Girls und Panzer: Battle Europa (OOC/Sign-up, Open)

[Wolfenium]

Up to you. Right now, we're about to start the practice match and the last call just left with Phobos Team. If you want to post now, you can harass look up Henna on her way back to the student council office. Otherwise, just wait it out, though it's going to take a while...

(Image)

EDIT: I suggest posting.

All right, I'll have Haruhi track Henna down

Ok. :3

In other news, coming soon... because I'm going mad with waiting.

(Now Playing: The War - The Magnificent Century Soundtrack)​

St. Elisabeth Catholic Girls Academy, the bastion of Prussia's Teutonic revival. Since the rise of its Panzer teams two years ago, the inheritors of the Teutonic Order had only known of defeat. Against the dreaded Slavic rivals in Pillau and the arrogant challengers across Europe, the sisters have been savaged on all sides, often failing to put a dent in the enemy ranks. And yet many refused to change their ways, and fellow knights would sooner fight between themselves than to unite against common foes. For too long, all anyone faced was a pale imitation of the feared crusaders, disunited, disloyal and laughably easy to rout.

Too bad they haven't faced the Turk.

Note: Alternate title art.

[Britanania]

Well, hopefully my post was mediocre enough

[Wolfenium]

Well, hopefully my post was mediocre enough

Uhh... why the helicopter landing? It's already day two of school. You're already students by then. Worse, it's past classes. Did you transfer in at the last minute? ._.

[Britanania]

I'll get my real first post up tonight or tomorrow. I'll just have Stag Team participating in the practise round.

[Krajstali]

(Now Playing: The War - The Magnificent Century Soundtrack)​

(Image)

St. Elisabeth Catholic Girls Academy, the bastion of Prussia's Teutonic revival. Since the rise of its Panzer teams two years ago, the inheritors of the Teutonic Order had only known of defeat. Against the dreaded Slavic rivals in Pillau and the arrogant challengers across Europe, the sisters have been savaged on all sides, often failing to put a dent in the enemy ranks. And yet many refused to change their ways, and fellow knights would sooner fight between themselves than to unite against common foes. For too long, all anyone faced was a pale imitation of the feared crusaders, disunited, disloyal and laughably easy to rout.

Too bad they haven't faced the Turk.

(Image)

Note: Alternate title art.

I thought I've heard that somewhere...
The thought of Turks and Senshado makes me think of this

[Wolfenium]

(Now Playing: The War - The Magnificent Century Soundtrack)​

(Image)

St. Elisabeth Catholic Girls Academy, the bastion of Prussia's Teutonic revival. Since the rise of its Panzer teams two years ago, the inheritors of the Teutonic Order had only known of defeat. Against the dreaded Slavic rivals in Pillau and the arrogant challengers across Europe, the sisters have been savaged on all sides, often failing to put a dent in the enemy ranks. And yet many refused to change their ways, and fellow knights would sooner fight between themselves than to unite against common foes. For too long, all anyone faced was a pale imitation of the feared crusaders, disunited, disloyal and laughably easy to rout.

Too bad they haven't faced the Turk.

(Image)

Note: Alternate title art.

I thought I've heard that somewhere...
The thought of Turks and Senshado makes me think of this

The Magnificent Century - the show Erdogan and Golden Dawn both agree to hate.

Also, camel arty is not allowed. Too unsafe. Fez girl is many sad. :3

[Sonitusia]

Alright boys and girls, listen up. This is how combat will be played out from here on out!

After OP (or in some cases Co-OP) gives the signal for a match to start, you are all given moves to make. Ever play a turn-based strategy game? This is something like that with an RNG twist.

In this case, since we're fighting each other, there will be no RNG, but simply trying to get the upper hand over your opponents.

How this works:
1. Each and every one of you will be given an initial status of what your commander can see by the moderator (moderator can either be OP or Co-OP). In this case, don't forget to report where exactly you are on the map if you haven't already.
2. What you do can only be known by yourself and the moderator! TG/Private Message the moderator of what you are planning to do, and wait for a response. This response will arrive after everyone has sent in their actions for the turn.
3. Once you've been given a response, you build a post based on the results.

Things to note:
1. Do not have your commander tell the crew to fire at someone before reporting to the moderator. Don't even tell them to prepare to fire. Even though they wouldn't know it IC-ly, there will still be an extra careful bias in their hearts before they write since they know OOC-ly. This kind of behavior encourages godmodding by the other side.

Example 1

Player: I'm at E4, and I want to move south to D3. My commander has binoculars out and is sitting outside the hatch
Moderator: You arrive at your destination safely, and are able to spot a T-34 in the distance, around 1 kilometer away.

Player's post: The Panther rolled slowly to the south, Danielle's eyes peering into the binoculars in her hands. The match had just begun after all, so there wasn't really much of a chance of getting shot out of the blue. But when she saw the Soviet legend rolling just a kilo away, she began to have second thoughts.

Example 2

Player 1: With AP loaded, I tell my gunner to aim and fire at the lower glacias
Moderator: Ok

Player 2: I charged forwards but then decide to swerve towards the building to our right at the last second.
Moderator: Ok

Moderator to Players 1 and 2: The Panther aimed for the lower glacias, but hit a running gear instead. But the T-34 still manages to get into cover behind the building, slamming its side rather forcefully.

Player 1's post: "Fire at the lower glacias!" Danielle shouted, steadying Fox's shoulder as she took aim. The T-34 was just charging towards them, but at the last second, right before the trigger was pulled, the T-34 had made a sharp turn. Too sharp that it made the Panther hit the running gear instead of the thin lower glacias.

Player 2's post: "Uraaaa!!!" Georgiette bellowed at the top of her lungs, looking straight down the barrel of the Panther just a few hundred meters away. Gritting her teeth, a sweat growing on her forehead, she took her chance and kicked the right shoulder of her driver. The tank swerved, aiming towards the back of a nearby building. But the turn was too sharp, and the Panther was given the chance to hit one of the wheels.

[Wolfenium]

-rules of engagement

If anyone has any queries or vehement protests, feel free to sound out. To be honest, while a good method for RPing a competitive match, the post rate might suffer. A lot. And we're not getting that many posts to begin with. I have nothing against this, and we're going to use it until further notice. Just want to highlight what might happen as a result.

In other news, Chapter 1 of Side Story is out. Dunno where to put it, thou. Any suggestions? :V

Yawm al-'ahad, 3 Rabi' al-Awwal 813 A.H. [1]
Grünfelde, East Prussia

“Quiet... so quiet...”

Nine years. It had been nine years since Selim saw the scenes. The smell of the freshly departed... the stain of red on the green and brown of nature... The sickening buzz of flies seeking their daily feast of carrion... The first time he saw it, he was but a boy. In the service of the 'Thunderbolt', Sultan Bayezid, he was but a servant, a janissary in the war against the impious horse-lord, Timur. The stain of his desertion in the wake of their defeat had not left him since, and in his travels, he had only added more to his long list of burdens to atone to the Lord, the Mighty and Sublime. [2] Now, it appeared time to atone, dragging his feet across the smoky field. The bullets buried in his torso had long lost their heat, and his dark skin had turned into a sickly pale, like a ghost walking amongst men.

Succumbing to the weight of his Frankish armour, the hapless wanderer could only collapse on the cold ground. He rued living as he died, an armed man in battle, staining the ground with his blood and others'. From the bloodletting of fellow Muslims at the start of his odyssey, he would die in the bloodletting of fellow Christians. Cloaked in a white mantle and emblazoned in a sinister black crusader cross on his chest, the hapless mercenary, now a Turcopole, had lost his breath at who to curse. Should they be the parents who eagerly presented him at the devşirme, faking their identities as Greeks to gain favour? Should it be the hapless sultan who sent them to their doom, and was roundly bound like the pig he was? Or was it the crusaders of the far north, who lured him with promises of fame and fortune and broke in the face of resistance?

No... there was only one he could curse, and it was the fool lying on the floor, ready to join his comrades-in-arms.

Selim, son of Çelik, was dead. Slain in the service of the Teutonic Knights by the victorious Poles and Lithuanians, the Turcopole in the silver mask ended his life as he lived, in blood and shattered hopes.

Monday, 17th August, 2015 C.E.
Airspace over Kyonigsberg (Königsberg), Prussia
Prussia Air Flight PZ-161, enroute to Povunda (Powunden) International Airport, Prussia

Source: [3]

“Quiet... so quiet...”

Flying in the clear Baltic skies, a lone Boeing 747 was soaring in the azure surroundings, descending slowly towards the surface as it prepares to cover the last few miles to Powunden. Just a three hour flight from Istanbul's Sabiha Gökçen Airport, the PrussAir flight was nearing its destination, the midday sun filtering into the aircraft. Resting beside a window seat, a lone, short-haired brunette girl with extended side fringes dozes off as the sunlight breaks hopelessly over her sleep mask. Stirring over her nap, the teen could hear the announcement ringing above.

“Attention, all passengers,” the serious, almost monotone voice of a flight attendant spoke over the intercom, “we are approaching our destination and beginning our descent. Please return to your seat and ensure they are in the upright position. Stow and secure your trays and fasten your seatbelts...”

Lifting a flap of her sleep mask, the girl could only groan as her eyes shifted out at the changing landscape. Below, the seven-and-a-half century old city of Königsberg, the ancient capital of the Teutonic Order, and now, capital of the budding Prussian republic. All that, for the girl, appeared like a dream, just as the image of the Turcopole was in her slumber. But the unfamiliarity, to her, was twofold, one of an İzmir middle-class teen returning to her hometown, and another, an undead soul dealing with the realities of a strange time.

“So many grey blocks,” she mused at the cookie-cutter Khrushchyovka apartment blocks below, “and no walls. The city looks worse than I remembered.”

“Umm... Miss,” a voice quietly called out to her, “excuse me?”

Turning her head back, she could see the blue uniformed flight attendant standing right at the end of the side aisle, separated by the empty seat between them. From the smile, the girl could tell how well trained she was in her craft, able to maintain a false smile enough to trick even the keenest eyes. By her own admission, it was probably necessary. Never before did people have the luxury of travelling in comfort, and that entailed the services of 'servants' – for lack of a better word – for the paying customers.

“Do you need help with your seatbelt, Miss,” the flight attendant asked of her, her tone slightly squinted as if speaking to a child. The girl really could not fault her for it. Her appearance of an underdeveloped girl in her early teens was enough to fool anyone. Bowing her head, she could only curse the misfortune of her current form. But unwilling to betray her expectations, however, all she could do was act 'normally', expected of a girl her age.

“I suppose...” she answered cordially, fiddling with the seatbelts, “I am not used to the specialities of modernity. Your assistance is greatly appreciated...”

Sadly, it did not take long for her to realize her mistake. Her archaic language, more befitting of an aristocrat than a hapless peasant, had left the attendant confused. Buttoning her lip as she held out the seatbelt halves, she quickly corrected in simpler words, “I'm from the countryside. Just outside İzmir. Sorry.”

“I see,” the attendant blurted nervously, trying not to discomfort her as she strapped her on, “you're from the country? Your parents?”

“My parents are both in İzmir,” she recited monotonously, “my father works as an engineer, and my mother is an archaeologist in Ege University. They wished for me to stay with my maternal grandparents in Königsberg. I suspect it might be because of the Levantine war.”[4]

“Ah, so you have relatives in Prussia,” the attendant answered nicely, settling beside her as she buckled up too, “your parents mean well. Still, it must be a bit scary flying alone. Is this your first time on a flight?”

“I don't think so,” mused the girl, “I came to Turkey when I was young, but I guess I was too young to remember. In any case, I'm used to travelling alone.”

“Ah...” went the attendant, growing slightly worried about her seemingly awful well-being, “what's your name, Miss?”

Opening her mouth, the Turk barely uttered a single syllable before she halted her breath. Looking out, she could see the outline of the strange egg-like roof of the air-port looming into view. The shudder of the craft signalling its descent onto ground, she was quick to correct herself again. A 'dead wanderer from a darker past', she may be, but she knew better than to act out of line from the people of the current times.

“Se...” she told the attendant in a stoic tone, “Sadık. Aylin Sadık. Daughter of Fethi Sadık and Aygöl Fayzulin. Just a young girl coming to live with her grandparents.”

The 'undead wanderer Selim' was far from sure if it was a lie. Regardless of her sullen, stoic persona, Aylin was still just a young girl, half-Turkish, half-Tatar and all-Ottoman Orientalist, perhaps a tad too far...

Cast

• Aylin Sadik (CV: 大鳳) [5]
• Flight Attendant (CV: ???) [6]

TL Notes:

1. Sunday, 15th July 1410 C.E. Thank you, [url='http://www.fourmilab.ch/documents/calendar/']fourmilab.ch[/url], for the calendar converter!
2. The Islamic date for the Battle of Ankara (20th July 1402) is 10 Dhu I-Hijja, 804 A.H., nine Hijri years before Grunwald as opposed to eight Gregorian years.
3. OTL: “Panorama of Kaliningrad", author: Dima Bushkov, source: Flickr
4. A very funny way of saying Syrian Civil War/Daesh insurgency/Spillover in Iraq.
5. Picture by Gintarou-san
6. Dengeki drawn by Tomose Shunsaku

[Republic of Hasgriu]

Sorry about the absence. A post may go up in the IC tomorrow. Writer's block has been hard to fight against, even with a script/storyboard written.

[Ormata]

Permit me to observe the same. That said, I find there to be nothing at all wrong with it. I will TG my initial thoughts shortly.

[Wolfenium]

Sorry about the absence. A post may go up in the IC tomorrow. Writer's block has been hard to fight against, even with a script/storyboard written.

Permit me to observe the same. That said, I find there to be nothing at all wrong with it. I will TG my initial thoughts shortly.

Noted. Just ping your starting locations and say yes to Iveta. It's all I ask for right now. :3

[Minroz]

Haven't figured the locations for my girls yet, so I wished to know where everyone is at.

[Republic of Hasgriu]

Sorry for being about an hour late. Will post location later, but they're somewhere in the cnetre of the map.

Actually, how big is the park, what types of rounds are allowed (i.e. incendiary), and how much collateral damage is permitted?

[Sonitusia]

Sorry for being about an hour late. Will post location later, but they're somewhere in the cnetre of the map.

Actually, how big is the park, what types of rounds are allowed (i.e. incendiary), and how much collateral damage is permitted?

TG the exact location to Wolf.

All rounds are allowed, and by collateral damage you mean...?

[Wolfenium]

Sorry for being about an hour late. Will post location later, but they're somewhere in the cnetre of the map.

Actually, how big is the park, what types of rounds are allowed (i.e. incendiary), and how much collateral damage is permitted?

TG the exact location to Wolf.

All rounds are allowed, and by collateral damage you mean...?

Property damage, I suspect. Too late to worry about that. :3

[Republic of Hasgriu]

Actually, how big is the park, what types of rounds are allowed (i.e. incendiary), and how much collateral damage is permitted?

All rounds are allowed, and by collateral damage you mean...?

Would the club get away with blowing up the bridge in the top-right corner of the map, setting fire to the park, or leaving the paths cratered?

[Wolfenium]

All rounds are allowed, and by collateral damage you mean...?

Would the club get away with blowing up the bridge in the top-right corner of the map, setting fire to the park, or leaving the paths cratered?

Yes. The school will deal with it. Henna is stress :3

[Wolfenium]

Chapter Zwei! :3

1st September, 2015 C.E.
Fayzulin Residence, Kyonigsberg, Prussia

"Prussia, the fourth Baltic Republic.

Reborn from the collapse of the Soviet Union, Prussia is a nation straddling between the past of the land and the past of its people. Until the end of the Second World War, Prussia's past had been intrinsically tied to its Germanic founders, from the crusaders of the Teutonic Order to the Hohenzollern dukes and kings that took over the domain. But the end of the war, and the final defeat of Nazism in Europe had severed those ties. Triumphant and high on victor's justice, its conquerors expelled its inhabitants and replaced them with their own, intent of burying the past of the 'militarist Germans'. But the actions of one man, a Yevgeny Mikhailovich Stolypin and his Committee for Resettlement, had unwittingly planted the seeds of separation. In trying to repair a union rigged to divide and conquer and failed, its progenitor had instead set it to break away itself. A nation-state set apart from the other republics, Prussia had chosen to tie its future with the dreams and visions of its myriad people. Neither a revival of a Teutonic past nor bound to its Soviet legacy, Prussia's identity is once again being remade, one to reflect a home for all, regardless of their origins, identity and past.

A strange dream in a stranger time."

That was the tale told to Aylin of her mother's land, a nation near-unrecognisable, and yet all too familiar for many. Few in the world could claim the sort of diversity enjoyed by Prussia, and even fewer can claim absolute peace between its inhabitants. Suriname, Lebanon, South Africa... how many had tried and failed to unify its diverse people? How many had ended up with mob rule, or worse? For the young girl who had spent her life surrounded by everything Turkish, the diversity of Prussia was almost alien, virtually unimaginable. After all, most nations in Eurasia, she felt, defined their identities based on the dominant ethnicity. How else can a nation define its identity, if not by excluding those who do not fit their criteria?

All that, to her admission, was far too deep for her to be concerned of right now.

“Are you ready yet, Aylin,” the voice of an old lady screamed at her from beyond her door as the girl stood before her mirror, “your breakfast is getting cold.”

“Almost done, madam,” she stated in her usual, serious monotone, adjusting the cuff of her new, western-style uniform.

“Don't call me 'madam' like you don't know me, brat,” cursed the old lady, “I'm your grandmother, and you're a fifteen year old girl! Start acting your age for once! I feel like I'm talking to my grandpa with you!”

Looking over her new clothes, Aylin pursed her lips at the granny's words. Regardless of her sullen, stoic persona of the 'ghostly wanderer, Selim', it was hard to escape the fact that she was still just a young girl. Many had thought she was funny. Others thought she was weird. At times, she herself was not sure who she was, an existentialist dilemma that had gripped many like herself. The Japanese called it Chūnibyō – eighth grader syndrome. But while most took to fantasy and the grandiose, she took to history as her calling. She had forgotten how long she had been 'Selim', but from the old woman's tone, it was probably for a long time.

“Sorry, grandmother,” she corrected herself somewhat, a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she headed out the door, “I'll play along if that's what you request.”

A chop on the head would quickly show her her error, as she left to face the 'old crone Aysılu', and her husband Ramil...

Pregola River, enroute to St Elisabeth von Thüringen Catholic Girls Academy
Kyonigsberg, Prussia

St Elisabeth Catholic Girls Academy, Knowledge Day. Established in 1993 after the fall of the Soviet Union, the primarily German-medium school had been at a forefront of a nationwide movement. Driving the intellectual rediscovery of pre-Soviet Prussia, the school, and many other organisations in the country, had sought to piece together a past that, for many decades, been written off. To that end, the school and its benefactors in the Teutonic Order have dedicated themselves to raising the next generation, educating the best and brightest to look beyond the fog of historical revision and recover the past.

Pacing along the cobbled streets along the famed Pregola river, Aylin tried hard not to feel discomforted. Dressed in a black blazer over her white shirt, with an immaculately tied neck ribbon, the girl tried to hold down her black, pleated skirt discreetly, a hint of embarrassment over her uniform. There was something about skirts that bothered her gravely, despite the lack of expression. The fact that her grandmother arranged for the length was even more of a concern, given her upbringing and social norms of her youth.

“You know, most grandmothers in this day of age would be horrified to see girls dressed in such revealing clothes,” she commented, “or do you wish you were young enough to wear this without looking like a freak?”

“Did your parents teach you to be that snide,” went the old woman, pacing beside her in her usual pink scarf and dress, “you girls complain about everything. You and Roza.”

“You're not answering the question,” stated the Turk, “which is it?"

“Shut up and walk, brat,” grunted Aysılu with a scowl, “I have no reason to answer that.”

As the docks loomed into view, the towering facade of her new academy began to emerge. A feat of engineering unimaginable in any day, the school ship of St. Elisabeth was but one of many in Europe, and the second after Vernost Stolypinskaya Girls. As the Soviet Union's western-most ice-free port, the West Baltic SSR once played host to six of the union's twenty-six school ships, third behind Ukraine and Russia itself. But the post-Soviet government under Henrik Abram Gram could not afford to maintain the ships. As a result, only one, Vernost, survived the purge, the rest scrapped or sold to build a free Prussia. St. Elisabeth was the first to emerge after the end of communism, a symbol of post-Soviet reconstruction. But its ties with the Teutonic Order had a far darker side, a magnet for far-right activity spurred by daughters of Teutonic Revival members.[1]

Analysing the Graf Zeppelin scale up, Aylin could sense the enormity of its size. These were not like the LSTs used by Izmir's local schools. This was an aircraft carrier, and one massively inflated to accommodate a functioning town. Twiddling her thumbs, she was starting to understand her parents' choice, regardless of the faults.

“Your parents are crazy to send you here,” grunted the old crone, looking up at the St Elisabeth ship, “aren't they worried you might end up in some convent singing Latin hymns? The school's infested by Nazis too. 'Best school' shouldn't mean 'best' overall.”

“The school's credentials could not be denied, however,” Aylin commented, reaching the base of the staircase as they sifted through the crowd of students and parents, “many accomplished scholars have went on to the most prestigious universities in the world from here.”

“But you're already good enough to go straight to university,” Aysilu sneered, “don't pretend, you're far smarter than your grades say. If you weren't busy faking mental instability, you might be in Yale already.”

Bowing her head, though, Aylin simply mused, “you overrate me, grandmother. I am... nothing special.”

Nothing, to her, seemed special, not herself, nor the university scholarships that had flooded her mailbox. But perhaps, St Elisabeth provided something different from the terrestrial schools that still dominate Europe. In fact, in the guise of the 'ghostly wanderer', it seemed all the more... prophetic.

“I return, knights of the black cross,” she recited poetically, looking up at her new school, “from brothers to sisters. These are strange times...”

“You need to stop spouting that,” the granny reprimanded almost immediately, giving a disapproving glare, “it's disturbing.”

OOC Notes:

1. Teutonic Revival. Because Prussia is a magnet for Neo-Nazis.

Cast

• Aylin Sadik (CV: 大鳳)
• Aysilu Fayzulin (née Akhatova) (CV: ウルティア・ミルコビッチ) - Aylin's maternal grandmother

[Wolfenium]

Match is the start now! Time for the panzer shooting match!

[Megelan]

It's never too late, they said... :3

Part One - Team Application

Name (Team): Viper Team

Armoured Fighting Vehicle: Carro Armato P 40

Crew Setup: (Who's the commander, gunner, driver, etc)

• Commander: Arianna Sonzogno
• Gunner: Olivia Agnesi
• Driver: Veronica Rocca
• Loader: Ilaria Gadda
• Radio Operator: Ursula Natta

Team Description (Optional): Made up of students of several schools in eastern Piedmont, western Lombardy, the Canton of Ticino and southern Grisons, the Viper Team is the result of the merger of two different sensha-do teams, one Italian and one Swiss; the Viper Team tank can be identified by the Visconti coat of arms painted on its sides and the unmistakable smell of cassoeula, polenta and red wine coming from inside of it.

The red wine, all the members of the crew being minors, is 100% smuggled material.

Tank Description (Optional): The P 26/40 was an Italian World War II medium tank. It was armed with a 75 mm gun and an 8 mm Breda machine gun, plus another optional machine gun in an anti-aircraft mount. The official Italian designation was Carro Armato ("armoured vehicle") P 26/40.

The designation means: P for pesante (Italian: "heavy"), the weight of 26 tonnes, and the year of adoption: 1940. Though physically a medium tank in size, weight, armor, and armament, it was classified as a heavy tank by the Italian military in reflection of its intended support of smaller tanks on the battlefield.

Design had started in 1940 but very few had been built by the time Italy signed the armistice with the Allies in September 1943 and the few produced afterwards were used by the Germans.

Part Two - Character Applications

Name: Arianna Sonzogno

Age (15-20): 16

Role (Delete where appropriate): Commander



Nationality: Italian

Ethnicity: Lombard

Personality: Eccentric, headstrong

Biography: Born in Milan, she's the kind of person that acts first and thinks later; her ability to think out of the box, however, makes her a capable and valuable commander, to the chagrin of her team members, who can often find themselves on the wrong end of her mood swings and verbal abuse.

Name: Olivia Agnesi

Age (15-20): 16

Role (Delete where appropriate): Gunner



Nationality: Swiss

Ethnicity: Lombard

Personality: Intelligent, distant, cold

Biography: Born in Mendrisio, a few years ago she saw her best friend and her parents die under a tank gone out of control during a tournament. Since then, she has barely shown any hint of emotion or feeling, and is seemingly kept functional only by too many psychiatric medications to count.

Name: Veronica Rocca

Age (15-20): 16

Role (Delete where appropriate): Driver



Nationality: Italian

Ethnicity: Lombard

Personality: Kindhearted, empathetic

Biography: Born in Novara, Veronica is extremely knowledgeable and passionate about tanks, and is also a very skilled mechanic. Being concerned about the well-being of the rest of the team to an almost motherly degree, she's probably the closest member among them to the reclusive and traumatized Olivia.

Name: Ilaria Gadda

Age (15-20): 16

Role (Delete where appropriate): Loader



Nationality: Swiss

Ethnicity: Lombard

Personality: Ruthless, cold, calculating

Biography: Born in Poschiavo, she is a textbook psychopath; if sensha-do weren't enough to sate her urges, she would've murdered someone in cold blood long ago. Because of this, the members of the Viper Team mostly leave her alone, while reaping the considerable benefits of having her in the team.

Name: Ursula Natta

Age (15-20): 16

Role (Delete where appropriate): Radio Operator



Nationality: Italian

Ethnicity: Lombard

Personality: Shy, introverted

Biography: Born in Pavia, Ursula has read far too much about World War II tank warfare; however, her crippling shyness has prevented her from being the Viper Team's Commander. She is secretly afraid of Arianna. being subject to her whims even more than the rest of the team.

[Wolfenium]

It's never too late, they said... :3

-is Duce TD yay-

I'm going to assume they're transfer students, because we're all part of the same school. A couple of things I'm going to need from you thou.

First, an RP sample. A short paragraph of a story of just about anything, just to prove you can into English. You can either link it to an existing RP post (AH.com Shared Worlds is fine too, since i know you) or write on the spot. If you have no idea what to write, ask. Second, try not to link pictures directly from wikia or any site that bars hotlinking. Copy them onto imgur or and link from there. Doh, they're small. If it's not too much to ask, can you find slightly bigger pictures for them? :V

Other than that, you're good to go. :3

[Britanania]

Match is the start now! Time for the panzer shooting match!

Perfect time to finally post

[Wolfenium]

Match is the start now! Time for the panzer shooting match!

Perfect time to finally post

Please do. :3

[Megelan]

It's never too late, they said... :3

-is Duce TD yay-

I'm going to assume they're transfer students, because we're all part of the same school. A couple of things I'm going to need from you thou.

First, an RP sample. A short paragraph of a story of just about anything, just to prove you can into English. You can either link it to an existing RP post (AH.com Shared Worlds is fine too, since i know you) or write on the spot. If you have no idea what to write, ask. Second, try not to link pictures directly from wikia or any site that bars hotlinking. Copy them onto imgur or and link from there. Doh, they're small. If it's not too much to ask, can you find slightly bigger pictures for them? :V

Other than that, you're good to go. :3

Here's the first thing I wrote on NS, a RP sample they required for the admission in a region, I hope it's okay. :3

On one side fields, and a small town in the distance.

On the other side a river and, beyond it, a foreign country.

The cyclist pedaled forward, barely noticing the occasional stare, for they were used to such behaviour; one of the many prices one had to pay for fame and success. The small group of conscript soldiers, men and women alike, that ran past them, knew however better than to stare at a famous athlete in the middle of their daily routine, and marched forward, their footsteps providing the beat to the martial tune they were chanting in perfect unison.

Only a small fraction of them would become actual soldiers, of course; five years of military service were a way one could earn the right to vote and, since the country had not fought a real war in several decades, those among them who decided to keep the uniform were either employed by the nation in peacekeeping endeavours or sought employment in those private military companies that offered them far more bellicose endeavours.

Less than peaceful encounters between the two categories of soldiers were not unheard of, and from time to time they resulted in the death of one or several of the people involved, the likelihood of such an outcome increasing if the soldiers belonged to different counties; the cyclist smirked, amused by their own mental quip.

They now shared the road with other bicycles and with cars, most of them electric; the solution the country as a whole found, in accordance with its policy of self-sufficiency, to its lack of fossil fuel sources.

The cyclist finally reached their destination, a small town of three thousand people, dominated by actual or repurposed farmsteads and bordering one of the canals that ran throughout the whole country; they entered the nearest bar, and were welcomed by applause: they'd won several races in the most recent Grand Tour, and would've won it if not for the last of said races. The cyclist ordered a cup of coffee.

They sat at a table, sipping their coffee, reading the latest edition of the county's most popular newspaper and, of course, signing autographs and posing for photographs. The first page of the newspaper was dominated by the news of the corruption scandal in the government of the city of Megelan, several of the members of which had been revealed to have ties with the Ligéra, the city's infamous organized crime syndicate.

The laws of the County of Megelan were less harsh than those of most of the nation, but they had no doubt that, if those politicians had been serving the people of another, more rural county, all of them would've been sentenced to death. Or worse.

Their eyes drifted to an article about the refugee crisis: the nation had carved itself a comfortable niche in the global community, and had gone from being a relative backwater to being one of the wealthiest countries in the world; it had gone from being a place of emigration to being a place of immigration; but to say that the people were comfortable with it would've been to lie. Keeping the small country's population low enough to be able to feed and support itself with what the nation had, and export the fruits of its citizens' labour as well, was the philosophy the Community of Liberty had followed ever since it threw off the foreign yoke.

Thousands upon thousands of new mouths to feed would've disrupted this careful balance; the country's draconian laws on immigration spoke for themselves. Some refugees had been accepted, after the citizens of the towns where they'd been assigned had voted in favour; all of the new arrivals possessed useful skills that would've benefited their new community of residence. Most of the refugees, however, had been prevented from crossing the three rivers that marked the border between Megelan and the rest of the world, at gunpoint.

The following article was about the humanitarian aid and the peacekeeping forces the nation had sent to the country from which the great part of that horde of desperate humanity hailed; doctors and teachers, too. Aid that had reached its destination before the World Assembly had accused the Community of Liberty of everything from human rights violations to petty selfishness due to its refusal to admit several thousand people inside its borders all at once.

Enough of this. The cyclist went straight to the sports section of the newspaper, read the analysis of the matches and races that had taken place in the previous couple of days and, not much later, they headed out and pedaled on; it was time to go home.

[Wolfenium]

I'm going to assume they're transfer students, because we're all part of the same school. A couple of things I'm going to need from you thou.

First, an RP sample. A short paragraph of a story of just about anything, just to prove you can into English. You can either link it to an existing RP post (AH.com Shared Worlds is fine too, since i know you) or write on the spot. If you have no idea what to write, ask. Second, try not to link pictures directly from wikia or any site that bars hotlinking. Copy them onto imgur or and link from there. Doh, they're small. If it's not too much to ask, can you find slightly bigger pictures for them? :V

Other than that, you're good to go. :3

Here's the first thing I wrote on NS, a RP sample they required for the admission in a region, I hope it's okay. :3

On one side fields, and a small town in the distance.

On the other side a river and, beyond it, a foreign country.

The cyclist pedaled forward, barely noticing the occasional stare, for they were used to such behaviour; one of the many prices one had to pay for fame and success. The small group of conscript soldiers, men and women alike, that ran past them, knew however better than to stare at a famous athlete in the middle of their daily routine, and marched forward, their footsteps providing the beat to the martial tune they were chanting in perfect unison.

Only a small fraction of them would become actual soldiers, of course; five years of military service were a way one could earn the right to vote and, since the country had not fought a real war in several decades, those among them who decided to keep the uniform were either employed by the nation in peacekeeping endeavours or sought employment in those private military companies that offered them far more bellicose endeavours.

Less than peaceful encounters between the two categories of soldiers were not unheard of, and from time to time they resulted in the death of one or several of the people involved, the likelihood of such an outcome increasing if the soldiers belonged to different counties; the cyclist smirked, amused by their own mental quip.

They now shared the road with other bicycles and with cars, most of them electric; the solution the country as a whole found, in accordance with its policy of self-sufficiency, to its lack of fossil fuel sources.

The cyclist finally reached their destination, a small town of three thousand people, dominated by actual or repurposed farmsteads and bordering one of the canals that ran throughout the whole country; they entered the nearest bar, and were welcomed by applause: they'd won several races in the most recent Grand Tour, and would've won it if not for the last of said races. The cyclist ordered a cup of coffee.

They sat at a table, sipping their coffee, reading the latest edition of the county's most popular newspaper and, of course, signing autographs and posing for photographs. The first page of the newspaper was dominated by the news of the corruption scandal in the government of the city of Megelan, several of the members of which had been revealed to have ties with the Ligéra, the city's infamous organized crime syndicate.

The laws of the County of Megelan were less harsh than those of most of the nation, but they had no doubt that, if those politicians had been serving the people of another, more rural county, all of them would've been sentenced to death. Or worse.

Their eyes drifted to an article about the refugee crisis: the nation had carved itself a comfortable niche in the global community, and had gone from being a relative backwater to being one of the wealthiest countries in the world; it had gone from being a place of emigration to being a place of immigration; but to say that the people were comfortable with it would've been to lie. Keeping the small country's population low enough to be able to feed and support itself with what the nation had, and export the fruits of its citizens' labour as well, was the philosophy the Community of Liberty had followed ever since it threw off the foreign yoke.

Thousands upon thousands of new mouths to feed would've disrupted this careful balance; the country's draconian laws on immigration spoke for themselves. Some refugees had been accepted, after the citizens of the towns where they'd been assigned had voted in favour; all of the new arrivals possessed useful skills that would've benefited their new community of residence. Most of the refugees, however, had been prevented from crossing the three rivers that marked the border between Megelan and the rest of the world, at gunpoint.

The following article was about the humanitarian aid and the peacekeeping forces the nation had sent to the country from which the great part of that horde of desperate humanity hailed; doctors and teachers, too. Aid that had reached its destination before the World Assembly had accused the Community of Liberty of everything from human rights violations to petty selfishness due to its refusal to admit several thousand people inside its borders all at once.

Enough of this. The cyclist went straight to the sports section of the newspaper, read the analysis of the matches and races that had taken place in the previous couple of days and, not much later, they headed out and pedaled on; it was time to go home.

Accepted! Just put it with the app. :3