Sport Tanks and the Shangri-La

Sitting on the edge of your schoolyard, you stared out into the wilderness surrounding it. The Shangri-La Boarding School for Youths was your home away from home for the next four years, and you were already starting to hate it after just a week. Pulling at your too-starched collar, you winced at the sound of something clattering around. This school was falling apart, and if the sounds coming from the pier were any indication, and the beat-up transport that was wheeling off ten-ton trucks wasn't a shining sign of school excellence either. Face it: you'd been sent to the closest thing to a penitentiary school that would still let you go to college later, all according to Mom's damn plan. Sighing, you pushed your hair back before considering the pros and cons of going to the school barber, before swearing to yourself. Screw the barber, and screw the police- you could tie it up under your regulation flat-cap if you needed to.

Working your way down to the dorms, your eyes wandered out over Lake Michigan and the pale blue sky, before snapping your eyes to the front as a large circus tent caught your attention next to the dorm rooms. Underneath it, the ten-ton trucks were pulling up and throwing out piles of mechanical debris- tools, parts, cans of fuel and oil all mixed together. Some seniors were laughing, others were swearing like sailors as they used a crane to slowly pull a tiny tank out of the bed of another truck. Looking around, you gulped as one of the other tanks was slowly pushed in front of the main entrance to the freshman dorms. Swearing blithely yourself, you dove for the bushes and tried to run to ground around the edge of the building. As you approached the back door, you smirked to yourself. Nearly free and-

"Got one!" a sophomore yelled, grabbing you by that damnable collar and hauling you up out of the bushes. Taking a rabbit punch at his ugly mug, you missed as he shook you like a mouse, laughing.

"Let me down!" you roared, also like a mouse.

"Nope!" the upperclassman said, grinning as he dragged you out front, before plopping you down in front of the President. Since Shangri-La didn't actually have a Student Council, you weren't using the title in it's mortal sense, but more in that it was an apros description for a number of demons, of which this young man certainly qualified. Bullish, with long blond hair undercut at the sides to allow for a similar fold-and-tuck under the cap like you, he was an imperial figure barely constrained by the deep burgundy waistcoat and bright green watch-chain that played havoc with your style sense and his silver bolo tie.

Squinting, the President eyed you up one side and down the other, before pulling out a meterstick.

"Height… five-six. Weight… Jorgenson?"

"One-forty-five, President!"

Clicking his tongue, he threw a chair behind you before whacking your knee with the ruler. Falling back in surprise, you landed in the chair, just in time for Jorgenson the minion to spin you around at a large, hastily-assembled projector screen.

"Good morning, Class Forty-Five!" The President yelled. "As is long-standing tradition here at the glorious Shangri-La Boarding School, each Class will have a sport that they represent the glory and honor of our fine educational facility in! Normally, this would be decided by a council of your peers, but unfortunately for you there's been a discrepancy!"

Behind him on the screen, the picture flashed to a pair of towering, monsterous tanks.



"Due to the delightful quirks of Michigan educational law and the pressuring times of this economy, the School Board of Directors has assumed upon themselves that Shangri-La will now be in possession of one tournament-rated Panzerfahren team. With the help of our partner association at the University of Michigan Tech, we have acquired the seed of a team, and are seeking members!"

Silence from the dorm block, even though every freshman was on the roof or dangling out a window.

"Now, due to the unusual circumstances, it has been decided that we're going to be offering some incentives to help make up for the fact you're going to be stuck doing this for the next four years! Bucciarati, whip out the new duds!"

"Naturally!"

Moments later, you were getting thrown into a phone-booth sized changing closet, before Bucciarati was in there with you pulling your shirt off. "Hey, c'mon dude!" you yelled. "No bueno!"

This changed exactly nothing as your stiff, starched point-collar white blouse was changed over for a new gray one with a standing collar, and you were slipped into a dark navy five-button waistcoat soon after. Combined with your black slacks, you were looking solidly sharp even as you noticed the geometrical embroidery on the shoulders of the vest- almost like epaulets. A few passes with a greased brush got your hair in order, and the tawny flat-cap of before was replaced with the bastard child of a mortarboard, beret, and peaked cap with a burgundy ribbon and gray top with the school logo- a lamp over two diagonal sabers- front and center. Before you knew it, you were ready to go, being shoved out on stage in front of the President.

"As you can see, Panzerfahren club members are going to be given a special uniform to help differentiate them for our instructors, and in addition certain privileges will be established for them. For starters…" the President said, grinning. "Access to the opposite gender's dorm common areas for purposes of team coordination."

Hoooly shit, that was a motivator right there. The boys dorms had been designed with sporting architecture in mind, giving them a basketball court, twenty foot rock wall, rappelling spaces, two general-purpose workshops, and even a two-lane bowling alley. However, the dormitory kitchen was, in a word, terrible. Expecting teenagers to reliably cook their own food without adult supervision was, in a word, dangerous; and more importantly with how few of them could even read a recipe it was always a crapshoot how meals turned out. By contrast, the girls dorms were lighter on entertainment, but had an actual cooking team and several lounges that were rumored to be the most comfortable areas on campus with the newest furniture and even, heaven help you, sound systems.

"In addition, to promote the readiness of night matches and to make sure there is enough prep time for the vehicles, there will also be an extension of curfew from 2100 hours to 2330 for members during the competition season, which starts in a month." The President said, smiling. "Enrollment will be open shortly!"

Pulling you off the stage, the President looked at you, grinning. "Still feeling an objection to joining the Panzerfahren team?"

You think about it for a minute, before shaking your head. "Color me convinced." You said, smirking.

"Good, because you're the captain now." The President said, dead serious. "I can't run this and keep the Seniors on track, and the President of Vice can't either or the juniors will start revolting and try and hold a coup d' etat since they can't get into the girls dorms and your boys can."

"What about the Head of the Council?" you asked, waving your hands. "I've only been here for a week!"

"The entire reason the sophomore leader is called that is because he doesn't have enough personal power yet to 'tard wrangle the jock clubs into line and get them to work together." The President scoffed, slapping you on the back. "I'll throw some of my boys at it- probably Janowski. He's pretty good, and can keep the gas cans and ammo racks full. All you need to do is get the rest of the freshies to drive and shoot, and we'll be fine."

You stared at him. You were not fine. "Can I take back joining up?"

The President laughed. "No, because this entire conversation is on tape and the paperwork's already completed. Now get out there, kid, you'll do fine!"

You weren't so sure, but you slapped your face and grit your teeth. Fine. Fine. You can do this!



VOTES

What dorm do you sleep in?

[] Male dorm
[] Female dorm
[] Depends on what uniform you're wearing honestly, nobody remembers all the freshmen yet.


What is your best physical characteristic?

[] Strength. Be they barbells or bags flower, you can lift, carry, haul, and throw with the best of them.
[] Reflexes. You can see the invisible and catch anything around you that flies whether it wants you to or not.
[] Precision. Some people have trouble threading a needle. You can do it blindfolded, upside-down, in your sleep.


What is your best school subject?

[] Math. Everything returns back to math.
[] Science. Logic, reason, and the processing of information are what separate humans from beasts.
[] Literature & Composition. The human condition is the soul of man, and without it they are naught but dust.
[] History. Every effect has a cause, and the chain of dominos goes back further than writing can ever find.

So this Quest is a pretty large step away from my usual Quest format, and there's a very good reason for that. Since I like to do recreational design for tabletop wargames and role-playing games, I've been looking for a way to playtest said constructions during The Quarantine Times. Enter @open_sketch and her rather ingenious way to test prototype builds and campaign writing on the fly, by running it as a Quest here.

Therefore, enter this Quest as the first playtest of Bonnie Blue Ribbon, my latest and greatest attempt to hybridize the sports anime feel with the battle high school energy using the medium of tanks. Anyone who's familiar with Girls und Panzer will recognize the seed corn of this idea, and the system is designed to be fast and frantic or calm and campy depending on how the players are handling things.

Schedule-wise, this Quest is going to try to stick to an update every few days in battle, after which will be a week or two of downtime for me to correct any problems, continue typesetting the rules for ease of use, and write the next encounter. After each battle, I'll also be posting the GM docs on each battle for crowd analysis so y'all can use your heads to work this out too. Playtests don't work unless everyone's willing to speak their mind, and I hope dearly everyone can bring something to the table to make this a better system.

As a Quest, and as a QM, do note that I'm mildly particular on voting. During narative time and character creation, please refrain from plan voting. During battles, however, plan voting is instated, as well as write-ins. Please don't abuse this power, and remember it is only for battle sequences.

With that all said, first up are the 0.1 rules draft, and the working charts sheet. Godspeed, everyone!