(( This was reposted so the RP can start, if anyone wishes to join in, feel free to, just please make your entrance relevant to the current situation!)
They always loved talking about what the island was like. They wouldn't hesitate to bring up their favorite vacation spots, places to eat, and so on, so forth. But no one seemed to know just what exactly was on the other side of the planet. To outsiders, like you reading this right now, not many, if at all, will know what's out there. Though, to islandgoers, they knew exactly why no one talked about the Wastedlands.
It was a world full of sand. Elevations outside the coastlines never dipped down to sea level, no one knew what rests under that big desert. Not to mention the sandstorms. It was as if those who were blind could have an easier time getting through, no one could see a thing. So dusty, so harsh, it's not surprising as to why no one lives there.
Except for one. Rumours suggest that one young girl somehow manages to live in such an unforgiving landscape. But alas, all those who entered the Wastedlands have never seen the light of day again. However, Y/C was determined to prove this idea wrong. Y/C would stop at nothing to go in and find this mysterious fellow who lives in a world of sand.
They always loved talking about what the island was like. They wouldn't hesitate to bring up their favorite vacation spots, places to eat, and so on, so forth. But no one seemed to know just what exactly was on the other side of the planet. To outsiders, like you reading this right now, not many, if at all, will know what's out there. Though, to islandgoers, they knew exactly why no one talked about the Wastedlands.
It was a world full of sand. Elevations outside the coastlines never dipped down to sea level, no one knew what rests under that big desert. Not to mention the sandstorms. It was as if those who were blind could have an easier time getting through, no one could see a thing. So dusty, so harsh, it's not surprising as to why no one lives there.
Except for one. Rumours suggest that one young girl somehow manages to live in such an unforgiving landscape. But alas, all those who entered the Wastedlands have never seen the light of day again. However, Y/C was determined to prove this idea wrong. Y/C would stop at nothing to go in and find this mysterious fellow who lives in a world of sand.
Of course, that's not to say that this mysterious desert dweller was being sought out of sheer curiosity alone.
In the daytime, the Wastedlands were blistering and blinding with heat and light, while the silvery dunes dropped to below-freezing temperatures at night. Vast expanses of nothingness stretched out for hundreds of miles, broken only seldomly by the bobbing of some sand rodent whose tracks were swiftly swept away in the perpetual grating wind. More often than not, however, the land was crawling with giant, silent sandstorms that blotted out the sun in murky haze.
But the edges of the desert, where the sun was blocked by towering sandstone piers and ocean's sparse foliage kept the storms at bay, were home to the only creatures bold enough to flirt with the Wastedlands' guaranteed death: tourists.
"And here," cried the guide, pausing dramatically as he swept his arm out toward the sprawling desert landscape, "we have the best view on the whole planet! Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen, on our Wastedlands!"
Tourists consisted of, entirely, outsiders who had no place on the island--much less the planet as a whole. In fact, the islandgoers were loath to even allow outsiders onto their precious planet, and a number of disputes had arisen over the years about the supposed legality of allowing tourists onto the Wastedlands' fringes. But the tourists pursued, and the companies continued with the hollow promise that not a grain of sand should touch any of their clients.
One woman, who was rather robust and wearing a garish purple robe, pointed out over the foliage at a looming brown cloud slowly enveloping the horizon. "Dear me, isn't that getting a bit close?"
A gentle murmur swept throughout the group.
"No, no! Have no fear, madame!" the guide assured her, whisking himself over to the railing and proffering a disarming grin. "The storms rarely reach the coastline, and even if that one does, we'll be well on our way back to the island."
In the daytime, the Wastedlands were blistering and blinding with heat and light, while the silvery dunes dropped to below-freezing temperatures at night. Vast expanses of nothingness stretched out for hundreds of miles, broken only seldomly by the bobbing of some sand rodent whose tracks were swiftly swept away in the perpetual grating wind. More often than not, however, the land was crawling with giant, silent sandstorms that blotted out the sun in murky haze.
But the edges of the desert, where the sun was blocked by towering sandstone piers and ocean's sparse foliage kept the storms at bay, were home to the only creatures bold enough to flirt with the Wastedlands' guaranteed death: tourists.
"And here," cried the guide, pausing dramatically as he swept his arm out toward the sprawling desert landscape, "we have the best view on the whole planet! Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen, on our Wastedlands!"
Tourists consisted of, entirely, outsiders who had no place on the island--much less the planet as a whole. In fact, the islandgoers were loath to even allow outsiders onto their precious planet, and a number of disputes had arisen over the years about the supposed legality of allowing tourists onto the Wastedlands' fringes. But the tourists pursued, and the companies continued with the hollow promise that not a grain of sand should touch any of their clients.
One woman, who was rather robust and wearing a garish purple robe, pointed out over the foliage at a looming brown cloud slowly enveloping the horizon. "Dear me, isn't that getting a bit close?"
A gentle murmur swept throughout the group.
"No, no! Have no fear, madame!" the guide assured her, whisking himself over to the railing and proffering a disarming grin. "The storms rarely reach the coastline, and even if that one does, we'll be well on our way back to the island."
Off in the distance, the duststorms' true rage was shown. The intense winds lifted swirling sand streams many meters above the ground. And while several pedestals situated beside the railings described this, it was unimaginable what winter in this place would be like, how such a tropical desert, well, wasteland would become coated with the glistening white powder that is called snow.
But what truly made this half of the planet a hot tourist destination, what really brought the people here, was a task like no other. A challenge no one spoke of, as anyone in their right mind would turn away almost instantly. Only the most daring of explorers and adventurers would venture into the Wastedlands in hopes of coming out with a detailed map of the place, although making it out alive would soon become their top priority.
No one seemed to talk about it, however. It was so unheard of that only officials from third-world organizations kept classified records on the trek, and many of the documents detailing the progress of those going in ended around the time the duststorms kicked in. Not a single soul on the island knew about what was deemed an impossible journey. Those that did, well...
...they've been taken care of. Those that knew had more important things to tend to. But their plans failed, and horribly at that.
(( OOC EDIT: I'm not the best at describing things, so please bear with me!
But what truly made this half of the planet a hot tourist destination, what really brought the people here, was a task like no other. A challenge no one spoke of, as anyone in their right mind would turn away almost instantly. Only the most daring of explorers and adventurers would venture into the Wastedlands in hopes of coming out with a detailed map of the place, although making it out alive would soon become their top priority.
No one seemed to talk about it, however. It was so unheard of that only officials from third-world organizations kept classified records on the trek, and many of the documents detailing the progress of those going in ended around the time the duststorms kicked in. Not a single soul on the island knew about what was deemed an impossible journey. Those that did, well...
...they've been taken care of. Those that knew had more important things to tend to. But their plans failed, and horribly at that.
(( OOC EDIT: I'm not the best at describing things, so please bear with me!
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