FOX TWO- A quest of high speed Aerial Combat

[Ato]

[X][ACT] Fire at medium range. 4 fuel
[X][ERIN] Reassure her.

-Introduction- 1.11

"We can do this Rook 4. Focus on the target." You said, trying your best to be reassuring. "We'll get through one step at a time."

"You're right." She replied, sounding slightly calmer. "What's the plan?"

You checked your gauges, your fuel level had just dropped below fifteen percent.

"I'm nearly bingo. Any more close in work and i'll have to RTB. You hit the reheat and get close. I'll hang back and fire off the first good shot I get. At the very least it will force them to maneuver so you can catch up, and put them down." You hoped that came off as somewhat confident/

She seemed to consider your plan for a moment.

"Well it's better than nothing. Let's do it." With that she lit her burners and surged ahead.

Meanwhile you climbed slightly, getting a more oblique view of the target, hopefully giving your single remaining missile as large a cross section to aim at as possible.

A few seconds ticked by, and as Rook 4 reached halfway to the enemy plane, and just as it was itself entering range of the oil rig you triggered the arming sequence and watched the targeting reticle home in on your prey.
They immediately started to jinking left to right, but otherwise staying on target A delaying tactic, it wouldn't stop you getting a lock, but would make it take longer. This one was a cool customer then. They wanted that rig dead, and were willing to risk a missile up the tailpipe to achieve it

Roll 2 d100

 

[Ato]

-Introduction- 1.12

The reticle snapped onto target. The Tone sounded.

You pressed the firing stud.

Your last missile threw itself clear of your wing and surged forwards.You passed through the exhaust trail, momentarily clouding your vision, and when you emerged it was already drawing level with Erin's plane.
The hostile Firefly must have realised that the danger had suddenly increased, and broke hard left into a climb. Possibly preparing to go into an immelman to try and evade the weapon now shooting in their direction.

From this rangte the missile itself was invisible, instead you watched the silvery trail snake through the air, sliding left and right, matching the enemy aircraft's course. And then with almost impossible ease, it reached up and connected with the fleeing fighter, blossoming into a fiery flower of exploding fuel and metal.

Erin whooped with joy as she blew past the fireball and swooped low over the oil rig. "Scratch one bandit Rook 3."

You allowed yourself a smile beneath the oxygen mask. And then remembered that the fight was not over. You began turning your fighter around, back towards Rook 1 and the Khal team.

The sight that greeted you was sobering. One of the tiger striped Khal aircraft had dropped back with smoke coming from its cranked delta wing. The other two however were hounding Rook 1 relentlessly. They had both managed to get above the heavy fighter, and no matter what Rook 1 did, they timed their maneuvers to prevent him escaping either one of them. It was clear your flight leader was in trouble.

You keyed your mic. "Bandit is down, Rook 3 and 4 regrouping on you lead."

"Negative." It was Harold rook. "They are t-" A explosion rocked the distant shape of his Spectre, and it staggered drunkenly into a shallow dive trailing a plume of fire and debris.

Erin gasped in shock. "Rook 1, this is 4 please respond. Rook 1 please respond!"

A few seconds of agonising silence were all that filled the airwaves, whilst a pit of horror opened up with your gut.

Finally a weak voice crackled into life on the unit-wide band. "Oh god.. They got Harry." It was Miranda. "The controls are unresponsive. I'm going to have to eject." She sounded distant and almost mechanical. "Get out out of here you two."

"Hold on Miranda we're coming!" Erin interjected. On your display you could see her aircraft start to accelerate rapidly. She had hit her afterburners, and was going to try and intercept.

"That's an order Rook 4." The hint of steel in that command would have given most hardened veterans pause for thought.

"But-" Erin tried to argue, you thought you heard her choke back a sob.

"RUN! NOW!" Miranda screamed into the channel.

A puff of smoke erupted from the cockpit, and you saw a single ejection seat fling itself clear of the doomed aircraft. It sailed up in a ballistic arc, reaching an apex and beginning to plummet back down again before a white parachute unfurled and abruptly slowed it's descent.
Rook 1's Spectre carried on, until it struck the ground, leaving a blacked scar and funeral pyre burning across the white sands of the shoreline.

Rook 1 was down.


Erin's Kestrel slowed as she drew level with you.

Up high the aircraft of Khal team had formed up menacingly, but were not yet headed in your direction.

"She ejected." Erin said unnecessarily. "We've got to make sure gets down okay, and mark the location for Search and Rescue!" It sounded like she was trying to be resolute, but you heard the waver of uncertainty in her voice.


What do you do?

[] Get out of there.
[] Locate Miranda's landing site.
[] Fight Khal.

 

[Ato]

[X] Attempt to locate Miranda's landing site but prioritize our own safety and getting back to base; spend at most 6 fuel and bug out the moment Khal team moves to engage.


-Introduction- 1.13

You looked towards Miranda's slowly descending 'chute and made your decision. The boss was gone. Losing Miranda too would cripple the company.

"Alright. You check on her. I've got your back." You said.

You guided your fighter towards where you judged she would eventually land, keeping a careful eye on Khal team's aircraft. Which now seemed to be circling a distance away, like sharks after a kill.
By the time you arrived, Miranda had already touched down on the white sands of the beach. Erin dropped low, whilst you maintained altitude, if the Khals dropped down to engage you would be in a position to fend them off, even if would likely use up what little fuel you had left. Your wingman used her aircraft's low speed performance to make a slow pass, almost at treetop height.

"I see her!" Reported Rook 4. "Looks like she's okay. I can see her moving to the treeline."

Erin waggled her wings in signal to your downed teammate.

"She saw me." She continued. "I saw her wave."

"Okay." You replied "Log the position and let's get back to base."

Erin formed up on your wing, and you both turned your fighters east towards home. Khal did not follow.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After twenty minutes of flying the most economically you had in your life, you had managed to nurse your thirsty jet back over the coast, and swathes of jungle outback to see the dirty smudge of the unit's home base grow into view before you.

Kuang Rat.

Known as the 'Rat' by the contractors who worked there, a nickname that seemed equal parts derisive and affectionate, knowing which was hard to tell. It was the capital of the Myrian Coast province, from which the Republic of Yastar exercised control of the region's rich resources, and where several multinational corporations maintained their local offices. Not least of which was your current employer, Cascade Mineral Extraction.
The 'Rat' sat on the banks of the mud coloured Kelawi river, that slowly oozed it's way across the paddy fields and plantations to the nearby coast. The more prosperous central parts of the town, mostly constructed from brick and stone during the old colonial era, were surrounded by a series of increasingly ramshackle shanties, where they buildings were often wrought of no more than corrugated iron and plyboard.
To the north was the imposing bulk of the Bantoi Resources smelting works, that crouched over the nearby worker's shacks like some titanic metal spider. It belched a stream of blackened smoke into the sky, that was fed by daily barge shipments from the interior mines further upriver.
Across a grand but decaying stone bridge of several arches was the airfield. This served double duty as the 'Rat's' primary airport, receiving a flight or two a day from the Capital in the South, and as the home base of the local Yastari Air Force unit.

Generously, though perhaps somewhat helped by financial contributions from the corporations, the Air Force rented out several of the hangars and buildings that they weren't currently using. This policy had helped the 'Rat become of a hub for mercenary units in the Tienna Sea region, albeit a minor one.
It was in one of these leased compounds, Hanger 9, that Rooks Aerial Lancer's were currently based.

You aligned your aircraft with the approach vector and keyed the radio to the tower's frequency.

"KR Tower this Rook flight, two aircraft inbound vector 279, requesting landing clearance." For a few seconds there was no reply and your anxiety, still spiked from the tail end of life or death adrenaline during the dogfight, rose a notch.

"Copy that Rook Flight, we have you on screen. Cleared to land runway 18." There was a pause. "Two aircraft Rook flight? Did some of you get lost?"

Behind the visor of your flight helmet, your eye twitched.

"Negative KR tower, 2 aircraft only. Rook flight on approach." You replied, trying to keep your voice level.

The tower didn't comment any further. You put your Firefly into the glide slope, and triggered the hydraulics to lower your landing gear. You skimmed the tops of the runway end marker lights and a flared to bleed your excess airspeed just as the wheels touched tarmac. You brought the fighter down onto the paved strip and cut the throttle to idle.

After you had slowed sufficiently you retracted the dorsal airbrake, and turned off onto the taxi-way towards the unit hanger. Behind you Erin landed her Kestrel neatly, and followed your path.

As you rolled to a stop, the whole ground crew was waiting outside the empty hanger. They ran forward to secure the aircraft with chocks, and to begin the work of post flight maintenance and checks. You shut the engine down, hearing the turbines spool to a stop, and checked your gauges. The fuel needle sat just below the zero mark.
You popped the canopy, gulping down the fresh air that rushed in. Taking a moment to let the sweet breeze wash over you, and pulled the helmet off your head, feeling your hands shake slightly as you did so. You sat in your cooling fighter and stared ahead, not really seeing. Instead feeling the enormity of surviving your first combat mission suddenly push down upon you.

Someone spoke. You didn't really hear, but noticed that a ladder had been pulled up to allow you dismount. With effort you hauled yourself out of the cockpit and practically flowed down the ladder, feeling the solid earth beneath your feet as if for the first time.
A murmur of conversation filled the air around you, people asked questions, but you didn't answer. Instead you handed your helmet away, and shrugged off the parachute harness, before walking steadily towards the main building.


Inside you passed the lockers without pause and made it into the washroom, where almost failing in your strength grabbed a sink for support. Cold water ran from the tap, and you splashed it over your face. You stood there for a moment, letting yourself settle before you looked up into the mirror.


Who are you?

You are:
[] A man
[] A woman


Your background is that of:

[] A Mercenary Scion. Your mother was a famed mercenary fighter pilot who served in the mid-century brush wars. You had a spartan childhood travelling with her from one campaign to the another. You remember tense days waiting for her to come home from missions, and never really knowing where you would end up next.
She taught you to fly herself, and upon her tragic death in Borealia, she left her trusted plane to you. Now you follow in her footsteps, determined to make name for yourself.

[] An Aerial Dilettante. You had a pampered upbringing as a member of a fabulously wealthy Seraphoran banking house. However the life of board meetings and corporate power plays did not hold your interest. When you came of age you raided your trust fund to pay for flying lessons, and when you thought yourself ready, bought a combat capable fighter.
From there it was simply a matter of signing on with the first outfit that would take you.

[] A Military Deserter. A child of lawyers working in the ill-fated Kingdom Arania's capital, you excelled at study and graduated as a pilot from the Royal Air Force academy. When the revolutionary coup plunged the country into civil war you decided that you really didn't want to die for some self important aristocrats. As soon as the opportunity presented itself you absconded with your fighter and never looked back. With few other prospects, you have since signed on with a group of mercenaries.

[] A Dashing Scoundrel. You grew up on a sleepy backwater farm in rural Osira. At an early age you promised yourself that you would not be trapped by the same life of hard graft and rustic parochialism that your family embraced. You yearned for adventure and took it wherever you could, building up a reputation as a rogue and a rebel. You learned to fly on your uncle's cropduster, and soon after ditched your family to swindle and grift your way across the continent.
Falling in with a merc squadron is just the latest escapade in your short but eventful career.




A/N: This ends the introduction. After you have chosen your character you will run through the post-mission routine and get to grips with operating a mercenary company.

 

[Ato]

[x] A woman.
[x] A Mercenary Scion.


-Kuang Rat- 2.1

You stared at your own reflection, studying the sharp features that looked back at you. The pale skin, light green eyes, and short bob of black hair were the same as ever, even down to the teardrop shaped scar on your cheek. It was your face, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. That you were different since this morning, more than that, like you were now looking at a stranger

Your mother had tried to explain how being in combat, taking lives, seeing your comrades die, it changed a person. That no one truly knew who they were until they had been through it. You hadn't understood then.

Fuck.

You didn't understand now.


You closed your eyes and exhaled, counting to three. You could do this.
You had trained for it, perhaps all your life. From the time you were old enough to understand what your mother did, following in her footsteps had been your deepest desire. She had trained you herself, pushed you hard. Harder than others.
You had thought then that she had been trying to make you give up on the path you had chosen for yourself, you had resented her a little for that. Perhaps that hadn't been her goal at all. Maybe she had pushed you so hard all that time to prepare you… for this.

You opened your eyes again

You knew who you were.

You are Heike Remora, daughter of mercenary fighter ace Anke Remora, the renowned Eagle of Karletta. And one day your name would eclipse all others.


You pushed yourself away from the sink and left the washroom, the sound of a heated conversation from elsewhere in the building caught your ears. It was coming from further down the central corridor that ran the length of the Unit's building. You went towards the noise.

"What do you mean he never came back?" The question hung like lead in the air. None of the people gathered in the small office, which the unit used as a briefing room, seemed able to answer.
No one met your gaze as you entered.

"We saw him disengage." Erin continued, her voice pained. "Yang cleared the combat zone well before Khal arrived…" She trailed off.

"I don't know what to say." The new speaker was a woman in the uniform of the Yastari Air Force, wearing a major's rank insignia. You vaguely recognized her as the CO of the local garrison squadron. "Our radar did not pick up Pilot Yang's plane in range of this base. You said he was damaged yes? Well then i'm afraid it is very likely that he was forced to ditch en route."

A groan rose from around the room. It seemed like the whole unit was gathered there. What was left of it.
Erin stood at the centre with the Major. The Hanger Chief 'Manny' Aiana was slumped in a chair to one side, rubbing his forehead, whilst his daughter, and assistant Vivianne stood with a hand on his shoulder. Nina Reyes the unit's Armourer stood near the door, arms akimbo and a grimace on her features. Katsura Toshi, the communications tech sat at the main desk, fidgeting with a pen, and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

The major held her hands up in a placating gesture. "It's possible he was forced to divert, and made it to one of the bush strips. If so, the local villagers will report it to su eventually, iin the meantime I'll ask the patrols to keep an eye out."

"They were jumped by Tessari fighter over Yastar territory." Nina spoke out. "That has to be an act of war. What are you going to do about it?"

A slightly grimace flickered across the Major's face. "No doubt that's true. But our relations with the Tessari Union are... tense, especially in this region. I will send a report back to headquarters, but given the territorial dispute, and that you are a non-national unit, the most I can see happening is an official complaint from my government."

"So what because we are mercs, we don't fucking matter?" Erin retorted, her voice raising a notch.

The Major shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, The Tessari will just claim that you were in their airspace, at least the part we recognize as theirs, and that you fired first. My government can't, it won't got to war over this."

"We were protecting your territory. We stopped them hitting the oil rigs! Rook 1 died perhaps Miranda and Yang too! There has to be more to it than that." Erin pressed on.

"And I'm sure your employer will be grateful to you." The Yastari officer sighed. "If I had my way we would be hitting the bastards back. They have been pushing us for months, but my hands are tied."

This didn't seem to make any of the others feel better.

"Now if you will excuse me, I have some arrangements to make. Thanks to the coordinates supplied by your pilots, the search and rescue team should be going out for your downed comrade shortly."

With that she left.giving you a nod as she passed out of the door. With her departure a thick and awkward silence descended over the group.Toshi looked like he was going to say something, but then thought better of it.

Eventually Manny stood and announced that he needed to go and start working on the plane, before the local workers started getting ideas.Vivianne followed him out, giving you and Erin sympathetic glances. No sooner had they left the room, then a new arrival strode in.

"Hello? This is Rook's Aerial Lancers is it not?" He asked in a sharp tone.

Clothed in a light summer suit, and holding a briefcase which he deposited on the desk as he walked to the centre of the room. He turned to face you, surveying the room with a haughty demeanor.

"I am Leon Fisher, Cascade Minerals Deputy Regional Director for Contractor Relations. Which one of you would be Harold Rook?" He asked, throwing each of you a questioning look.

"He's dead." Replied Erin, her tone flat.

"I see." He said.You thought that perhaps he did not. "Miranda Rook perhaps? I see she is listed as a cosignatory on the contract."

"Missing." You ground out from between your teeth.

"Ah" He said. "How unfortunate. In any case I am here to issue a formal complaint of conduct on behalf of Cascade Minerals for the service your Unit was contracted to provide. Persuant to clause-"

"WHAT!" Erin exploded, and took a step towards the man, hands balling into fists. Nina stepped up to put a hand on her shoulder, halting the pilot from going further, but gave the Corporate flunky an equally hard stare.

"Explain." She said.

The man paled and swallowed audibly. Perhaps suddenly aware of the three women giving him death glares. Even Toshi ahd stood up and looked, pretty angry. Nina's eye patch probably added to the effect as well.

"Well, as I was… ah, saying. The company has found fault with the aforementioned contracted service, namely protecting our oil extraction infrastructure from threats. I am here to serve formal notice, and to inform you that further failure will be considered breach of said contract."

Erin shrugged off Nina's grasp and got right up in the Suit's face. "We protected your damn rigs, half of us were shot down doing it!"

"Well yes." The man replied,backpedaling. "Whilst there was no physical damage to the infrastructure, you retreated whilst hostile aircraft were still in the area. Our workforce abandoned their posts. We had to stop production, and..." Erin made to advance on him, and the suit trailed off again. "...However it seems there might have been mitigating circumstances. Perhaps if you were to fill me in on the details, I might be able to clear up the miscommunication. Who is the most senior operative remaining from the mission?"

Erin stopped and glanced back at you.


What do you do?

[] Tell the unvarnished truth.
[] Embellish the facts.
[] Blame the dead.
[] Beat the shit out of him.
[] Write in

 

[Ato]

[] Tell the unvarnished truth.

-Kuang Rat- 2.2-

The Suit followed Erin's gaze, and looked to you. You gathered yourself and stepped forward. Erin backed up and gave you space.

"Pilot Heike Remora, Rook 3." You identified yourself to him. "It was a routine patrol. The boss was leading us on a loop out to the line of control, and back over your drilling areas. 'Letting us get to know they lay of the land' he said.
We were on the return leg when we spotted a group of aircraft flying low and hugging the coast. They didn't respond when Rook 1 challenged them on the guard band, but when we got close he ID'd them as Tessari aircraft. He lead us is to try and warn them off, get them to hop back over to their side of the line, but as soon as we got close they climbed and began maneuvering to take shots at us."

"They went hard for us, no warning" Interjected Erin. "We only knew it was a fight when our threat receivers started going off."

"Right." You continued, and proceed to outline the basics of the following dogfight. Though perhaps verging occasionally into more technical language than was appropriate for the audience.The Suit seemed to be taking it in, but finally began to fidget towards the end. Checking his watch, and beginning to tap his foot absent mindedly.

"The boss took on the reinforcements whilst we intercepted the last bandit in the middle of an attack run on one of your rigs. I blew that last one away before he could even launch" You explained, finishing up. "We wanted to go back to help, but they nailed him before we could do anything. Not to mention I was winchester and running on fumes."

"Winchester?" He asked, with a quirked brow.

"Out of ammo." Stated Nina flatly, from the position she had taken leaned against a nearby desk.

"Miranda told us to retreat before she bailed out. Yeah we got out whilst Khal still held the skies, but it was either that or die." You looked him fiercely, letting your eyes bore into his own untill he blinked, and your voice dropped low. " We did the job, we protected your 'assets', and it cost us hard. Miranda, she's still out there, Harold's gone, and now Yang is missing."

You stepped forward as you spoke, coming right up into Fisher's face, so close that you almost touched.

"If you try and fuck us after this..." You let your words fall even lower to a hard edged whisper, dripping with the promise of future malice. "Well, someone will have to pay in the end."


You stepped back and watched a mixture of emotions seemingly war across the man's face.


Roll d20+3

 

[Ato]

-Kuang Rat- 2.3

Fisher stumbled backwards, clearly desperate to get away from you. His flailing arm only just caught the desk behind him and he braced himself against it, his face suddenly pale.
"I- I- I" He stammered weakly, you let a grin slide onto your face. He took a breath and made an attempt at composing himself. "I see that there has been some sort of mistake."

You arched in eyebrow questioningly.

"And.. and I will inform the office accordingly." He snatched up his briefcase and darted towards the door. "Excuse me.. Ah Ladies. I must go! An urgent appointment, I just remembered!" With those parting words he disappeared., almost stumbling over his own feet in his haste to escape the briefing room. The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway as he broke into a run.

A silence lingered in the room, none of the others speaking until Reyes cracked a smile.

"Damn Remora, the look in your eyes… I thought you were going to kill that puto." She laughed. "Looked like he thought so too. Pretty boy nearly pissed his pants."

"Do you think he still might fuck us?" Interjected Erin, looking pensive.

You turned to face them. "Nah. I think he got the message. Besides.." Then let a sly curl form on your lips. "We know where he lives."
Erin laughed nervously.

Another silence fell upon the group. It wasn't comfortable, it was as if you all knew the question had to be asked, but nobody wanted to be the one to voice it. Erin looked at you. Toshi fiddled with some gadget on the desk. You looked at Reyes, who was in the middle of lighting up a cigarette she had just fished out of her jacket pocket.

"So what now?" You asked.

She took a long drag, savouring it, and then blew out a cloud of twisting smoke. "Honestly?" She shrugged. "I'm not sure. Harold is dead, Miranda and Yang are MIA. Fuck if I know who is meant to be in charge now. Whatever that was just happened." She took another drag. "As far as I can see all we can do is wait for the SAR birds to come back."

"We should go up again. Help the search." Erin said firmly. You opened your mouth to agree with her, but Reyes shook her head.

"And do what? Land your jet in a rice paddy and pick them up? The Yasties have the coordinates you gave them. They'll get the job done, by the time Manny has your birds turned around it will be all over. There is no use fretting over things you can't change."
She sighed and her voice softened. "Besides, you two are so beat that you probably wouldn't be able to fly straight anyway. I know it sucks but but there is nothing you can do about it."

"But…" You trailed off, unable to think of a way to argue.

"But nothing." She said firmly, but with a gentle smile. "Now two boot combat pilots who just popped their cherries have no business moping around here. You two chicas need to go and relax. Be ready for when we need you. By tomorrow morning Miranda will be back, and can kick all our asses into shape."

You and Erin shared an uncertain glance.

"Oh for…" Exasperated, Reyes took you both by the shoulders and spun you towards to the door. "We'll take care of everything. Go!"

"Toshi go with them, make sure neither sneaks back before morning." The comm tech gave an ironic, sloppy, salute and stood to follow.


You filed out, and returned to the locker rooms. There you peeled yourself out of the remains of your flight suit, which by now were smelling pretty ripe, and hit the showers. Letting the warm water soak over you helped relieve some of the tension knotted upin your insides, but as you dried yourself off you could still feel a it dragging at you.

You went back to your locker and pulled out some running shorts and a light sleeveless top. The calisthenic routines you used to run through when training with your mother had always helped you feel more centred. Whenever you had been upset or angry, usually after an argument with her, or so worried that you couldn't sleep whilst she was on a mission, running had helped everything seem better. Like the whole world just fell away and you could focus on the task you needed to complete, reaching the next marker, pushing yourself a little further. It was the closest you ever felt to being in the cockpit, it would be just what you needed right now.
You put the clothes on and made to leave. out in the corridor Erin was already cleaned up, wearing a rugged set of trousers, a tight t-shirt bearing the faded logo of some Wessian band, and a old flight jacket. She was chatting to Toshi, as he slouched up against the wall. You nodded to them as you walked past, heading towards the outer door.

"Hey Heike." Erin spoke up when she noticed you. "Toshi and I were going to Ruby's. Wanna come?"

Ruby's was a bar just over the bridge from the airfield, it was popular with the foreign flight crews and contractors that frequented the 'Rat. You had been there once when Harold had taken the whole company out as part of welcoming you and Erin to the unit. It hadn't been totally unpleasant, but drinking and bars weren't your thing. You had sat there awkwardly sipping a soda as the whole crew drank themselves nearly catatonic. Eventually you just made excuses and returned back to the accommodation, whilst everyone else danced until the early hours of the morning.

You looked back a them, Erin smiled at you expectantly.


[] Go with Erin and Toshi to the bar
[] Go running as you had planned.


You have 3 stress.

Stress is accumulated as a result of events in missions, and is rolled against prior to each new mission. Failing a stress check results in negative consequences to your character's abilities or relationships with others.
Stress can be cleared by indulging in vices during rest periods in the game. When partaking in a vice you risk having to take part in a dare which will come with potentially negative consequences. Indulging too much in a vice can result in addiction.

Your current vices are Callisthenics and Brawling. Going to the bar will count as attempting a new vice (drinking) and will come with increased risks.

 

[Ato]

[X] Go running as you had planned.

-Kuang Rat- 2.4-

You wavered for a moment and then shook your head.

"Sorry, I need to go clear my head."

Erin looked disappointed, but shrugged.

"No worries, come join us if you feel in the mood later yeah?"

You paused for a moment, not wanting to commit to anything. "Maybe…" You said finally.

Erin broke into a smile. "Great! We'll have beer waiting for you. Come on Tosh, you're buying." With that she turned and began walking to the main entrance.
Toshi shrugged with a smile and pushed off the wall to follow her.

You made your own way out of the back door into a small area of wasteland behind the hanger. Douglas, one of the assistant maintenance techs, and Yang had cleared it and fashioned some makeshift gym equipment out of scrap and junk aircraft parts.
Stepping around a set of weights made from rebar and landing gear, you began doing some warm up stretches. Feeling the taut muscles moving in patterns under your skin was good. Familiar.
After a while you decided you had limbered up enough and set off at a measured pace along the perimeter fence. You figured you would do a circuit of the field and then see how much further you wanted to go.

Roll 1d20

 

[Ato]

-Kuang Rat- 2.5-

As you rounded the last guard tower, you could see the main buildings of the airbase ahead, you had almost completed a full circuit of the field and your legs were singing with the burn of exertion.

It felt good.

Each breath of air tasted sweeter, your vision seemed clearer. The fog that had clouded over your thoughts since landing was gone. The world around you was alive with sights and sounds. Birds chirping to each other in the distant trees, the wind rustling the weeds and gently rocking the wire fence back and forth a distant engine being spun over, the sound of your own feet repeatedly crunching on the gravel. You drank it all in.

On impulse you decided against running back to the hanger, turned left on the access road, and towards the town itself. The barrier at the main gate was down, preventing vehicles from driving in without stopping at the checkpoint. A group of guards lounged around a hut, one resting his arm easily on a heavy machine gun mounted in a sandbag emplacement.

You ducked around the barrier and kept running. Behind you one of the guards shouted after you angrily in Yastari, but you ignored them, and they did not seem bothered enough to chase you. Most of the land around the airbase was unused, but a few peddlars had set up stalls selling everything from street food to hand crafted trinkets. Some called out, in broken Wessian, trying to hawk their wares. You ignored them too. Each time your foot fit the ground sent a small cloud of dust rising up from the road. You kept going.
Ahead of you was the bridge to the old town itself, it was a large construction of heavy stone blocks. The sides were intricately carved with depictions of flowers and animals, though most heavily weathered and cracked. It had probably been built hundreds of years ago.

After crossing you turned again and began following the crumbling line of the old city walls, left over from a long ago era when the 'Rat had been the capital of some petty kingdom. Below you in the canal that encircled the old town, a few children played with a mangy looking dog, throwing a stick across for it to splash through the brackish water and retrieve.

Eventually you came to a section where the wall had crumbled away entirely, leaving a gap where you could cross into the town itself. Ahead you could hear shouting and the sharp crack of wood hitting wood. As you reached the gap you saw an amphitheatre like area where weathered stone steps lead down to an arena that was sunk into the earth. A crowd of locals were gathered, some standing, others sitting, most seemed to be yelling words of encouragement to two men who were trading blows in the arena itself.
The men were bare chested and barefoot, both wearing only a simple pair black trousers adorned with coloured sashes one yellow, the other blue. They were fighting with pairs of sticks using them to both block attacks, and make strikes of their own.
The yellow sash appeared to have the upper hand, his movements were fluid and fast. His strikes seemed to flicker out and catch his opponent off guard, before any defence could be mounted. You recognized this, it was Mogok, a martial art popular around the Tienna sea region. You had trained in it when your mother had spent two seasons contracted to the Angyikan National Republic. The old fightmaster who had been your teacher had praised you for learning the forms quickly, as if you you could have done any less. Your mother had trained you in several martial arts, and in every new country that she had taken you to, you had learned the local styles.

You slowed down and came to a stop, watching the martial display.

For all the skill on display, the opponents are not well matched. Blue kept falling for Yellow's feints and seemed to be constantly out of position. Every mis-step seemed to only make him more eager to land a strike in the next opening.
Blue sash lunged low, trying to hit Yellow's leg which appeared to have been left exposed. instantly you knew that it was a mistake. Yellow had baited the attack, twisted out of the way effortlessly and letting the the stick in his right hand sweep smoothly into blue's shoulder with an audible thwack. Blue stumbled forward, and tried to turn. From your vantage point you saw Yellow purposefully angle his foot in just the right place to trip his opponent. This was technically an illegal move in formalised Mogok bouts, and was considered extremely poor form. No one else seemed to notice.

Blue landed roughly in the dirt, before rolling over. Yellow pointed a stick at his his face and barked a word in a language you did not recognise. Blue accepted his defeat and dropped his sticks.
The crowd cheered. Yellow helped blue up and clapped the other man on the back. Both seemed to be smiling.

You noticed several old men sitting on the upper steps who were exchanging money. Several people from the crowd went up to them and came away looking pleased, others lingered nearby looking less so.
A bored looking local police officer stood near the top, eating a piece of fried chicken on a stick

As the defeated man left the arena, helped away by a young woman who seemed to be fussing over him, the man in the Yellow sash remained. He had a lean physique that drew your eye to the muscles of his chest and arms as they moved. An intricate serpent tattoo coiled around his torso and up onto his neck. He had a sharp jaw face, and close cropped back hair that was shaved at the sides. He thrust the stick in his right hand up into the air and called out to the crowd his bright eyes scanning over the people as he did so.
You didn't understand the words, but you knew he was calling for a new challenger.

The adrenaline in you still sang, and you itched to do something to keep it going, anything.


[] Bet on the next fight
[] Enter the arena as a challenger
[] Call the victor out as a cheat.


-1 Stress

You failed the vice roll, and so now have to complete a dare.

 

[Ato]

[X] Bet on the next fight

-Kuang Rat- 2.6-

An strange urge took hold of you and you hopped over the tumbledown fragments of the old city wall and onto the upper level of the arena, skirting around the clusters of watching locals who sat or stood on the stepped embankment.

Yellow called out his challenge again, and after a a bit of motion form the lower crowd, a new man stepped up. He was big, easily a head taller than the previous victor, he wore no sash or black trousers however, and seemed to be dressed in the same sort of cheap street clothing that most of the labourers in the 'Rat sported. The new man tugged off his shirt to reveal slabs of well toned muscle, and then entered the ring. He was likely just a local worker, you noticed the soot and rust stained trousers, probably for the ironworks, and not a member of whatever Mogok school the rest of the fighters were part of. Strong to be sure from the daily back breaking labour, but probably not as skilled.

You reached the huddle of old men who appeared to be taking bets near the street entrance and dug into a pocket to pull out a bundle of local bills. Proffering it towards them and saying 'Petarhu', the Yastari word for bet. One took your money without a word and began leafing through it, methodically counting the notes. You hadn't really paid much attention, but what you had just given over was probably enough for a local family to live a week on. The other old men sahred yellowed grins, and continued to chew on their Yaht root.
Meanwhile Yellow spoke out in the local language it sounded formal and ritualised, and his opponent echoed it, bowing his head slightly before picking up a pair of the fighting sticks that rested on the dusty stones of the fighting circle.

You watched the two fighters sizing each other up, each paying attention to how the other moved and shifted their weight.

One of the old men, a wizened ancient that seemed to be their ringleader, croaked something that you didn't quite catch. Bringing your attention back to him, you asked him to repeat in Yastari. Clicking his tongue and speaking slowly as if to a particularly stupid child he pointed at each of the fighters in turn, speaking the words for 'Champion' and 'Challenger'.
He was asking who you would bet on.

[]The Yellow Champion
[]The New Challenger