Welcome to the IC thread for Kaczynski Electricity Co.!
Just as a reminder, here are the rules for this thread:
> Don’t kill each other without prior permission. As much as drama is going to be a part of this experience, it’s not going to be very enjoyable if you decide to prematurely eject someone else from the RP. So, no murder.
> Write with effort. It’s going to be a whole lot more fun for all of us if we avoid lazy one-liners.
> No godmodding. Although I’ve created a world with some OP things in it (*cough* Cube *cough*), you’re just a guy/gal/gus here.
> Be a decent person. Don’t be a dick to others. Quite simple.
> No retcons. You have no authority over other people here, so unless the user is breaking the above rules, you can’t undo their actions.
It's a quiet, summer morning. Helios slowly dawns his head over the forested horizon, peaking over the hills and mountains, spreading his rays across these lands. In the air, cold mist, vapour kept like a blanket by the local flora; the air is moist, chilly, crisp, and tasteful to inhale. As they gradually awake, the sounds of dogs, chickens, pen animals and every other critter citizen of this region begins to make themselves heard. Likewise, the human residents have already stirred in their sleep. The night watch is coming back to the centre of the community headquarters, as the day guard relieves them of their duties. Hunting parties likewise pass through the constructed gates, some coming back with fresh meats from their midnight adventures, and others just heading out to catch the morning stream of fish and wild geese and ducks.
The growing village comes to life, as it does each morning. Some didn't catch any sleep, busy enjoying the company of others, either privately or publicly; they are the first ones at the community tables, already preparing their comrades' breakfasts, a few heating up last night's leftovers. Plenty remain in their bunks, in their own homes, enjoying the solitude and silence granted by these far-lands.
There are a few volunteers already working the many permaculture gardens surrounding this area. Mounds of permaculture farmland, built as the German hippies engineered back in the day, dot the landscape, creating interlocking patterns of brightly lit, reflections of sparkling due of the grasses, and shadowed sides, like dark waves on the land. These gardens are where the vast majority of the food originates, and tending to them is almost a divine duty, a task highly respected within this community.
Friends gather around fires, sitting on wooden trunks split into halves. Some of them have been there for a while; mushrooms grow on their sides, feeding off of the moisture deep within the wood and gentle warmth of the distant flames. As is usually the case, one of the comrades takes out their guitar, and begins to play old folk songs of their peoples; The camp is filled with the sounds of many languages, as could be expected of a community constructed by such diverse people.
The year is 2102. Whatever their reasons, these people have come here to be as one family. Today, armed with little more than solidarity and unlawfully gained equipment, a band from within this rather unusual family is uniting once more in pursuit of a new agenda; the revenge against those who have harmed all.
