[MS] Ruins of the Nameless Village

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Karl Jak

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A bustling (compared to many of the other 'sleepier' villages on the landmass) village, 'the Nameless Village' is nestled around and on a hill. A nice balance of simplicity and rustic beauty.
 

Karl Jak

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Whispers in taverns about military defeats have reached the Nameless Village.

People are scared, frustrated, and wondering what the future might bring.
 

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To make matters worse, a young man in gold-trimmed armor strode into the village square and handed the elder a piece of clay tablet.

Once the man had left, the Elder looked down at the message, and his face grew pale.

"What's the matter?" His adult daughter remarked as the older man turned to look at her.

"Grave tidings," he whispered as he passed her the tablet.

"Please be prepared to accept new management in the near future, otherwise we will be required to use extreme force to ensure that you are safeguarded from the chaos to come. The Armada has fallen and can no longer fulfill its former obligations.

Sincerely,

Gilgamesh of Babylonia.
"
 

Azula

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The messenger was at the end of his wits. What type of village was just called the “Nameless Village”? How the hell was he supposed to know where that was?

At last, he stumbled upon the place, moving in to deliver Azula’s missive to the town elders.

By Royal Decree—

The Miniskirt Armada lives. Your lives are now under the benevolent protection of Princess-Commander Azula, who firmly rules from Fortress Briggs to the north after reclaiming a village previously held by the Unmade monstrosities and personally capturing a premier general of the Hell Divers.

She extends an offer of protection to the Nameless Village in exchange for your renewed allegiance to the Miniskirt Armada, and looks forward to greeting your emissary at Fortress Briggs to the north. She also offers you the opportunity to take a vote and finally bestow upon yourselves… a name.

Let our enemies burn and our friends shine bright,
Princess-Commander Azula & The Burning Legion
 

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Azula marched up to the edge of the village and was met by a row of indigant villagers, armed with gilded pikes.

"You want our homes, you'll have to kill us first!" One of them screamed.

News of Uxmal travels fast, so it would seem.

***

Battle Statistics

Babylonia: 100 Villagers
Miniskirt Armada: ~750 Combat Soldiers (like I said in the salt-mines, I need to audit, so this is a rough estimate <3)

Miniskirters, you have 8 hours to post at most 2 roleplays from 2 unique writers if you intend to take this village by force. After 8 hours, regardless of who posts, this battle will be resolved.
Babylonian, you can write in this time frame as well as NPC villagers but collaborate with the other side so they know if you plan to reference someone.​

Nameless Village
Defenders = 100 Villager militia

VS

“Burning Legion”
General: Azula
Soldiers: Stheno

"Pepsico"
Lieutenant: Pepsiman

"This Sick Beat"
Lieutenant: Sergeant Swift
 
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Azula

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Azula held up a hand as her soldiers went to sprint into action. “Stand down.”

Confusion rippled through the ranks as, slowly, the Burning Legion and its compatriots paused in their assault, resuming their formation behind their fire Princess-Commander. Sergeant Swift glanced back at her unit, muttering for them to shake it off.

The teenage tyrant glanced over her shoulder at her troops. “I’ve heard your whispers,” she said. “We inherited a broken Armada. I aim to fix it, but a revolution can’t be won in a weekend. But it can be won by a skilled leader, with time.”

Just inside the village, the leader of the Babylonian resistance stepped forward. “Gilgamesh laughs at the pathetic girl who stands before you,” he shouted.

Azula bristled, but remained focused on her troops. “None of you will die today.”

The whizz of an arrow racing towards her reached her ears, and she spun around, waving her hands before her face and conjuring a disk of fire that immolated the projectile seconds before it hit her. As the flames before her dissipated, she stepped toward the roughly one hundred ‘Babylonians’ who’d so easily swapped their allegiances, who’d kow-tow’d to Gilgamesh without so much as a whimper. Dogs, all of them, and on a short leash — a leash Azula intended to free them of.

She stepped forward, radiating something like strength or confidence, but probably closer to arrogance. The Babylonians, all squatted into fighting positions, remained still like the worms they were. Yes, they fought for Gilgamesh, but they weren’t soldiers. And she might be sadistic and without remorse, but she knew when there were better uses of her time.

“I don’t plan on killing any of you, either,” she shrugged, “unless you make me.”

Blue flames swirled around the fire princess’ closed fist. “How simply you flocked to the golden boy,” she tsked, moving up and down the line of soldiers. “Was it fear? Did he offer you riches? He certainly didn’t offer you any sense of purpose, if you’re actually willing to stand here and let me and my Legion burn you alive. I won’t say that you all don’t look perfectly capable, but look at your odds. If you fight us, you will die.”

She smirked. “And I’m not above incinerating every single one of you myself, and burning your entire town to the ground,” she continued. “I can, and I will. But, again: I don’t want to. I don’t want this village to go from being nameless to completely nonexistent.”

“Roy Mustang failed you,” she frowned. “He capitulated to a would-be god, more concerned with his own glory than defending you from monsters to the north. I come with a message: nothing is more important than destroying the Unmade Carnaval, and no one here is more concerned with that than me, your rightful Princess-Commander Azula. We’ve tried to reason with the Hell Divers; they chose to engage in petty squabbles and betray us. You’ve seen that Gilgamesh would rather you lay down your lives to me than invest in your own survival.”

The villagers bristled a bit, but remained largely inscrutable. Azula took a breath; she’d grown a little better at giving impassioned speeches over the past few days, but she knew still that she had hurdles to overcome. She was, after all, a teenage girl, and despite her impressive skill, despite her achievements, that was always going to be working against her. Everyone always underestimated her, and always would. It wasn’t unusual.

“So I present to you a choice, Nameless Villagers,” she lifted her flaming fist. “Remember your true allegiance to us, the Miniskirt Armada,” she offered, “or perish. Should you refuse us, I will order my Legion to raze this town to the ground and we will move forward without another thought.”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to kill you,” she blinked, “but I will. There is nothing more important than destroying those monsters and protecting everyone -- including you -- from them, and that means that anyone who tries to get in our way is an obstacle. I don’t think you are obstacles. I think you are worthy of our protection.”

“Now, the decision lies with you. Do you think you’re worthy?”

Azula offers the villagers of the Nameless Village the opportunity to save their lives and capitulate to the Miniskirt Armada. If they refuse, she will order the Legion to destroy the town and leave no survivors or remnants of it.

She attempts to use “Natural Conqueror” (Master Skill: Intimidation 4) to accomplish this.
 
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Someone stepped forward and smiled and smug grin.

"You blew up Uxmal, and you take about as much care of that fortress of yours as Roy did with his castle." He spit at her feet. "Your words are hollow. We'd rather die Nameless than follow you into an abyss."

To punctuate that, an arrow sank into Azula's right shoulder, staggering the princess, who turned her focus back just in time to see the crowd of rabble descending onto her.

There was nothing wrong with what was another splendid little Azula post, but between low Morale for Miniskirt lands, news of Briggs, and news of Uxmal, they're not buying what she's selling.

Azula suffers a Minor injury.
 

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"Okay, the Hell Divers blew up Uxmal, you idiots," she shouted to no one in particular. "But fine. Have it your way."

She ripped the arrow out of her shoulder and slammed it into the neck of the nearest villager, turning to her own 'rabble.'

"Kill them all and burn the village to the ground," she shrugged. "We're leaving."
 

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The village smoldered, it's people having been more than willing to die down to the last.

If someone else wanted to post for this scene, you can -- I'll just repost this blurb.

The Miniskirt force lost 30 soldiers.
 

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“Ungrateful bastards.” Stheno growled, shining her flamethrower as she sat in the wreckage of the nameless village. “She gives them a second chance and they pull this stunt. I guess you can’t expect much from a group too dumb to even name their own town.”

Once again, the Legion had gone through an utterly one-sided slaughter. Once again, the warrior had gone without a challenge. Once again, she had not even taken a single injury. She knew that she really shouldn’t be complaining about an easy job, but the lack of real action was seriously starting to piss her off.

“You alright?” One of the nearby soldiers, wide and stocky, asked while clearing his shotgun. The gorgon had already gathered a small group of tough fighters before, purely through sheer force of personality, but rumours of her promotion were pulling her an even wider, tougher and more loyal group of warriors.

“Tch, you know how it is.” She sighed, pulling Ladon out to start working on the blade. “I thought I’d get a good fight here, but all I’m doing is slaughtering peasants with bows and arrows.”

“You said it.” A tall, skinny soldier replied, putting his rifle down before crossing his arms with an irritated expression. “Feels like we’re just kicking over kid’s sandcastles. I honestly feel pretty bad about it.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t.” A short, fiery woman replied, half-sitting, half-laying on a collapsed piece of rubble as she twirled a Bowie knife around in her fingers. “Are these people even real? Like, how the hell did they get here? I bet they all came out of Karl’s cloning vats.”

“Who or what they are doesn’t really concern me.” Stheno grunted, sparks flying from Ladon’s edge as she dragged a whetstone along its length. There was really no point to sharpening the mostly unused blade, but it had a therapeutic effect, as if promising that she would be using it soon. “All that matters to me is if they put up a decent fight and if I get paid for killing ‘em.”

Her entourage gave a chorus of murmured agreements as they began preparing to move out, holstering their weapons and shouldering their packs. The gorgon glanced around at the congregation, noticing a number of vaguely familiar faces but unable to place any names to them. No worries, she’d remember their names when they proved themselves. “Think you’re going to get a challenging fight, bo- I mean, Stheno?”

“Heh. I think I just might.” She said, lifting her machete in a wide arc before sliding it into its sheath. “Those unmade bastards. They’re not on Jak’s shit list for no reason. I bet they won’t go down easy.”

“I dunno, I think you’re one of the toughest S.O.B… or, D.O.B.’s, I guess, on this island.” One of her followers cackled, slightly hyena-like in her laugh.

“Ha! Well… we’ll see soon enough. I’d say that we can collect unmade heads to see who’s the toughest, but god knows that one kill could give like four heads or something.” The gorgon grinned, giving a short, sharp laugh of her own in response. “Alright, boss’ll be getting antsy soon. Come on everyone, let’s move out.”
 
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