[X] Name: Kyle Stevens
[X]Male
[X] Disgraced Officer: Due to a mishap in orders and the general confusion of battle, the company under your command was essentially wiped from the face of the planet during the opening stages of the war. Almost immediately, you were crucified as over eager officers clamored for your position. The remainder of your troops were reconsolidated into a new unit with a new commanding officer, and you were promptly tossed into the ranks of the Nameless.
Boon:
Your Junior Officer, Sylvia, has also been tossed into the Nameless. Your bond with each other has only been strengthened during this time, turning her in an extremely loyal friend and confidant.
Ally: Sylvia Bourdous
A bead of sweat rolled down your cheek, and dripped onto your rusting paldrons. The back of your undershirt had moistened as well, sticking to your back as you shifted in your armor in discomfort. The sun was unrelenting, and you didn't have a helmet to protect your from its rays. So now you didn't even have the luxury of awaiting death in peace. A sigh escaped your lips, and your brushed sweat from your brow, the metal on your gauntlet only splashing some in your eye.
Hearing your curse, another soldier sidled up to you. Her blonde hair was braided down to the back, hidden inside her hauberk. Her stony gray eyes glanced up at you with trepidation, before they settled upon the encroaching army. Unlike you, with your near full plated armor, Sylvia only had her hauberk and buckler for protection. Her brown trousers were made out of simple cloth, and a thin belt around her waist held the sheath for her short sword. She was lightly armored, frightfully so, but none in The Nameless would express any concern.
511210 was tattooed onto her neck, those numbers ready to flare up at anytime to enforce control. That placed her position among them the very lowest, despite her earlier success as a junior officer in the military. You felt a pang of guilt. She'd ended up like that because of you. When you were first accused, she was the first to stand up for you, and she'd ultimately paid the price. Even more so than you. After all, they'd cut--
The wailing sound of a trumpet reached your ears. The enemy had settled into position, their numerous pikes still aimed in the air and their shields glinting proudly in the sun. You could hear shouts as the men formed their battle lines properly. You scoffed. As if there was any need for that. The Nameless were vastly outnumbered, having been culled through attrition. There was no other unit in Delvah who could claim to have fought as much battles as the Nameless have.
Silence descended as the two masses stared at each other; one prepared for death, the other already celebrating their victory.
Yet the enemy didn't make any sudden moves. Licking your lips, you watched as a single bird flew from their ranks, heading towards the top of the imposing walls behind you.
"Those what I think they are?"
"Yep, terms 'n all that. Think they'll accept?"
"That lot? Har, doubt it."
Your men murmured, scorn evident in their tone. They weren't wrong either. The Delvan royalty were notorious for their pride. Craning your neck, you stared as the bird continued it's flight...and was promptly shot out of the sky in a burst of fire. Peh. Some mage was showing off. But the message was clear. Fallory would fight on to glory or death. Blackened and burned feathers slowly drifted among you, falling to the earth like your last dregs of hope. A defiant cry had been taken up by the defenders of the city, their banners waving back in forth as they shouted at the invaders
Finally, you spoke, "Alright boys, shields up and all that. Prepare to meet the enemy." Apathy wouldn't even begin to describe the tone of your voice. Besides you, Sylvia raised her shield in a mock imitation of the Fallory defenders, her eyes rolling all the while. Your men booed and catcalled you, yet none of it was truly serious.
"Ah, shut the hell up. Still can't get that stick outta yer ass, even at the end?"
"Hey, hey now! You're supposed to call him 'sir'."
"Oh, yes sir. We'll be ready to die, sir. Gonna drink up all the alcohol and fuck all the wenches in hell, sir!"
Laughter spread through the ranks of your men. Even your lips curled up a bit before you waved a dismissive gesture. They fell silent and watched for the first move of the invaders. Normally, this is the part where the arrows would be sent flying, siege weapons would let their loads fly, and the cavalry would come charging in. Yet...silence. What are they waiting for? This heat is really getting to me.
Finally, their frontline shifted, letting a small group of horseman pass through, their green banners waving as they trotted towards The Nameless. Far too few for a cavalry attack. In fact, this seemed more like a--
"...Sylvia, grab some packhorses, would you?"
Understanding flooded her eyes, and she nodded, pushing through the soldiers towards the back of the lines. Not one of the Nameless were mounted. They were strictly an infantry force, and horses were far too expensive to waste on them. The small group of riders were now galloping the plains, dirt kicking up behind them, before they stopped an even distance from the Nameless lines. Well out of range of magical or projectile attack.
Meet us halfway.
It was obvious they wanted a parley. Neighing reached your ears, and Sylvia emerged, simply shouldering her way past other Nameless as she led two chunky packhorses to the front. Unaware of the danger, they simply nipped at the grass, lightly chomping as they glanced around lazily. Placing your foot in the stirrups, you pulled yourself up as the horse watched you with disinterest. If only I could be as carefree and ignorant.
"You're with me, Sylvia. Oi, you! Give Sylvia a banner."
"What the fuck for?"
"We're a recognized military unit...technically speaking. We have to make this as official as possible."
"Hear that, boys?! We're officially recognized now."
"Ah, shut up and give Sylvia the banner." Hoots followed you as the pair of you rode out to meet the envoy. There wasn't a damn thing the Fallory defenders could do about it either. They wouldn't waste any resources to stop you from going. They expected our reputation to precede us. There was a light flutter in your stomach.
The ranks of The Nameless shrunk, and you pulled your packhorse into a minor trot as you approached. The invaders watched you warily, the soldiers with their hands on their swords. They were spread out protectively around an older man, weathered lines and graying mustache indicating his age.
His gravelly voice spoke out, "Greetings, soldiers of The Nameless--" His eyes flicked between you and Sylvia, "--It is just the two of you?"
You snorted, "Yes. Just us. Delvah doesn't hold our lives in high esteem."
"Yes, as we've noticed. In nearly every battle we've fought, your black banner was a common sight at the frontlines. Many of your units also perished into delaying actions as the regular army retreated. At first, we thought it was simple bravery. Then our men noticed the numbered tattoos on your necks. A penal battalion, eh?"
"More or less. There are some volunteers here and there, but yes, the Nameless are a penal battalion." It didn't matter what the man thought. He couldn't express what your own citizens haven't already. The disgust was evident in his eyes, you could see it. Sylvia could too.
"What about you? Second in command or some such?" The man pointed a gauntleted finger at Syvlia, who merely glanced away, the black tattoo glistening with sweat. The clear rejection brought anger to the man's eyes, "Hey, I'm speaking to--"
"She doesn't talk." You cut him off curtly.
"Why?! In my command, no soldier would dare disresp--"
"They cut out her tongue."
The man fell silent. The soldiers behind him looked on at Sylvia with some pity.
"Hmm, it's as we thought. The very reason we decided on a peaceful envoy even as the Delvan royalty shot down our terms of surrender."
Oh?
The man droned on, "We've come specifically to you Nameless for a treaty of sorts."
"Lay down our arms and hope you don't slaughter us? Well, hate to break it to you but--"
"Nothing so crass. Simply leave. Break formation, and leave the city of Fallory. We will not follow you and we will not fire on you."
"...That seems generous. What if we regroup and smash your men from the rear?"
"Then we'd reconsolidate and decimate you. We'll lose men in the surprise but you won't break their discipline. They're far too trained for that."
Well, considering it's only been a few months, and they'd brought Delvah to it's knees, you didn't feel like arguing. Sylvia simply shrugged at you. She was fine with whatever decision you were going to make.
"So, what do you say? Will you gather your men and leave?"
[] Yes (reasoning here)
[] No (reasoning here)
[] Write in
AN: There is no correct answer, just an overarching change to the plot. Saying no will not result in instant death. The choice is too binary so I feel like I have to explain this.