A Carpathian Expedition[MT][INVITE ONLY][IC]

by **Polish Prussian Commonwealth** » Mon Jul 12, 2021 7:15 am

Nowy Targ - Sunday - 0900 hours

Nowy Targ’s population was, normally, around 30k people. Today, that number spiked, just ever so slightly, as just under 300 scouts descended on the town. Selkie-militia, Aureumterran exiles, a company of Reinkalistanis, and many more had gathered on the outskirts of the small Carpathian town.

Amidst the myriad of nations represented today, the host-nation, Prussia-Poland was represented by 100 scouts, drawn mostly from the local troop, as well as a newly-formed troop of 30 or so from Gdansk. Most were older teenagers, 15 and up, and were distinguished from the rest by their distinctive uniforms, based very closely off of those of WW2-era Prussian-Polish riflemen. This similarity extended to their arms as well; M1 carbines made up the majority of their arms, with a few M1903s and M1917s spread throughout. Shepherding them were parents, uncles, and older siblings in more ‘normal’ clothing; light windbreakers and wind ponchos, with a few wearing jackets tied around their waists in anticipation for the chilly peaks of the mountains. They, too, carried arms, although theirs were a more eclectic mix; pistols slung under arms or kept in bags, a few AR and AK-platform rifles here and there, and more than a few battle-rifles and bolt-action hunting rifles. Generally, they knew how to use them as well, scout and adult alike; at the very least, they knew better than to point the barrel at anyone or to muck around with it, even over a quarrel.

The local scouts were cool and calm; climbing up the mountain of Turbacz was something they did almost daily, and on this trip they would be the guides.

Among the Gdansk-detachment, there was a sense of controlled pandemonium. They knew what to bring and how much; the issue was...well, issuing the equipment they would need to survive a 3-day hike. Eventually, this was sorted out, but the sense of excitement remained -- for many of the scouts, this was their first time hiking in rough terrain, and for one Bell Hancock in particular, this was her first time hiking at all.

As the flood of arriving scouts began to taper off, one of the troop-leaders took charge, and prepared an electronic loudhailer.

“Excuse me!” he said, the loudhailer amplifying his voice. The chatter of 270 scouts quickly died down in response.

“First of all, a warm welcome to all of you -- and congratulations. You’ve managed an hour without shooting each other. Welcome to Nowy Targ, and welcome to the Commonwealth. You’re probably sick of hearing adults talk, so I’ll keep this simple. It’s currently 0900 hours; you have until sundown, at 2000 hours, to buy any supplies you missed. There’s a gun store if you’ve somehow forgotten ammunition and quite a few shops. I’d advise against buying souvenirs at the moment as you’re going to have to carry that for 5 days. Once we are on the trail, please listen to your delegation leaders and supervisors, please secure your firearms, and please, for the love of God, don’t shoot each other. Now scram and get out of my sight.”

He lowered his loudhailer, and with that, the scouts were free to roam about the town as they wished.

by **The Selkie** » Mon Jul 12, 2021 9:37 am

Aífe Bleatanas of the Tribe of Wicklow.
Outskirts of Nowy Targ.
It had been an interesting experience to move with 48 horses and 42 people from the Free Lands to the Commonwealth, but here we were - 3rd Banner of Lancers of Tílaighca of Chorn. Our flag, trimmed with white thread to symbolize our connection to Chorn and Rhiannon's Holy Sights in the Town (in fact, the Defender's Captain had seen us off personally), stood proudly in the Carpathian Breeze.
It showed the colours, which we, too, were wearing: Green and black, a green blouse with a dark green collar and dark green cuffs (white linings included), green skirt, and a black neckerchief. It was our school uniform, one of the sailor-style ones, which were quite well-known in the Free Lands. In addition to that, we all wore heavy horseman boots of dark leather and utility belts, which also carried the swords and the occassional quiver.
As this was a peaceful hike, we had foregone the chainmail and surcoats (we had them with us, though), while the lances were on the supply cart.
My Lance had one, pulled by two horses, which carried our accompanying teacher, Miss Buanna, and the Veterinarian, Doctor Fermeracht. He was the only man in our entire travelling group. Another two of my lassies were driver and co-driver.
The rest of my 36 lassies were Lancers, if I may say so, among of the best of their field - would we have charged with Gwen Lách over the fields of Cuan, against the Crusaders, they would have run away in fright, to whereever they had come from.
But, as things stood, we had not been there. Our predecessors had been at Anfa, though, in 1903.
Once the guy with the loudhailer had finished his piece, I turned to my assembled lassies, all in loose formation, some with their horses on their reins, others letting them graze freely on the grass. I nodded.
"You heard the man - stock up on non-perishables and other things you need, time for souvenirs comes when we are in Gdansk and we have our day off before we depart.", I let a beat pass, "And everyone see to it, that your Lance gets a map of the local area, if you haven't already. And if you have, get one for yourself."
"Yes, Ma'am!", my Banner replied to its Banner-Captain.
I smiled. "Then off we go!", I replied and dismissed them. Miss Buanna came up to me, smiling. The silver-haired, green eyes woman with a figure every girl in my school dreamt of having, smiled. "Ma'am. What do you think?"
"I think, that if I were 16 again, I would follow you.", she said and put a hand on my shoulder, "Speaking of maps of the local area, I have found a nice little river... maybe we can have a fun evening there?"
I smiled and nodded.

Rona Nádúre of the Tribe of Laois.
Entering Nowy Targ.
Entering the city, by our standards, with thirty thousand inhabitants, it was a major city, was done easily, by foot. We had two shifts: One shift would take care of the horses of our Lance, the other would make their purchases, then we would switch at 2:30 p.m..
I was part of the first shift.
Gdansk, advertised to us as "The Commonwealth's Silverport" had blown us away already, but this was more awesome, to be honest.
With me, as part of my shift, were Eileen Bríhar of the Tribe of Cavan and Asteria Sunnassi of the Tribe of Wicklow, the latter, thanks to her heartmelting cuteness, was rarely seen as a 16 year old High Schooler - quite on the contrary, she was often thought to be in Elementary School. Someone once had cracked about her being able to reach the stirrups, she had shown him her skills as a horsewoman.
She was skilled, no question asked, as it was to be expected of the daughter of two cow-herders, but she was not much of a Marcach.
She didn't need to be. Her cuteness was weapon enough.
"So, priorities...", I began, "...non-perishables and water purification tablets. We all have maps and compasses and stuff, so no need to get those. Tents aren't a problem either... survival kits are up to specs, too... what else?"
"I wanted to go take a look inside of a gunstore.", Eileen said with a grin, "See if they don't have something for a crossbow-lass like me."
I gave her a flat stare.
"Don't worry, I won't buy a gun.", she added, I nodded. "Wouldn't get it past customs anyway."
We had known, that the locals were fond of their firearms, but we had been surprised by how fond they really were - then again, no Selkie went out of the house with at least four daggers on the body (including when wearing Geansai).
I nodded. "Alright, that's on the list. Asty, what about you?"
"If there is a drug store or something, I wanted to see, if they don't have some stickers.", our shortest replied with her passion, "But that can wait until Gdansk."
I grinned. "Let's see, if we can make the time.", I told her.
"What about you?", Asty asked.
"Eh...", I made, "...this trip is already a dream come true." The other two grinned. Thy knew, that I did Orienteering and was quite good at it. "Though, gladly, we were allowed to take the horses along... hatchets."
"What?"
"We might need a few small hatches for cutting firewood.", I explained.
"I think, that Kendra has one.", Eileen said with a small smile, "And you, too, if I remember correctly."
I nodded a bit sheepishly. "Yeah..."
"Well, let's get going in!", Asty told us and took the lead - we passed a triplet from our school, one of who giggled.
We must look like a girl dragging her two big sisters along...

by **Brettenwald** » Mon Jul 12, 2021 11:15 am

Day 1
/// The Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter
blue text = Brettain, English will be regular text

Dallin smiled grimly as he reached up to get his rifle out of the train's luggage rack and strapped it to his pack. From everything he'd heard about the Commonwealth and its disturbingly high rates of gun ownership (and its extreme distaste for the aristocracy), he was just as likely to need it against its human population as its wildlife. Meanwhile, his brother Aden hovered impatiently nearby doing butterfly knife tricks with that air of sullen, irritable detachment only teenage boys ever seem to truly master. "Remind me again what exactly the fuck we're doing here," he said in a majestically bored voice that mixed a barely-there country drawl with the cut-crystal accent of the aristocracy while trying and failing to hide both. "Mr. Andjori wanted people who'd make a good impression and you don't get better than blood members of the royal family, do you?" Dallin brushed a mop of light blond hair out of his eyes and bent down briefly to tighten his boot laces. "Yeah, either of us has about as much chance of sitting on the throne as I do of getting in bed with Riku, but a guy can dream and it's the principle that counts."
His brother smirked. "What principle, wanting to be the Emperor anyway or trying to shag some pop star anyway?"
"Neither one, idiot, now put the knife away and quit with the gangster LARP," Dallin shot back, giving Aden a playful punch in the shoulder after the knife had disappeared and they were safely on the platform.

Despite sharing the inevitable Cärrino blond hair and light blue eyes, Dallin stood a more fit and softer-edged 6'1" compared to his fraternal twin's skinny, angular 5' 11". Their differences were more than skin deep: where Aden was all sarcasm, teasing, and black humor, Dallin preferred rapid-fire banter and the occasional double entendre; where Dallin was outgoing and a bit of a lad Aden could be prickly and took a while to warm up to strangers. Both had a tendency to raise seven kinds of hell if left unsupervised, both could have a quick temper, and both could often finish the other's sentences. The taller boy unfolded a map and held it up against a wall of the station. "If we're here, to get to the meeting point we need to go..."

"...holy shit." One of Aden's earbuds fell out, letting 80s goth rock seep out to the world as he stared. "I thought this was a hike, not a reenactment of a 16th-century cavalry battle." His brother facepalmed.
"They're Selkie, idiot. The whole country's like turning back the clock a couple centuries. And yes, they're all girls, but I wouldn't recommend anything more than a wink and a smile unless you'd like stitches as a souvenir." The briefing by the guy with the tannoy was short, sweet and to the point: hello, go buy stuff if you need it, get back by eight and don't be an idiot. Simple, really.
"Speaking of souvenirs, I might send a postcard or two home. Mom and Dad, y'know."
Aden gave his brother another smirk. "Irulan Langeden?"
"Shut up."
"Irulan can I hold your books, Irulan can I give you a ride home from school, Irulan do you want to go out for coffee after temple on Sunday-"
"Arsehole."

by **Sky Reavers** » Mon Jul 12, 2021 11:21 am

Foxstone

Somehow, due to some error, one of the letters from Prussia-Poland had ended up in the hands of three teens, who were partying and enjoying themselves, instead of a squad of ranger recruits, it was originally meant for. Being drunk, high on weed, young and stupid this trio, instead of correcting the mistake, had decided to go on an adventure, and pretended, that they are a scout organization. After filling and sending the form, they have bought weapons with discount, or made their own, like Hiraku made a recurve bow and arrows for himself, gathered supplies, and went to Nowy Targ. They had the money, thanks to Elise Ainsworth being from a rather rich family. Rolf had posed as a delegation leader, since he was the oldest in this bunch and looked adult enough.

Nowy Targ

There were preparation hardships, such as paperwork and packing things. Smuggling weed was one of the hardest and riskiest parts. It had to be a small amount, disguised in separate places among items. But they have successfully arrived to the destination! Now, they are all here in Novy Targ, checking their supplies. Ammo? Shotgun shells, arrows and 45 ACP rounds are packed. Food and drinks? Jerky, cheese, canned sardines, bread, sweets, spaghetti, tea, coffee, soda, wine, beer and whiskey... wait a minute... where is booze? Looks like they forgot most of their booze supply somewhere. All they had was the one bottle of wine, Ainsworth took from family wine cellar. Other supplies? Got sleeping bag, lighter, corkscrew and bottle opener (And no booze to open) and such. Not much, if they need more, they'll have to improvise.

The trio of Sky Reavers didn't exactly look like scouty outdoors type.

- Hiraku LeBarge, was wearing his black leather shoes, trousers, black t-shirt, and unbuttonned white shirt. On his back, he had his trusty sheathed katana, recurve bow and quiver of arrows. In his dreamy eyes, there was fascination about future adventure, communication with real scouts and the town. To him, the travel was a liberating experience. He studied hard and alot, but he decided to rest a bit.

- Elise Ainsworth, she had her metalhead attire, such as jeans, sandals, spiked bracers, and midriff band t-shirt, which exposed her pierced bellybutton. A pistol by her side, a switchblade, she used as a toothpick and aconfident look testified, that she is a girl not to mess with.

- And Rolf Jorgenson, a tall and strong guy, who looked like a mix of viking and a cowboy with his blonde long hair, short sleeved red checkered shirt, cargo pants and straw cowboy hat, looked around and kept an eye on the other two. His tripple barreled rifle and engraved axe by his side made him look even tougher. Judging from his looks and scar, he got in a fight with a drunkard, who glassed him with a bottle, he was the toughest and had most life experience in the trio.

Despite having no prior experience of long and rough hiking, the trio was cool and calm about all that affair. After all, even if they are not distinguished scouts or military rangers, they are still hardy, spirited and ingenious, or at least they belived so. Right now, they have decided to drink and just unwind before everyone gets going. They even smoked some weed secretly. Cause then, there will definitely be very little window of opportunity to indulge, If any will ever present. Gotta be very cautios and vigilant with adults of other more orderly nations around.

by **Yulmata** » Mon Jul 12, 2021 7:21 pm

Vered Felicity
Nowy Trag

Vered Felicity took in the cool, fresh air of this country - so different from the semi-arid climate that dominated Yulmata for most of the year when at the peak of the day the rays of the sun would seem to bake the stone under one's feet as the sweltering heat would kick a dense summer haze that would last throughout most of the day.

The richly tanned woman kept slowly breathing in the air of the breezy wind, enriching her lungs with the kind of air that up until recently she had never had to experience in her life before. It was one atop few other reasons why her choice of spending her inter-year leave time from the police academy where Vered was training for a police officer in the National Constabulary - was wisely chosen since at the end of the day; Vered was a woman who couldn't bear being around any of her ''colleagues'' more than she considered to be necessary. It was good that she had broken away from that collective that was comprised mostly of males, or as Vered's mother, Inana, liked to put it; a wretched mass of beastly, burly hairy sacks of meat.

It was simple really. Vered Felicity was а prim and proper woman filled with pride and dignity as a woman of the Kavalan Queendom - a semi-autonomous self-governing territory on the Yulmatan home island, a land of great haughty matriarchs and lofty amazon warriors whose prowess on the battlefield in those ancient days could have only been matched by the proportion to which they were outnumbered in battle by their foes. A cowardly tactic that to the misfortune of the Queendom proved to be a force against which its formidable warbands of amazon could do little but to delay the tide that would eventually force the 12 Clan Matriarchs and the Queen into an unfavorable peace that made Kavala's sovereignty, in exchange for retaining their right to run their society following their traditions gynocratic matriarchy. Thus the Queendom of Kavala had its very independence made into an accessory to the wider body that has been the Serene Kingdom of Yulmata for over two thousand years and counting.

A state of affairs that has persisted for female-dominated society from which Vered proudly counted herself as among the ranks of a state that had few parallels in the world, of an entity that approached that of a state, governed by women for women, well into the present day. It was not a matriarchy in all things, much to Vered's misfortune. There were aspects of living in a unitary state whose culture was at times, irreconcilable different from that of Yulmata, which entailed conforming to the standards and expectations of patriarchy, having to prove to men, that she was worthy of becoming a police officer, to prove herself to men, that she was just as capable of handling any physical and academic challenge that the Exam Commission threw her way.

Vered felt a pang of anger coursing through her being, recalling that moment when her luck so dastardly mauled her prospects for an easy and straightforward education and qualification toward becoming a police officer. Having been singled out from her group of fellow Kavalan countrywomen because of the Academy Chief Rector's idea of instituting an enlightened practice of putting a minimum quota of a few or several more Kavalan natives, to train and study with other Yulmatan-centric classes whose faculty demographic was primarily (almost entirely) of the male sex.

What a humiliating experience that was, well, at least I have only another year left until graduation. I'll be able to return to Kavala again, to Mama and Father.

May your bowels burst and your dignity rots and fall off, for what you made me go through Zettem.

Vered Felicity paused as she took a moment to look herself in the reflection of the display glass of a store of a corner shop that was selling trinkets she couldn't even bother paying attention to what they were, as she focused on her appearance; Cheshire-like face, delicately chiseled jaws, fluffy short hair, well-toned physique, long strong limbs, matronly figure in the hips and legs, a flat stomach all combined into a lovely curvaceous figure that was complemented by her firm, perky breasts. In addition to that, the attitude that was to be found so much in abundance all over the world, whenever a Yulmatan decided to set out to visit other lands, they'd find as Vered did, that it was of utmost importance in regards to the country's society she was visiting -- that unlike those few exceptions in certain other parts of the world, Yulmatans like her had to assent to the fact that the country she or any other Yulmatan would be visiting, was not going to find the nudism that which was so ingrained and enmeshed in the normalcy of Yulmatan society and everyday life -- to be something that their host country and people would find acceptable in the first place.

Certainly, the young woman, who was in her 19th year, was intrigued by this as Felicity never had to wear a stitch in her life before she donned the police uniform in the academy. Truly, like most Yulmatans whose job would rarely get them to have any kind of deal with foreigners, it was the first set of clothes she owned, more of mandatory necessity rather than personal need or desire to own such foreign product that served no real purpose, especially in a country where temperatures would consistently top around 41-44 degrees celsius at mid-day throughout the late spring and summer months. Nevertheless, this was yet another occasion that required of Vered the need to purchase such garments, as were called in her language -- for nowhere in the Yulmatan tongue was there a word for ''clothes'' to be found.

For this occasion, before entering the country -- Vered like most Yulmatans was skeptical at first of having to buy such articles that so so shamefully covered her body. Yet it was something she relented, buying from an overpriced mall store in the capital of Kavala that bore the same name, a set of loose-fit beige cotton shorts that fell to the mid-section of her thighs, a pair of waterproof hiking shoes, a maroon red halterneck crop top t-shirt, the last emphasizing her physical features, though that was covered up mostly by a tracksuit jacket. The aspirant trainee wasn't finished, however, buying a veritable package of items once she landed in Prussia-Poland for the camping trip Vered had signed on, such as a large camping rucksack, a sleeping bag, a week worth supply of MREs (from a surplus military store) including a roll-up camping mattress.

After a rather uneventful bus trip that lasted more than a day, finding the assembled group for the pre-planned trek through the Carpathians would prove easy, as the sight of many youngsters in the town served as her guide as she shadowed them towards the destination Vered was seeking, finally converging on a large square as she hovered over this small army of youngsters in the back of this mass of teenagers who were bursting with hormones, which she definitely wagered was the case, as few from the group would give her ogling looks at her figure. Something that felicity found to be an insult against her dignity as a proud Kavalan and descendant of a line of exalted warriors.

Even still Vered kept her slew of negative emotions to herself as she looked at the gathered crowd of youngsters, spectating how they congregated to chatter among themselves as they brandished their firearms. Something for which Vered was glad that she had taken her own service-issued weapon with her, a 4-inch snub-nose Colt Python, along with a couple of other articles of various lethal and non-lethal potential like a KA-BAR knife, four spare drum magazines, and a bear pepper spray.

As the flood of arriving scouts began to taper off, one of the troop-leaders took charge, and prepared an electronic loudhailer.

“Excuse me!” he said, the loudhailer amplifying his voice. The chatter of 270 scouts quickly died down in response.

“First of all, a warm welcome to all of you -- and congratulations. You’ve managed an hour without shooting each other. Welcome to Nowy Targ, and welcome to the Commonwealth. You’re probably sick of hearing adults talk, so I’ll keep this simple. It’s currently 0900 hours; you have until sundown, at 2000 hours, to buy any supplies you missed. There’s a gun store if you’ve somehow forgotten ammunition and quite a few shops. I’d advise against buying souvenirs at the moment as you’re going to have to carry that for 5 days. Once we are on the trail, please listen to your delegation leaders and supervisors, please secure your firearms, and please, for the love of God, don’t shoot each other. Now scram and get out of my sight.”

He lowered his loudhailer, and with that, the scouts were free to roam about the town as they wished.

The trainee policewoman observed and listened on, as a single man who was of visibly older age, emerged from the crowd as he walked out in front of them, someone whom Vered made out to be the leader of the troop as he separated himself to stand before them for all of his comrades to clearly see him as he announced to them in clear English to inform them of their departure for the trek, before dismissing them to scurry to prepare and to take stock of anything that they might have forgotten or discerned that they would require. Something that Felicity wrote off for herself as she had come with all that she needed, though it was beside the point.

With a quickly pondering before coming to a decision; Vered set off in the direction of the crowd of young scouts that had rallied as soon as it had begun to slowly split off. Marching through and among the teenagers, her hips swiveling with a striding walk of a lioness, the aspirant trainee and former member of the Queen's Scouts approached the older youngster that had just a minute ago, given a speech to a battalion-sized mass of people. Felicity did stand out like a sore thumb, for many reasons; her richly sun-kissed tanned skin and height of five feet and seven inches made her taller than most girls who were in the scouting troop.

''Greetings, my name is Vered Felicity.'' The police trainee declared confidently, introducing herself to a persona whom Vered mentally gleaned to be of somewhat middle-age.'' Pardon me if you have not encountered someone like me before - I am from the Queendom of Kavala, an autonomous unit of the Serene Kingdom of Yulmata. I am a member of the Queen's Scouts, Kavala's youth scouts organization which is a member organization in the same federation as yours. I was asked by a good friend to attend your little-get-together so that we can exchange experience as well as build ties between our scouting organization.'' Vered explained to the man before she handed out her Queen's Scout membership card.

Vered looked to her back, catching a glimpse of quite a few interesting onlookers who no doubt were commenting about her appearance, among other things, no doubt.

by **South Reinkalistan** » Mon Jul 12, 2021 7:32 pm

OOC: Tag. Will be posting given time. On holiday rn, so don't expect much in the way of posts until I get back after the 17th.

by **Seleucid Pergamon** » Tue Jul 13, 2021 1:32 am

Nowy Targ

With their bus stopped, the Pergamonian delegation disembarked to reel in the Carpathian ambience. It was a new world for them, and along with it a new adventure on the horizon, which sparked a little glint in their eyes as they observed around, brighter than their Madera-colored uniforms and their maroon bandanas combined. As the luggage door opened, they fetched their bags; each of them had two, one for their personal belongings and one for their weapons.

Serapheim, the dark-skinned 32-year-old Vadimalascan Pergamonian, waited for the rest of his lighter-skinned troop to sift through the bags of the other passengers, and leaned on the exterior with nonchalance. He glanced at his smartphone, and texted to his wife to kill the time given to him. The two other boys, Lykourgos and Theofilos, conversed with each other, which often ended with the former's frolicsome demeanor taking the wheel. Theofilos would absorb it, despite a bout of irritation expressed either with a sigh or an eye-roll. Next to them, Marika held her rifle bag and requested the small Eleftheria, often called "Elli," to dig for her personal backpack. She kept her silence, and looked at Theofilos with a little chuckle and headshake in response to his shrug. Elli came out of the compartment with Marika's bag, her dirty blonde hair in a somewhat messy state from crawling and jostling through. Marika joked about her being a good little servant, prompting Elli to call her out and give her a shove.

Once they were ready, Lykourgos called out to Serapheim, and they headed to where the crowd of their fellow scouts gathered and mingled. After one of the Prussian-Polish troop-leaders gave his announcement, the group dispersed into town once they left their paraphernalia in a safe place. They then splintered into the town to check out the town's products, if not just saunter about.

by **South Reinkalistan** » Sun Jul 18, 2021 2:40 pm

NOWY TARG AIRPORT
PRUSSIAN POLISH COMMONWEALTH
~~⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀~~

10:02am, 18th July 2021
Theme | Едерлези ("Ederlezi") - Goran Bregović

With all the grace of a beached whale, the old AD-4 Passenger Jet inexpertly touched down in Nowy Targ's small grass airfield. The behemoth was outdated in almost every way, and many suspected it was inches from being decommissioned due to a lack of reliability -- an entirely appropriate craft, then, to ship a hundred children across the world in. A few minutes passed as the plane was received, rusted crimson paint denoting the star-and-sword insignia, crudely splashed onto the wings of the airliner. Steps were placed before the plane's door, and the plane opened. Out poured children who might as well have come from another world -- for while Prussia-Poland was hardly renowned for its liberal social atittudes, compared to the strictness of South Reinkalistan it was a much more open country. The faces of the Reinkalistani scouts may as well have been carved from stone; not even the long journey seemed to have left even a mark of jet-lag or tiredness on the monolithic line of children now pouring forth from the plane.

These children were from Shiraka; notoriously the most controlled Republic in the Federation. The propaganda was the strongest, the repression the harshest, and the presence of the Ideological Office was nigh-suffocating. Ideal proletarian children, as if they were molded from clay in the image of the Revolutionary Father himself.

At least, that was the intention. The reality? One hundred unruly, painfully argumentative brats.

"Quiet down, kids!" Shouted Arastazho, the sole supervisor, as the children pooled around him like an oil spill on the ground. He was hardly a strict man, but the flight had tested his patience. It had been hell, and the underpaid "stewards" on the flight had not really seen the mass of teenagers a problem. The fact that nobody had seemed particularly keen to disarm the children also compounded the flight's unbearable tension, with the customary fights and bullying being exacerbated by the threat of live ammunition. It had given Arastazho the impression, as he looked around at the armed gaggle around him, that nobody had really thought this whole trip through that well. Then again, the generally disorganised manner was probably the point. The reputation of Reinkalistani children as ideological, faceless drones needed to be combatted somehow. It just wasn't very fun for the supervisor. Not at all.

"Mister Voraskiy!" Came a shout from the crowd. Arastazho noticed his name, and the scout shouting it.

"Yes, Yuhakyu?" Was the weary reply.

"Anastasia took my rifl--" The boy's protests were quickly cut off with a surprised grunt, as the said Anastasia's fist smacked him in the jaw, sending him to the floor. Anastasia quickly went back to her mobile phone, the stolen rifle in question slung over her back as she held her own in one hand.

"For fu- for God's sake, Anastasia. You- you aren't meant to steal things. You already have a gun." Arastazho protested, quickly reclaiming Yukakyu's rifle, which Anastasia let go with a dismissive sigh. Handing the rifle back to the boy, Arastazho nonetheless did not feel right disciplining the girl. Sure, she was out of order-- but her father, Josef Yariskavich, was a rather famed war hero. Any bad word from the girl to her father could spell danger for those concerned, and Arastazho didn't really feel like sitting in a cell for a few weeks due to a fabricated charge. With a sigh, the supervisor resignedly walked towards the exit. "Come on, kids." The scouts followed him in their culturally uncustomary manner. This was going to be a long trip.

by **Aureumterra III** » Mon Jul 19, 2021 9:28 am

Tómas Íansson & Peder Lårs
Nowy Targ, PPC

Tómas and Peder arrived along with the rest of the small Skátamál delegation to Nowy Targ at last. Comprised of political exiles and dissidents from Aureumterra living in PPC, they were definitely an interesting addition to the already diverse and somewhat awkward mix of scouts that had shown up to this trip. Their group wasn’t very large, yet very one of them had an open secret. A story to tell, a story of how their families had ended up here. Some had it easier, a "polite" banishment from the Empire, while others, such as Tómas, escaped at an inch of certain death. Regardless, they all formed a tightly knit exile community in the country that so generously sheltered them, and the Skátamál scouting organization formed the backbone of life for the children of this community. Always on the edge due to their circumstances, their small society had grown to be very regimented and militaristic, everyone carrying a faint but living hope of one day returning to their (or their family's) homeland, peacefully or not.

The Skátamál troop arrived in a bus, the scouts taking in the fresh air and beauty of the small mountainside town. Tómas adjusted his grip on his AK5, as exited the bus alongside the rest of the group, Peder trailing closely behind with his bow and Glock in his pocket.

"What the…" Peder’s first remarks were reacting to the horses brought by the Selkie, definitely the group that stood the most out of the crowd.

Tómas gave a short laugh, "Yeah good luck getting those smoothly through the Carpathian Mountains." He turned to look at his tentmate for this hike, "You forget anything?"

Peder ran a mental check, and looked at his backpack, "Everything seems to be here. Knife, food, water, sleeping bags-" He tripped and fell over with a thud, on the root of a tree.

Tómas shook his head, "Get up shorty, can’t be doing this out on the trail."

Peder’s face was slightly red with embarrassment, Tómas gave a playful shove, "Come on, they’re gathering up, don’t be a slowpoke." He hoisted his weapon over his shoulder and made sure it was in safety, before him and Peder made their way to listen to the Polish troop leader on the megaphone. Following the briefing, the group split up, while the two remained a pair as they began roaming around the town, rather aimlessly, awaiting sundown…

by **Lauzanne** » Mon Jul 19, 2021 4:08 pm

Nowy Targ was by all accounts a quiet little village. Situated near the Lauzanne-PPC Border, the town boasted all of 34,000 residents, give or take a few. For some it was a quiet slice of the world, for others it was a great place to retire to. Little traffic, save for the scouts that were coming through today.

If only they knew what was coming down the road.

Emitting a throaty drone that assaulted the sensibilities of everyone who could hear it, Sergey Fox was lightning-quick on the shift from third to fourth, pushing his thrashed ex-LDF Land Rover to it's absolute limits. Stopping at one light opposite to a white Lada to his left, he was revving even before the light turned green. Asserting dominance over the smaller and better maintained car in a plume of black diesel smoke, Sergey rounded every corner like he was late to his own damn wedding.

"Come on baby... Welrod, how are you doing?" He asked, not taking his attention off the road as his ever-faithful dog companion barked at the question.
"Attagirl, almost there."

After a few more minutes of demolishing the pathetic competition on the roads of Nowy Targ, Fox arrived at the arranged destination. Not wasting any time to park like a normal person, Fox instead ripped on the handbrake after pushing the clutch in, yanking the steering wheel around as the car did a 180 degree lurch, kicking up gravel, dirt and dust as the camo vehicle came to a halt.

Turning the key off and swiftly pocketing it, he opened the door into the dust cloud, stepping out to see that the scouts were still mostly there.
"Oh nice, we're not late. Come on, Welrod." He commanded, the dog jumping off of the rear platform and coming to his side. Fox stepped around the back, grabbing his backpack and M96 rifle, putting both on his back and then heading off into the mass to find someone in charge, Welrod following close behind.

by **Yegla Islands** » Sun Aug 01, 2021 2:24 pm

|⼭|Nowy Targ|⼭|
⠀|Outskirts|
⠀|10:12 AM|

Dust blossomed upwards from the dirt road, agitated by well-worn wheels. The UAZ was not a pretty sight, nor a particularly elegant means of transportation; its battered, once-glossy green finish was chipped and worn, with dried mud caking the lower reaches of the chassis. Its rearview mirror was held on with duct tape, and something eerily reminiscent of a bullet hole in the corner of the windshield had been patched up with more of the same, a gentle web of cracks blossoming outwards from beneath the ad-hoc covering. The engine belched and hissed, the drivetrain scraped and threatened to seize with every turn in the road, and there certainly wasn't any form of climate control installed in something that had probably outlived Brezhnev's tenure in office. It was, to put it bluntly, a really shitty car.

To Luiza Venediktova, this was in no way a problem. She had driven worse things over worse roads in far, far worse conditions than the clear summer day in which she found herself now; in truth, she couldn't possibly care less about the car, simply because there were so many other things that she was too busy fuming over. In the dust-speckled mirror she could, on occasion, catch glimpses of a youthful, worried face occupying the car's back seat - had she the authority and lack of reservations to reach back there and stick something pointy right on through that face, she would have probably done so by now. But really, the objects of her rage were divided - certainly, the kid was at fault for whatever ungodly mis-filing he had committed to get this godforsaken trip approved and organized in the first place. But there was a special, spike-lined and probably acid-filled pit of hell reserved for the bureaucrat, or cabal thereof, that had thought it a good idea to assign her of all people to drag herself halfway across the world (or several, as the case may be) into some Polish backwater to oversee not just the brat she had to bring directly along, but a whole throng of them. She could see them now, up ahead - the gathering certainly wasn't easy to miss, and quite a few people had already turned to notice the battered SUV's arrival. There was another, equally beaten-up vehicle already "parked" amidst a set of skid-tracks, and so Luiza chose to pull vaguely alongside. Not like there was any properly-designated parking. With another glance into the mirror, she gave a hearty sigh.

"Right, we're here. Don't unbuckle your seatbelt until the vehicle is fully stopped, remain seated until told to exit, yada yada. Thank you for flying with Air Yegla, be sure to thank the gracious organizers of this excursion."

For his part, Ignas was more anxious than anything. Quite why his apparent supervisor had been acting like this ever since their initial meeting at the airport at Tapol, he couldn't guess - what he'd picked up on quickly, however, is that she was certainly no scout guide. She was definitely the person assigned to the trip, and she'd gotten him to the expedition's starting point without much issue, but there was something disquieting about her demeanor, and the silvered badge pinned to her lapel was very definitely not YunCom insignia. He'd been holding the seatbelt manually shut for hours now - the latch on it didn't work, but he'd dreaded actually pointing this out; a cramped hand was leagues better than whatever reaction he could imagine her having. There were other sources of concern, too - he'd only been informed on the day of departure that his detachment would consist solely of himself, and now he was beginning to wonder whether there had been any point in going at all. There were people there, sure - scouts from all over, fundamentally his peers; yet his friends and years-long compatriots were unimaginably far away, and he himself felt very suddenly stranded amidst strangers. His musings, melancholic though they were, were interrupted by the final, defiant clunk of the UAZ's breaks kicking in, and the accompanying shudder as the ancient automobile settled into place. He let the seatbelt strap go, and was rewarded with a sound thwack across his shoulder; rubbing the aching limb, he moved to unlatch the rusted door, and stepped out into the brisk morning clime.

This was quite the gathering, to be sure - the sheer breadth of uniforms and dress-styles on display was impressive. His contemplation of just how large some of the other scouting detachments seemed to be was interrupted by a not-too-jentle jab in the shoulder, and a fully-loaded backpack waved in his face. Luiza's unsmiling countenance swam into view, joined shortly by the rest of her. She was certainly imposing in stature - though not far above the national height norm, the way in which she carried herself gave off an air of... not exactly professionalism. But something close to it. And it was the sort of impression that made one really hesitant to ask what her profession actually was. Certainly, the way her arm muscles visibly shifted beneath the fabric of her khakis helped accentuate that thought, and the fact that he himself struggled to hold the bag steady with both arms lent it further credence. He only spoke up after she'd turned on her heel and headed off towards the throng.

"Umm- excuse me! Am I meant to follow you, or..?"

"Don't bother. I'm going to go meet with the other supervisors. You can go ahead and... oh, I don't know. Mingle. Make some friends. I'll find you when I have to."

And with that, she vanished in the vague presumed direction of authority, her own bag hefted nigh-effortlessly over her shoulder. Ignas now turned his attention back to the gathering before him - she was probably right, in a way. He wouldn't get anywhere just by getting dragged along. With a curt sight of his own, he steeled himself, and set off in an arbitrarily-chosen direction in the crowd.

by **Shwe Tu Colony** » Mon Aug 02, 2021 2:31 am

Prelude, the savory empire and the shade of the past

Where had that car come from? It came from some offroad obscured by trees and bush in the vague direction of the nearest commercial airport in the commonwealth, and it resembled a Honda Pilot, but something about it felt otherworldly. Perhaps it was the glowing red-gold streaks flying down the sides of it barely visible in the daytime sun or the sheen of the crown-like decal, decorated with an I and an S, in place of the usual H, or the occupants' silhouettes beyond the tinted windows.
Most notable were a pair of unusual, wire-like threads going from the throat of whoever was sitting in front — boy or girl, it was hard to tell — to their mouth, and the riverine hair and tiara of the woman driving next to him. The rest, to any distant viewer, melded together into darkened blobs.
That did not hide their identity, not when the decal on front indicated that the vehicle was Imperial Saveur's, the Gang dominating Parfuhmerie's tourism.

Inside, Ca-li'at at the front stared ahead, his unchained hands fidgeting in his lap and his nose and eyes finally free, unburdened by the upper half of his metal mask. It was strange not feeling his patron deity's pull, but the moment he stepped into this new nation, new world, it had all been purged, silenced; the murmuring demands, the overflowing passions that had kept him under their control for his entire life, that had barely been kept at bay with chains and masks and Anima and medicine, they had simply vanished, left him completely paralyzed for a few moments until his team had stripped away all of the heavier equipment, enabling him to at least feel the physical world. It was strange, finally being able to breathe and simply feel well and true without flitting between extremes, but there he was.
"We should do this more often, tura'isu Korthu," he said. "I feel... real."

She ruffled his hair. "I'll be sure to look out for things like this, bore'uir. Always good for you to have chances to just, you know, be normal, without Urgash lording over you."
"But what if he does show up?" Du'inmar, the black-haired girl in the back of the car, said. "Will we—"
"Don't worry," Korthu said, "his stuff is still in his bag, and he still has Ordo pills to manage any mood swings that may come up. Besides, if Urgash comes, your... techniques will probably come back." She paused to readjust her mirror. "Also, this place just doesn't feel like he could get through. You guys will be fine, I'm sure of it."
"But still—"

A red-haired boy in the row in front of her turned and reached out his hand. "You've got us, Du'inmar," he said. "Trust us, and we'll take care of each other, 'kay."
She looked away, and Ca-li'at glanced back at her, at her face now hidden in her hair. "He's right. We're here for you, Du'inmar," he said. "Just cos Urgash isn't here doesn't mean the team will be broken up." This time, she nodded and tried to smile.
"Oh, um, that reminds me." She looked behind them, at the trunk. "I got some extra guidebooks in case, for foraging and whatnot. It's just... I don't think we should try to show off too much."
Would it really matter? Then again, Ca-li'at had just sort of assumed that nobody would really notice if they accidentally ate an amanita or mixed up a morel; surely nobody would be watching that hard, but considering how many other, less resilient teens there were, perhaps it was more likely than he thought.

Vo'bua, his blonde hair-tufts bouncing as he tilted and bounced his head with puppy-like excitement, cut in. "Speaking of which, I've heard that mushroom hunting is really popular in Poland."
"So we should be careful," Du'inmar said. "I think some of them might know if we pick the wrong ones and, you know, not die."
"I see." Ca-li'at glanced out the window at the passing forests. "Although... could be funny."
Vo'bua closed his eyes and smiled "... wanna eat a death cap." He licked his lips, imagining the sweet taste that would kill any non-Parfuhmerian.
His leader shook his head; Du'inmar was at least a little right, considering the natives seemed about as passionate about mushrooms as Parfuhmerians. "Eat it in secret. Whatever the case... seems we should probably be careful in what we pass around. Worst that happens to us is something inedible, but for anyone el—"

"And we're here!" Korthu slammed on the brakes, and her charges lurched forward.
"Tura'isu Korthu!"
"Calm down, Lyuha," she said, smiling despite the ferocious anger on the younger girl's face.
"You drive like a maniac— what's with your braking?"
"Come on, we're all Parfuhmerians here." Korthu unlocked the car, and the Parfuhmerians on the edges started to file out. "Bit of risk—"
"I was napping, tura'isu Korthu."

"You were?" Korthu looked out the window, watching as Vo'bua stepped onto the ground, leapt, and flipped in the air, landing on his feet; evidently, that was his idea of a stretch. "Well poo, sorry."
Lyuha sighed as she exited the car on the left. "We're lucky we're not at home," she said as Korthu's fingers tapped at the steering wheel.
Soon enough, the five youth members of Imperial Saveur were outside, assembled in a line and about ready to begin their baggage checks and goodbye to their leader.
"Where's Ja'at?" Ca-li'at asked. "Did he cloak already or something?"
The sniper peeked out from the other side of the car. "Sorry," he said. "Wandered off while taking out my rifle. Won't happen—"
"Don't worry about that. We're not going to war... er, fight."

Ja'at's eyes glazed over, but he shook his head. "Right, right," he said. Then, he marched over to the rest of their group, all clothed in matching black uniforms, decorated with dark bronze streaks, buttons, epaulets, and patterns; they looked more like officers' boys, ready to imperialize some distant land, and conspicuously decorated to show their allegiance and origins. Ja'at, meanwhile, had on a Parfuhmerian hunter's camouflaged outfit, and his sniper rifle poked out from his backpack.
"Gear check time," Du'inmar said, hopping out of line. "Silhar, cooking supplies. Backpacking stove, extra gas, pot, skillet, non-alcoholic Emerald Wine, utensils, water purification tablets — normal and Parfuhmerian — emergency MREs, basket, bowls, plates, assorted seasonings." After each phrase or word, he nodded. "And be careful we don't give anyone our food."
With that done, she turned. "Ca-li'at, campsite supplies. Modular tent sets, flashlights, extra beacons, lanterns, duct tape, camp speakers." Her leader had no issues.

"Lyuha."
The Succubus smiled. "Already got everything, Duyduy," she said. "Standard knife, boning knife, cleaver, meat saw, whetstone, two cutting boards, extra pork fat, and grinder, all present and accounted for. Plus, my hatchet and some Parfuhmeriam perfume to mask to the scents, as always."
Du'inmar nodded. "Next, Vo'bua. Some extra clothes, plus biodegradable soap, non-toxic and Parfuhmerian, trash bags, medikit."
"Got it."
"Then we're all set, as long as we all have our beacons, weapons, medicine, trail snacks, and extra ammunition." She looked around, and none of her comrades spoke. "Oh, right. Ja'at... um, I don't know what—"
"I'm good."

Behind her, Korthu tapped the roof of the car, having evidently gotten out during their check, and the five Imperial Saveur youths turned to her, holding their thumb and index together. They tried to snap their fingers, but no noise nor effect came out. Korthu shrugged. "Just bow. We can't do our usual salute, so..."
The five of them obeyed. "Well," their leader said, "good luck kids, happy camping, and remember that bullets are more lethal here, 'kay? 'Kay." With that, she spun on her heels and dove into her car, taking a moment to glance back at them. Then, she drove off, leaving them to the scouts.
Ca-li'at took the lead. "Let's head to the base. Think they should be starting introductions soon."

"Mushroom!" Vo'bua dashed to the side, picking up a death cap.
"Not that one." Du'inmar slapped it out of his hand just before he could shove it into his mouth. "I already told you, we can't freak out the adults here."
"But... mushroom."
"Later."
Part of their group, but still a few feet away, Ja'at watched. A smile crept onto his face.

Nowy Targ, Official (Parfuhmerie)

Du'inmar glanced around at the crowds, one of her hands twiddling with Ca-li'at's coattails. "So many people..." she said. "Is there anyone we might know?"
Her group looked around.
"Well," her leader said, "I think I remember Sousundowa talking about encountering..." He sniffed the air, as though that would help him. "Right."
"How do they even remember?"
"Every customer that comes in usually has a scent on them to tag their universe of origin. That's all that matters for first introductions, and something... something about those horses reminds me of someone." He glanced upwards, but then shook his head when he couldn't remember. "But, well, you know how the Psytrines are with stats."

Silhar shook his head and looked around. "Kuh, don't remind me. Seen too many of 'em... I don't see anyone we know, though."
"Just us, then?" Du'inmar asked.
Ca-li'at nodded. "For now. I'm sure someone will come asking whenever Silhar starts cooking."
Their designated chef sighed and shifted his weight. "Come on, I'm not that great. It's just how aromatic everything is from Parfuhmerie. Makes everything smell like a five-star." He paused. "Wonder how good the deer is here. Or rabbit..."

Polish Prussian Commonwealth wrote:“First of all, a warm welcome to all of you...”

Soon enough, their host made his announcement, and the Parfuhmerians fell silent as they listened; hardly was Imperial Saveur an official military corps, but versus the other Gangs, it maintained a much higher standard of discipline, evident in their postures straight as rapiers, their legs planted firm like the roots that ran like underground aquifers throughout Parfuhmerie.
Only when he finished speaking did they relax, shifting from their statuesque positions. "He really is right," Du'inmar said. "Kind of scary to think they're trusting us with all this weaponry. Feels like a bad argument could—"
"As long as we stick together, it won't involve us," Ca-li'at said. "Not that I think we'll have any reason to separate." His team nodded, with Du'inmar last. "Now then, do we have any business to take care of in town? Any supplies?"

Yulmata wrote:The trainee policewoman observed and listened on...

His team looked awkwardly around at each other, then began to shake their heads no. "Right. Ca-li'at nodded and turned halfway around, glancing towards the main platform where a tanned girl was speaking to someone, her complexion and height sticking out like the final pine in a forest. "No surprise the— oh wow, she's thic—"
Dnk! Ca-li'at stumbled forward, dazed. "Ow..."
"Du'inmar!" Lyuha reeled the back of her tomahawk back. "Push him towards me so I can hit him agai—"
"Eh-eh, no, no," she said. "I don't think the adults will think we're joking, or anyone else."
"Ugh, fine, fine." Lyuha rolled her eyes and sheathed her tomahawk, while Silhar stepped towards Ca-li'at, who was muttering something in the guttural, low sounds of the Demonish language, the sort of sounds that resembled primal curses.

"Oh, where's Ja'at?" Vo'bua looked around and hopped, trying to find the Assassin-sniper. "He was just here a minute ago..."
"Knowing him," Lyuha said, "he's probably at a range."
"Already? Does he know how to do anything else?"
"Hey." Silhar tapped Vo'bua's shoulder, while Ca-li'at swirled around next to him. "Considering his dad, it shouldn't be a surprise." He said no more, but it was enough for Vo'bua, who had always known what went on behind the closed doors of the mansion of the Bu'er household; yet, whether Silhar meant the demise or expectations of Ja'at's father, both still weighed upon the young Assassin, inducted as some form of twisted obligation.
"Now come on," Silhar said, "let's go."

by **Ezhara** » Mon Aug 02, 2021 3:40 am

Prelude, the smallest distance of a few days

Kasem checked his phone. No signal.
"I just realized," he said, turning towards Tansacha, "do you think there'll be connection up on the mountains?"
His mentor turned to him, his sleepless, staring face in desperate need of a cigarette. "Are you serious?" he asked. "Course not, unless you got a sat-phone."
For a few moments, the Talent-Architect sat there. No connections, huh? It was nice to disconnect every now and then, but that was a boring platitude from the people who didn't know Eiko, like Chan-yeol in the back, who, eyes shut, was listening to music on a pair of headphones with tendril-like ears coming out from the top; his expression flitted between an odd pain, as though recalling some memory, and simply nothing.
But if he had no connection...

His heart sank.
"Oh no... Tansacha, sir, please turn us around." He leaned towards the driver's seat, only a few inches. Some part of him really did want Eiko on speed dial, though — no morning was complete anymore without Eiko's soft, princely tones in a half-awake morning stupor, no night without the winding-down energy of his higher, more nasally register, whether on stream or private call. Then, a yawn, an "oyasumi—"
"Are you kidding me?" his mentor said. "We've had literal days to cancel. How didn't you realize that you wouldn't be able to call your boyfriend until now?"
"Turn us around!" He battered the top of the car's receiver like an angered cat's slaps. "Eiko—"
Tansacha pushed aside the boy's head. "Jesus, kid, let him have some downtime, would you? He can't always be there to enable your... whatever."

"He doesn't enable me."
"Do you even know what that means?"
"It, um..." Kasem fidgeted with the puzzle cube in his hand. "He... I mean, what do I have to enable? I'm perfectly fine, after all, even if I like hiding under beds."
"Do you even know what it means?"
Only now did Chan-yeol interject. "You sure you can ask that?" he said. "Because whenever he talks about Eiko, I'm pretty sure he loses brain cells."

Kasem fidgeted faster. "Mmm, true, true, but it's just that, well, he really does use up all of my brain power and stuff, so—"
"Good god, you've absolutely lost it for your boyfriend," Tansacha said.
"I just really adore him and his voice and the way he takes care of me— what can I say?" Kasem's mentor and acquaintance said nothing, and the boy was left in silence, shoving his puzzle cube this way and that, knowing that what he listed was important, but not everything. He couldn't love Eiko without the way his matcha-green kimono draped softly, gently over him, or the way his soft voice crept into his ears like matcha pouring into a cup. Those little talks weren't his everything.
No, what drew him in was everything around them. Kasem himself was the typical happy, braindead teenage boy to anyone else, but he had always kept the memories of his parent's smiles in this park or that building near and dear to him: he had watched their marriage collapse like an imploded building before him. Eiko, as long as he had known him, was a taciturn boy, closed from years of relentless acting and storytelling, of burning his emotions for the sake of a story. For Eiko, to be close was to be hurt, but eventually, he had acclimated to Kasem's puppy-like attitude.

Their hearts resonated; they were the lucky few where that meant a bond, rather than annihilation. It did not guarantee no difficulties, but it was still a miracle for the two boys.

Kasem was snapped out of his reverie by Tansacha's stare. "Yeah, yeah, tell me more," he said.
"Well..." The boy blushed.
"I immediately regret my choice— I don't want to hear about what you two do if you're making that face."
He pouted. "I was just gonna say he has soft hands."
The rest of their car ride proceeded with only the sound of old Din Thi Di songs from the stereo, while behind them, Chan-yeol still switched between pain and nothing, pain and nothing.

Soon enough, they were at their parking lot. "Chan-yeol—"
The boy took off his headphones, leaving them around his neck. "I'm getting up, Tansacha, sir."
Soon enough, all three of the Ezharans were outside, at which point Tansacha popped open the trunk. "You know, they never told us if they'd supply food for us or not," he said, taking out Kasem's backpack and handing the boy multiple meal packages. "I mean, I assume they would, but just in case, I stuffed some extra food in my bag, enough for a few more days if something stupid happens. And don't worry, your two's are still untouched, mostly because I don't want to go anywhere near a teenage boy's luggage."
Chan-yeol shrugged as he leaned into the trunk and unzipped his backpack, stuffing it with his rations. "I mean, I just had extra seaweed packed and a solar battery."
"And I..." Kasem grabbed his backpack and unzipped it. "Have my boyfriend's plushie."

Tansacha stared at his mentee and the catboy plushie in his hands, at the way Kasem's eyes gleamed with infatuation. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I won't question it," Tansacha said. "But please don't be stupid and brandish it. I have no faith in any of the guys here being... pleasant to you." The boy nodded, and the older gardener grabbed a few more packaged meals, throwing them into Kasem's hands. "Anyway. Sucks to be us, having to lug around a bunch of food, but there's the extra."
"Mmm, curry..."
"Don't get excited." Tansacha grabbed his shovel, a foreign one from Allanea, and waited for Chan-yeol to hop away from the car. Then, he slammed down the trunk. "Right, any last regrets before we head out?"
"Why do you have your gardening gear?" Kasem asked.
Tansacha stepped past him. "Because."

Nowy Targ, Official (Ezhara)

Kasem still marched at Tansacha's side with his usual discipline; he wasn't the tallest boy in his cohort, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in his relentless resolve, honed from watching his own parents pushing, running, encouraging, yelling, in every way that mattered, for everything that mattered. Long ago, it was a conflict that made him giggle, that inspired him to push to the limit and past for the people he loved, that let him outrun and outperform just about any other cadet back in Din Thi Di. If he lost, he bounced back better than anyone else that he knew, but there was a friendly cheeriness to his step just underneath the militarism of his life.
Tansacha's gait, meanwhile, was more relaxed. A bit too relaxed, actually. It didn't feel quite right, like he was told this, this, this about how to walk and was dumped into the scene without getting a chance to really practice it and look definitely normal. Instead, it seemed he was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, like he had just fled from a murder scene after burying a body, and considering the grey, polished shovel on his back, that didn't seem improbable. There was, besides, the distance in his eyes as he forced a smile with the others. Too much in the eyes to cover something missing inside him — to the point of madness.

Next to him, Chan-yeol tapped his chaperone's shoulder. "Careful, you're looking like a murderer again."
"Really? Dang it..." He reached into his backpack pocket and pulled out a lollipop, which he stuck in his mouth, changing it to a more exhausted grimace.
Not much better, but at least he didn't look like he was about to knife someone.
Next to those two, Chan-yeol was far less notable, aside from his headphones. His step followed the rhythm of a song that only he heard, and though his eyes were shut, he still remained a constant distance from his peer, careful not to stray too close nor too far. Indeed, his steps seemed more certain, more careful than even those who were walking with their eyes open; he wove past a squirrel that had darted in his way.
Kasem briefly paused in his march as the group passed by a group of horses. They seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite remember if he had met any of their handlers; so, he passed by them. He'd find out soon enough.

Polish Prussian Commonwealth wrote:“First of all, a warm welcome to all of you...”

Tansacha huffed at the congratulations and tapped Chan-yeol's shoulder to get him to take off his headphones. "God knows he's about right with that," he said; one could imagine him with an imaginary cigarette in his hands.
"Huh? Who's messing with guns back home?" Kasem asked. "Do we—"
"Dealt with a long time ago." That would've been his time to throw aside his cigarette, stare ominously into the distance as the shovel's edge on his back gleamed. "So, don't worry."
"Hmm, all right then," Kasem said. "I mean, I was kinda hoping on getting back... if it had been—"
Tansacha folded his arms. "You've been winning over the rest of them anyway, you know. Better cadet. Better runner. Talent." He paused, swishing the lollipop in his mouth. "Think that's revenge enough, Kasem. Don't need to go out of your way for anything more, that'd just piss them off."
His mentee nodded, and the trio went silent, listening obediently.

Finally the speech finished.
"Till sundown," Tansacha said. "Lotta time for nothing." He looked towards Chan-yeol. "Shouldn't you be saving your battery if your beats matter that much?"
"It's fine, sir." The boy took out a solar battery. "Byarovan malls have a bit of everything. I even have a wind and water turbine in my backpack."
"Hmph. Kids these days."
"Tansacha, sir, you're six years older than us."
"But you act forty," Kasem said.

In an instant, a shovel was on his head, and a trowel on Chan-yeol's.
"Sorry sir," both boys said.
"Now then." Tansacha turned around and walked towards the town, and the two of them followed. "Do we have any business to take care of? Any further supplies that a normal foreign town would have?" Silence. "Right, so I'll take it we just wanna walk around and hope we find something interesting?"
Both nodded.
"Works for me."

by **Polish Prussian Commonwealth** » Thu Aug 05, 2021 9:05 pm

OOC: Partial response up. Expect replies for Aureumterra, Selucid, Brettenwald, and Shwe to arrive shortly.

Nowy Targ - A Hardware Store
A bell jingled as the trio entered a somewhat small hardware store. The shopkeep looked up from a slightly creased newspaper, and straightened up. "Mornin'." he greeted, yawning a little, before taking a bite out of a breadroll lying by him. "You three aren't from around here, are you? Looking for something? Rope? Tools?" A mad gleam entered his eye, and he smiled slightly. "Surplus plastic explosives?"

His smile faded. "...of course, if you want to buy any explosives you'll need to show proper ID, and all the paperwork. Everything else is open season, though."
A few local scouts entered the shop soon after, and fanned through the shop. More than a few glanced at the trio, with a few nodding at them in acknowledgement or smiling, before going back to buying the sundry goods that they needed; mostly kindling, with one or two grabbing a pack of zip-ties or a multitool. An older girl approached the trio, and stuck out her hand for a greeting. "Morning!" she said, chipper and cheerful even as a heavy rifle(marking her as an especially good shooter) and Adrian helmet seemed to weigh her down. "Welcome to Prussia-Poland. You three are with the Selkie, yeah? My name's Adrianna Ćwikła, just call me Anna: Adrianna’s a damned mouthful. You looking for anything in particular? Know this place like the back of my damned hand."

Szymon Kaczynski was an annoyed man. Of all the places to be, being surrounded by teenagers with rifles was the last thing he wanted. Oh, he had no problem with kids as a concept. His son and daughter in particular were a good kids; quiet, hard-working, and capable of actual firearms safety. However, hundreds of children, with weapons, milling about, doing stupid kid shit...was something he did not want to have to deal with.

Unfortunately, the lot had fallen on him to lead.

His annoyance swiftly turned to a smile as an old friend approached. "Oi, oi, look who decided to show his damned hide here!" he cheered. "Sergey fucking Fox!" He slapped the Lauzannean on the back. "Welcome, welcome. Hope the drive wasn't too long?"

A diminutive, black-haired girl quietly approached Welrod. Like the other scouts, a heavy green coat and helmet seemed to weigh her down, and an M1 Carbine lay slung across her back.

She knelt down, with some trepidation, and began to gently rub the dog's back. The wind rustled her hair for a second, and for the slightest moment, anyone looking would see a brief flash of...something on her forehead. A tattoo?

Contrary to Vered's fears, or perhaps hopes, she received absolutely no attention from the Prussian-Poles. Tomboys, or at least athletic girls, were a dime a dozen in Prussia-Poland. Furthermore, she was but one of many foreign girls, and really most of the scouts were busy tending to their own work - establishing small tents with their bedrolls, maintaining their weapons, or greeting the new arrivals; the two Aureumterran exiles, the Lauzannean instructor and his dog, and, most of all, the Selkie-lasses and their horses.

Horses were rare and Selkie-folk, especially Selkie-lasses, were regarded highly in Prussia-Poland. The combination made them...not quite irresistible, but by far most of the local scouts were most interested in seeking them out, whether to chat with the girls or, more often, to gawk at their horses.

The scoutmaster turned reluctantly from Fox and seemed extremely annoyed as he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've got you down on the roster. What do you want? You've got everything you need or do you need help getting or finding somewhere?"

More and more people arrived, overwhelming the Scout Leader. At least this newcomer was an adult, instead of some shit-faced child.

The woman would find a peeved-looking scoutmaster dealing with a tanned, foreign-looking scout. A comrade in misery, so to speak. Perhaps it would be better to wait for him to finish dealing with the child before him.

A small town of Zeltbahn tents, intermingled with proper tents, greeted Ignas. There were far fewer scouts at the moment than one might have expected; mostly the green-uniformed Prussian-Poles, with their helmets and carbines, although here and there a few from other nations popped up -- the Reinkalistanis that were beginning to arrive in force, and few Selkie here and there.

A ring of children seemed to be gathered around one of the more elaborate tents; mostly Prussian-Poles. One of the older boys noticed Ignas and waved him over. “Morning!” he greeted, with a smile. “Haven’t seen that uniform ‘round here before. Where are you from? What’s your name?”

by **Polish Prussian Commonwealth** » Tue Aug 17, 2021 7:01 pm

The Aureumterrans and Pergamonians alike received a warm welcome.
...Well, that was a lie. But at the very least, they did not receive the town’s hostility. A few nods from street-vendors or passersby was the only acknowledgement they got. As they passed further into the town centre, the apartment blocks and small stores gave way to larger ones. Tourist traps, restaurants, a large hardware store with a few local scouts milling outside...and quite a few gun stores, as well as quite a few food vendors.

Conveniently, after a brief ride on the bus back into town, the two would find themselves in front of Nowy Targ’s main post office, and they did, in fact, have postcards for sale. Upon entering, they would find themselves in a comparatively quiet waiting room, with a receptionist reading a magazine, while a few people bustled here and there, some clutching documents, others with goods.

The receptionist looked up from his magazine, and gave a polite smile. "Good morning. Are you two looking for something?"

A Carpathian Expedition[MT][INVITE ONLY][IC]

A Carpathian Expedition[MT][INVITE ONLY][IC]

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