

Through the thick mist, through the still waters, the row boats of the galleons approached the shore of the Coconut Island. Their approach to the shore was still, just as the water itself. Mandos eyes pierced through the mist, as he could hear the water gently caressing the sand upon the beach. It was a beacon to him, as with a single wave of his hand, commanded them to pick up their pace.

As the boats were pushed up through the sand, and the elven knights jumped over the side, allowing them to tread through the wet sand, it would seem that their approach had gone unnoticed, during the night. Without the light of the torches, most people would have difficulty seeing within the mist and the dark, however, the elves and Mandos were capable of seeing with ease, as they pulled the packages, and their horses, wagons and tools arrived at the beach. During the darkness of the night, the forces of Mandos would work at double time to create their beachhead and form their encampment, surrounded by spiked fortifications, small wooden walls, and a few watch towers. While two Hwachas were stationed at the front. While everyone was working double time, Mandos had ordered scouts and hunters into the land, to search for the towns and villages of the ones living here, preparing his plan within his tent. While he immediately sent out emissaries with a letter to each village, declaring that their lands now belonged to the Empire of the New Dawn. He did this, without expecting submission, in fact, he expected them to retaliate. Though during the night, his scouts returned, with the little information that they had, that there seemed to be few villages, with a small number of people living here, it would seem that if there was going to be any form of resistance, it would be non-existent.




As the morning arrived, Mandos was woken up to the sound of chatter outside, and loud voices. He quickly gathered his things, and with a cup of tea in one hand, he left the tent, walking through the dry sand to the entrance. There, he found his emissaries, all of whom had been tied up to poles and had their throats slit. It seemed these people had managed to overwhelm them and refused to bend the knee. A note was hanging by the throat of one of them, an invitation to come and challenge them directly, as they wished to fight for their island.

Mandos took a sip of his cup, as he glanced over the emissaries. “Take them down and give them a proper burial. I will handle this myself.”

As he said this, his men began to take down their fallen friends, while Mandos handed his cup of tea to his closest man. With that, he trekked out of the camp towards the nearest town.

Having “formally” claimed the island to be part of the growing empire, Mandos was furious for their insolence and their refusal to bend the knee to him. Yet, who could blame them for trying to keep their independence? He walked across the cliffs, through the forests, until reaching the town. There he was met by what seemed like a group of fifty to a hundred men, all of whom were wielding hatchets, shovels, pitchforks, and other tools. Only one of them had an actual sword.

“I assume you are the leader of this revolt against our occupation,” Mandos uttered calmly.

The man stepped forward, pointing the blade at Mandos. He could see the fear in the man's eyes, but also the determination of keeping this land free from his grasp. “You and your people are not welcome here!”

“You seem hostile, considering the fact that I at least allowed you the means to respond before going forward and murdering the opposition.”
The calmness within Mandos' voice, seemed to create a sort of fear within the villagers, as they stepped backward.

“The light of the Moon will protect us!” He yelled with a trembling voice.

The man pulled out a necklace with a medallion upon it, one that showed a strange symbol, one that piqued Mandos' interest. One that showed two individuals wielding their own blades, striking one another, however, they also seemed to show passion and love for one another as well. A strange combination indeed. The man stepped forward.

“The light will protect us from you and your men!”

Mandos' eyes flared at the man yelling at him, as he stepped towards the man with determination, almost making the man stumble back in surprise and fear. “There is no light here. It has left these lands, you have forsaken the gods… Surrender, give in to the Light of Illuvatar.”

The calmness and stillness of Mandos mind and voice, seemed to emanate both a convincing argument to the people, while also creating a form of the fear instilling moment that would make the people around the man at first tremble and step backward, before they began to kneel behind the man, accepting the superiority of Mandos.

“What are you doing! Get up! Don’t let him take you!” The man's voice was trembling as he tried to convince them all to stand with him.

“It is simple really. It can be put into words… People whether they know it or not, wish to be ruled, as they cannot make their own decisions…” Mandos stepped towards him, towering above him. “You see it is the same in war, we fight, but only for what we deem worth fighting for, and in this instance, what is worth fighting for, for you guys? You have meager homes, you have no authority to guide you. What you need is our empire to guide you towards the future.”

The people had surrendered, their tools and weapons clattering onto the ground around Mandos. The only one left was the man in front of him. “Surrender… give in.”

The man stumbled around confused, his lungs gasping for air. He turned his gaze to Mandos as he stumbled forward screaming out, as he raised his blade above his head, striking down towards Mandos.

Within this moment, the man's eyes were filled with desperation, but only for a moment, before his eyes had lost all color, and all expression, as it was filled with the emptiness of the void. He stumbled forward, before collapsing onto the ground. His life faded from him, as a gashing wound had been cut across his chest in the blink of an eye.

Mandos knelt beside the man, as their eyes met. “May the gentle hand of Illuvatar guide your soul to the underworld.” With that the man's life faded from existence.

Mandos stood in front of the people. “Hear me and rejoice, for his soul will join Illuvatar in the halls of immortality!”

Mandos gestured to some of the folk to pick up his body. “Give him a proper burial, he believed in freedom, and he wanted to protect his people, even though his intentions were righteous, he was against the progression of your society. Under the banners of the empire, and with my guidance, you shall all come into the empire's fold.” Some of the people clapped, some cheered, some stayed silent, simply watching.

“I promise you shall all enter the Halls of Illuvatar, if you follow me. My emissaries and people shall come upon your villages and your land, to guide you forward!”

With that, Mandos had managed to both crush their hopes for staying free from the clutches of the empire, while at the same time stir their hearts to believe in the empire, but mostly in his own cause.

Mandos would strip the man he had killed from his medallion, tucking it into his satchel, before handing over a simple cloth that had the symbol of the New Dawn, followed by the symbol of Mandos and his Armada.

With that, Mandos would leave the village and return to the camp at the shores. He was met by his men. “It is done. You will face no more resistance upon this island. Now go claim it for the empire.”

With that, hundreds of soldiers would spread across the island, raising the banners of the New Dawn, and the banners of Mandos across the island and the villages. Within the main village, there would be created a position of power, a seneschal of Mandos, who would act in his place, and guide these people, while Mandos would return to his ships and continue his voyage. The island would serve under his banners and the empire, supplying his Armada, and the empire, going forward. With all of its supplies and future crops being monitored and taxed, while all paperwork would go to the seneschal before being sent directly to Mandos for confirmation.

Mandos would be within his camp at the shore, surrounded by his men and the galleons protecting them from the sea, people would come for guidance, and the people of the island would come and be granted permission to continue with their agriculture, and their other works. Mandos would mostly see these dealings, while the rest of the island would be setup as a prefecture under his banners, while when done, he would be within his tent, preparing for his next voyage.
 
Last edited:

Gutsy

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Biography [Mandos]: https://animebase.me/threads/námo-judge-of-spirits-v-2.773684/


This post marks the beginning of my (our) mission using these storyboard elements:

  • Defend against or attack another group [A-rank Clan Mission]
Summary: Having successfully squandered the brewing outrest on the Coconut Island, and having claimed it for the New Dawn Empire, Mandos would be resting within his camp, believing that the place would now be under control. However, within the darkness of the night, shadows draw close, intent on removing him from the board.

Ghosts from a newborn past

The coastline was swaddled in a veil of poltergeist-white mist. It was eerily silent on the shore and the reason was obvious. The deathly vapour did not lick the cold sand as the wind was known to do. Its tongue lesser form would not allow it to. Instead, it warped nature by using its spineless tentacles to trail around every rock, tent, barricade and across the waters, through the galleons. It drifted and ghosted, glided and dangled. Once it was sure it had conjured up enough of its milky white substance, it clung to and enrobed everything it could. Nothing was spared. It snagged and snared every crag and tree without mercy.

The beams of moonlight breaching through the mist, touching upon the galleons and the beach. As the guards gazed out at the slothful sea. Ebbing ever so gently, it looked at peace in its sapphire-blue gown. It felt like they were walking on a carpet of soft blue fur, such was its softness. The golden sand gently licked by the waves of sapphire. The golden flames of the lanterns penetrating the mist. The guards knew the warmth of the lights at sea, yet they would not sway from their post, for their duty came before pleasure. A shadow moving ever so silently between the cliffs, slowly reaching their hand out towards the unsuspecting.

The torchlight licking the silvery metal upon the elven guards, their helmets emblazoned with three shining white gemstones, stood guard, their sturdy blank faces staring into the milky-white mist. The silence of the night only broken by the footfalls of nearby elves, their laughter filling the night, bottles clinking against one another.

The cold moves in to meet the warmth of their blood, washing over their skin, only to be met by the beat of their heart. Their lungs fill with the freezing wet air. Their breath is illuminated by the torches, as they fill the night air in front of them. Their breath calm, only interrupted for a moment. Gasp for air, the hushed sounds of gurgling, as the sanguine fluid filled the spaces where the men once stood, their bodies hidden from sight. The shadows engulfing the bronze coloured tent.

The black fur gently wrapped around the body of the sleeping man, his breath ever so calm. A single candle lighting up the room, as tapestries litter the makeshift walls. A story told from ages ago. A golden armor resting upon its mahogany stand, as the infamous scimitar rested against the nearby chair. The silhouettes drawing nearer with every breath, the man ostensibly unaware of their presence.

The silhouettes engulfed the black fur, as it was scattered across the floor, so was the man, the light disappearing from the space. As the silhouettes ceased to move in their rapid and vicious manner, the deception became apparent in their movements, as the frantic looks upon their eyes revealed their uncertainty. The silence abruptly broken by a deep raspy voice, as a figure stepped forth from one of the tapestries symbolizing the Silmarils. “If you are afraid of the light… you are afraid of your own soul.” The tall figure grasping the scimitar beside the chair, as he stepped forth into the room, surrounded by the silhouettes.

The silhouettes are hesitant, their eyes searching for one another, slowly coming to a rest, as concurring nods move through the darkness. With the misty steps of a singular individual, the metallic edges would reach out to penetrate thin air, as one of the silhouettes wrapped in darkness were swept off their feet, landing upon the cold sand, only to be penetrated by a singular silvery blade, the cracking sound of his skull emanating through the room, sending shivers down the spines of the individuals within the vicinity. The sound soon afterward followed by the sound of another falling to their knees, a gashing wound, overflowing with a river of sanguine. Not a single word leaving his lips, but the sound of gurgling escaping them, as the silvery blade was glistening behind him, not a single blood-stain upon it. The movements of the individual had instilled fear within the hearts of the many.

The sound of whistling breaking the silence, as metal struck metal, parried by the individual, the stars were sent astray from their destination. The silhouettes moving swiftly within the moments to pass. Their blades moving towards the individual, their strikes occurring simultaneously. Even so, their efforts seemed futile, as their blades were evaded, one shadow falling with the sound of cracking bone and teeth moving through the air. The silence removed from the space forever, as it had been replaced by the sound of sobbing. The other shadow swiftly attempted to disarm the individual through evasive action, pushing his silvery blade upwards, as his tanto struck forth at the man's abdomen. The man caught unaware at the moment, the tanto grazed across his skin, shredding his clothing, leaving a gashing wound across his ribs. However, the quick adaptation of the man did not allow for the shadow to regain its posture before the sound of metal carving through the air, and the sudden impact caused him to collapse. The overwhelming amount of red covering the floor, as the shadow stared down upon his arm that once held the tool of an assassin.

As silence once again crept into the room, occasionally interrupted by the sounds of the others in their agonizing states. The man turned to face the center of the tent, his silvery scimitar glistening in the candlelight. Only one shadow remained.

The shadow was different, the essence of darkness emanating from him. Draped in cloth as dark as the depth of the sea, his hand grasping the hilt of the Genbu’s Darkness, a blade made of obsidian, passed down through generations at the island. It signified authority and is a symbol of the ruling clan of the coconut grove. The truth was no longer hidden in the shadows but had come into the light. The authority of the elven man had yet to be proven, as they had sent their strongest warrior to defeat him. It was a test, a battle between the light and the darkness upon the island. One that the light would most certainly overcome.

The shadow and the light now circling one another, only the light of a single candle illuminated parts of their body, as the shadow held tight upon their sword, only partially drawn from its scabbard. The light gently moving, the silvery blade calmly by its side, watching ever so closely. Both circling one another like wolves circling their prey. “You have no honor… you come to claim our home, but you have no right.” The shadow spoke, his black eyes staring into the eyes of the elf.

“You talk about right as if it is something one is born with… it is taken, it is something one claim through any means necessary. If I have the power to take your island it is as much my land as it is yours.” The gentle voice of the elf reached the ears of the shadow, almost antagonizing him with how calm it seemed.

The shadow seemed to falter in his steps, as he circled his prey. Understanding the words of the elf, he had grown uncertain in his quest to vanquish him. The two individuals standing still, letting the moment soak into them, as they could hear the laughter of the men outside and a few tumbling around. The shadows have truly been successful in infiltrating the man's quarters.

In what seemed like frustration and some form of hatred the shadow lunged out, “You killed my brother, for that you must die.” his words echoing within the tent, finally the truth came out, or at least part of it. The shadow had made the decision to strike for the sake of the family. His blade lunging from its scabbard, only to be parried by the silvery scimitar of the elf. What came to pass, was a flurry of strikes flying between the two, as their blades danced.

As the two danced with their blades singing in the wind, the elf spoke briefly, “Illuvatar favors the right.” His words repeating in the shadow's mind as he closed in on him, firmly holding his scimitar Te Ura Gasumi stance, a popular Samurai form. The shadow circling away from him, keeping his katana in motion and continually changing his guard and stance.

The shadow roared out and slashed forth, down at the elf’s head. The elf immediately countered by raising his scimitar high and striking horizontally. His blow offset the shadow’s, and the tip of his sword sliced cleanly across the shadow’s face.

The shadow fell backward clutching his face, keeping his scream at bay. The sanguine fluid pouring between his fingers. His eyes wild, as the other had been ruined by the scimitar. The elf moved in close. He impeded the shadow’s sword arm, gripped his own sword halfway down the blade, plunging the hilt into the shadow’s chest. Stumbling backward, he grabbed a hold of one of the tapestries attempting to stand upon his feet, only to feel them collapse beneath him as he tumbled to his knees, still grasping his sword.

“Give in to the light… allow the hand of Illuvatar to guide you to the Undying Lands.” The elf spoke, his voice resonating with confidence in front of the shadow, as he stepped forward.

“I will never succumb to the false god you worship!” His voice trembling and his lungs heaving for air.

As the elf stepped forth to deliver the final strike, he was surprised by the sudden tenacity and determination, as he lunged upwards slashing horizontally in front of him. The elf unable to rearrange his scimitar in time, the sword connected with his abdomen, cutting cleanly through his clothes and tearing into his lower abdomen. It did not strike his vital organs, yet it did leave a deep cut across his body, as he took a few steps backwards. The shadow now standing in front of him, heaving for air.

“I will take you down if it is the last thing I do.” The shadows final words before the once again lunged forward, his steps sloppy and his strike uncoordinated.

The elf ever so gracefully moved under the man's sword, as his scimitar cut into the man's chest like butter. Pushing the shadow back and into the chair, his scimitar striking through the word, pinning him to it. Blood poured from the man's mouth and chest, he stared up into the eyes of the elf in front of him. He gasped, choked, and stared at him with a mix of surprise and malice.

“You will pass into the afterlife, knowing that you failed to accomplish your final goal. Yet, Illuvatar will welcome you with open arms.” The elf whispered, as his hand grasped the man's hair, pulling it back so that the man was forced to look at him.

The man gasped for air, his face turning white as his arm reached within his garments. “...” He attempted to speak, yet nothing left his mouth. His hand revealed a parchment that he threw into the burning candle. Within an instant catching fire, as his final breath left his body. The elf quickly moved to the parchment, stomping upon it, allowing it to extinguish the flames. Yet, it had done its damage.

The elven man looked upon the parchment, to find that the fire had concealed part of the message upon it. Yet he managed to piece together a few of its details. Tōkaidō Island is where the message originated from. It was one addressed to the ruling clan on the island, one demanding them to remove the threat of the New Dawn. However, the fire concealed who the message came from. The only clue left behind was the sigil upon its back, a symbol of a lightning bolt. A strange sigil, which the elf had yet to come across. Perhaps it was time for him to visit this place, though he required time to heal from his wounds beforehand.

The elf would spend the night resting and licking his wounds, his guards finding the molested corpses of the elves. Ordering his men to patrol the perimeter, while preparing to sail in the morning, he would spend time reading the letter over several times. The determination growing within him to punish these savages for their attempt at his life.
 
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