From Chaos Sown We Reap The Yields of Justice!

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #1}

---

^{Six years ago, The United Farms of Windia sought out that which they had previously refused. Sacrificing autonomy in order to persevere through increasingly trying times during the Golden Age of Piracy, its people, its lands, its identity all fell into place under the banner of the World Government. In exchange for political and commercial loyalty, it had been granted the protection of the government’s police and military forces when required. And now, as the world sailed yet deeper into the New Age, it needed that protection…}

^{—— AT SEA, APPROX. 3 NAUTICAL MILES FROM SHORE ——}

A strong sea breeze billowed against the sails of a moderately sized Marine vessel, its hull cutting through the lazurite waters of the West Blue. The course had been set; their destination? Flat Farm Island, more specifically the coastal town of Paddyville. Recently besieged by pirates, the gentle hillscapes offered a naturally defensible position in comparison to the mostly flattened plains of the rest of the country. Windia’s primary farmland for rice and taro had been, in the last fortnight, transformed into a piratical fortress.

The locals wanted them out.

… Her mind mostly silent as she sat in her office, Yngvildr Yvionne simply cast plum eyes upon the parchments that lay upon the desk before her. In all official capacity, this was a Captain’s office, but the Junior Lieutenant had been granted the privilege of commanding the vessel and its units for the sake of the mission. It was a temporary measure to suit the needs of the mission, as were the troops that had been assigned to the contingent. But for them, she seldom cared, so long as they upheld duty and discipline.

With one glance at the map upon which had been inked the intended landing spot, and another to the freshly printed image of a flat-faced man with prominent brow and coarse hair tied into a long rattail, Yvie stood up. The mission was simple, an elaborate stratagem unnecessary; all they needed to do was make landfall about a mile north, then march south into the town. The enemy would have little time to react. No defence would go unbroken. No pirate would be left standing.

She approached the office door, taking a moment to unpeg her Justice Coat and rest it over her shoulders. Rested upon a woven straw mat, the large head of an immense, square-headed hammer glimmered with a dull turquoise iridescence. One hand wrapped around the haft, effortlessly raising it from the mat and resting it over her shoulder. The door opened, through it she stepped, the knocking of black boots upon timbers sticking justly to rhythm as she advanced down the corridor and out onto the upper deck of the ship. A strong breeze ruffled steely locks and warm sun heated medium fair skin, but plum eyes gazed with cold emptiness across the horizon, then rank and file…

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
_{Yvionne silently prepares herself for the coming battle, assessing her troops’ strategy and their enemy’s face before stepping out onto the deck in preparation to command her forces.}

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade

[The Love Ballad]

Three sabres unpolished, each to a seaman, each repolished and stored correctly... Dubrovnik Ragusa let the mantra flutter through his head without nary a second thought. The near-constant repeating of the morning's stock-take and requisite corrections had filled a comfortable niche in the back of his mind, the recollection of the day thus-far slowly being burnt into his memories. The practice was ongoing, a comfortable through-line in an otherwise chaotic existence. Yet making order out of chaos was what Ragusa did best. That was the duty of a competent NCO.

The mission to Flat Farm Island held no particular meaning for the quartermaster, he'd merely received his orders and had shipped out not long after. By all means, the mission was so standard in its scope that it had barely even registered when Ragusa had first received notice of their orders. It wasn't until he'd been informed that the command structure would be significantly altered that he had begun to doubt the nature of the mission. 

His cause of concern was, of course, who had been put in charge of the contingent. Ragusa wasn't fond of Junior Lieutenants at the best of times, let alone when they had operational command and an apparent lack of supervision. Far too many fresh-faced idealists had sent good men to their deaths in pursuit of some kind of philosophical or moral victory in the field. There were ways things were to be done, and Ragusa wanted those procedures followed.

That was not to say that he did not like the CO, he barely knew a thing about her, and further it was beside the point, they had their orders. As such, Ragusa found himself on the deck of the ship, sun beating down on his already bronzed and leathered skin. A few marines, mostly younger seamen, attended to the sails of the ship. However, there was little need for much care and attention. The weather was fine, near perfect, and the course unwavering. A few others ran through basic sword drills, the kind of routine exercise that was near-mundane for most members of the corps. For his own part, Ragusa found himself overseeing and assisting those seamen altering and hoisting the rigging. He was halfway through tying off a rope that he had needed to pull down and alter when he noticed the lieutenant's entrance upon to the deck. Quickly he finished tying off the rope, before snapping to attention.

"Officer on deck!" Ragusa announced as he pivoted his body to face the woman, a sharp salute quickly following. 

A number of the other members of the rank and file did the same, barring those who were currently in the process of conducting essential work upon the ship, the kind of work that could hardly be dropped at a moment's notice. 

As the petty officer saluted his face was one of pure emotionless stone. However, his mind was well and truly analysing the woman who had command over the ship. He had still yet to come to a conclusion as to her competence, and that set him on edge. 

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #2}

---

“Officer on deck!” Within seconds, one of the Petty Officers had called the men to attention, even before some of the higher ranking NCOs. Many arms folded into salutes as heels clicked together — those that did not were hard at work maintaining the sails and keeping the ship on course. Beyond the waves lay the silhouette of gentle sloping hills, broken slightly to resemble shallow steps, and littering the scene were tall structures whose own sails rotated with the ocean wind.

Yvionne approached the railing that split the uppermost level from the main, forward deck. A sort of balcony from which officers made their announcements. Expectant eyes looked to her, already a tall woman at six and three; a disparity further pronounced by her position and posture. Any noise had diminished, leaving only a backdrop of rippling sails, softly creaking timbers, and mildly choppy waters over which to speak her words.

“In less than an hour, we will be making landfall on the shore of Flat Farm Island, approximately a mile from Paddyville,” the Lieutenant announced, a strange power behind her somewhat monotonous vocals. “From there, once ashore, a skeleton crew and ordnance unit will remain aboard this ship and keep the guns at the ready in preparation for coastal bombardment. The rest of you will be marching south with me to attack from the ground,” she continued. The troops had been previously briefed on the plan. This was just clarification. What had not been revealed was what they were up against.

^{“Our enemies are the Longhorn Pirates,” Yvie announced:
“Captained by Walter ‘Longhorn’ Bison…”}

Mutterings and utterances stirred amongst the rank and file at the mention of the name, the truth of their endeavour now revealed in its entirety. This wasn’t some run-of-the-mill wannabe pirate crew they were dealing with, but an actively notorious Morganeer and his men. A decently large crew of riff-raff, crooks and ne’er-do-wells, united under the palm of a man who had previously boarded tradeships, raided coastal towns, and had even had the gall to attack a World Navy vessel.

“Consider this an opportunity to prove your worth as Marines,” added the Hammer of Justice, somewhat emulating the more inspirational speeches of her commanding officers, though perhaps not doing quite as good a job of it. “The people of the United Farms of Windia came to us for aid,” she said, straightening further. “So, as Marines, we will mete out Justice to these criminals as is duly deserved. Ready yourselves. This operation will be unlike any drill or skirmish on the waves. Dismissed.”

There was silence.

As she stepped from her platform, activity began to resume, though to the office she did not return. Rather, she walked to the vessel’s prow, resting the head of her hammer upon the floor beside her feet. The greatest oddity of the cumbersome object was made clear, for its haft stood taller than she did by over a foot. Beyond she stared, coldly contemplating the words of her Captain, Jacob Talon.

^{“I want to revive the 86th Division,” he had said:
“I’ve been given approval… but I want you to Captain it!”}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
_{Yvionne announces to the troops their objective, revealing the name of their enemy, then contemplates the words of her Captain.}

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain

[The Love Ballad]

Ragusa's hand snapped back to his side as the officer began to further clarify the particulars of the mission. The plan was decisively simple, and for that the petty officer was grateful. It seemed the woman who held command over the vessel, and thus the mission, wasn't the type to needlessly over-complicate a task if there was no need to. He could respect that. Of course, he'd already been briefed, they all had, but some of the greener recruits had no-doubt forgotten the particulars. Not to mention that a reminder for the more experienced sailors was hardly a net-negative. And besides, the junior lieutenant had seen fit to reveal that which had been previously omitted, the name of their would-be opponents.

Walter 'Longhorn' Bison, Ragusa took a moment to play with the name in his head, casting his mind back to wanted posters and articles he'd forced himself to read-over and memorise some weeks back, Morganeer. Relatively infamous in this part of the West Blue. Above average sized crew and prone to making public demonstrations of captured marines, ruthless and highly dangerous.

It seemed that this little dalliance out to Flat Farm Island was slightly less routine than he would have thought, at least in the sense that it wasn't some non-name group of local ruffians. The men seemed to realise it, and uneasy murmurs carted through the ranks, catching the glare of Master Chief Petty Officer Wallais, a man so prone to fits of anger the troops would often joke about how he was one bad day away from catching fire and taking the whole contingent out with him. Yet he was a good NCO, and he shared a mutual respect with Ragusa as his junior, the two men painfully similar in their rigid following of code. A fact that many of the recruits had grown to despise. 

Junior Lieutenant Yngvildr continued in her address, this time turning to the more inspiring aspects of speech-making that seemed to be a requisite to reach the commissioned ranks. Her use of 'justice' irked Ragusa ever so slightly, but that thought was quickly banished. That sole word was so ubiquitous to marine speeches that it  may as well serve as the corps' official motto. It's use didn't mean she was a fanatic, and besides, she had seemed nothing short of competent thus far.

As soon as the woman had dismissed the marines, Wallais made eye contact with Ragusa, the silent beckoning obvious. The men and women returned to their duties in silence, nervous as to the conflict ahead, the greenhorn recruits' first taste of proper combat would be against Longhorn Bison, not a fate that Ragusa particularly envied. The petty officer, on the other hand, formed in on his immediate superior.

"Dubrovnik," The man stated simply, "Go talk to the brass and find out who's squad is holding down the fort while we go ashore. I'll make sure the boots are ready to hit the soil."

"Aye," was the single-word response from the more junior NCO.

Confidence filled the petty officer's steps as he approached the prow of the ship, where his commanding officer stood overlooking their approach. Admittedly, he was somewhat taken aback by the sheer size of her weapon, particularly as she was already a rather tall woman. Not that such surprise showed on his face, he was picturesque in his indifferent confidence.

"Ma'am," He saluted once more, not particularly concerned if he interrupted her train of thought, "the petty officers are requesting particular orders as to which squad is to remain on the ship upon landfall. We will instruct the seamen accordingly and prepare for combat."

Ragusa's hand snapped back to his side, but his posture did not change, nor did his expression. A man who appeared more emotionless statue than advocate for the junior seamen he was supposed to liaise with on behalf of his commanders. 

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #3}

---

“The men and women I’ve placed under your command are a bit of a mix,” Captain Talon had said to her when they last met within the confines of his office. “Some are rookies who’ve seen little more than drills and skirmishes; others have a few more years of service under their belts. You won’t have any Ensigns with you on this one, either,” he had made perfectly clear. Such officers were only a rank below her own, but that meant there was no room for extensive delegation. Instead, he had presented her with four options.

“Warrant Officer Nightingale. She’s diligent, experienced with bombardment tactics and navigation,” the Captain told her. “We’ll be assigning her to command the ship once you’ve made landfall. Then, Master Chief Petty Officer Wallais, Petty Officer Argyle, and Petty Officer Dubrovnik will be your acting second on land, sieging expert, and quartermaster respectively. How you assign their squads at landfall is in your hands. Good luck,” he’d said, presenting that annoyingly placid smile from his mildly scarred lip and eagle eyes.

…? A voice snapped her from her reminiscence, but didn’t startle her. With a slight turn of the head, she observed what was mostly an unfamiliar figure. Pristine uniform barely even rippling in the sea breeze, skin bronzed and weathered, a face of chiselled stone; this would be a hard man to forget. He stood maybe an inch shorter at most, practically eye to eye, but everything about him screamed of the same mechanised regime. For Yvionne, he was a stature, features completely unreadable as he straightened his arm at his side.

“Warrant Officer Nightingale will be commanding the ship in my absence,” the Junior Lieutenant recited, turning wholly to face the man with the moustache. Any observing their talk would have perhaps been afraid to approach, such was the aura that these two radiated from their being — stone cold and unwavering. “Petty Officers Ascot, Gavel, and their squads are to be left in her charge to man the sails and guns. Everyone else will be a part of the landing,” she said with cold certainty, almost as if reading from a manual.

^{“And you are…,” she trailed:
“Petty Officer…?”}

Placing a name to a face was not her strongest suit; at least not when notable feats were scarce. This assault, this entire operation, was a test of sorts — for her and for the troops assigned under her command. In truth, given their opposition, she anticipated more than a few casualties. It was a price to pay for enforcing Justice. If she were to command the 86th, she needed to prove her competence, but so too did the rank and file. Amongst these, the veterans and the greenhorns, would be a select few to join the ranks of one of the World Navy’s most frightening divisions.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
_{Yvionne continues to recall the words of Talon, but is interrupted by Ragusa. Yvionne confirms which squads are to remain on ship, then asks Ragusa his name.}

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain

[The Love Ballad]

Ragusa stood sternly at attention as she gave the details as to who would remain as a part of the skeleton crew whilst the remainder of the force made there way ashore. Internally, he was pleased, Nightingale was a fine marine and an even finer leader from what little he knew of her. Ascot and Gavel he knew little of, but he knew they had served under the Warrant Officer previously, and he was sure that they would take orders without question. That was the duty of a sailor after all. 

The contingent was surprisingly diverse in its drawing, many of the squads had not rotated together in the past. A more curious man would assume that the higher-ups were planning something, testing the abilities of those on the mission. Ragusa, of course, had his suspicions, but he could not care less about the answers to such. They had orders to work together under the junior lieutenant, so work together they would. Yet, the dynamics were important to note, and Ragusa had made a point of learning the histories of the squads from the NCOs and committing it to memory. Nightingale, Ascot and Gavel had served together for a number of years and the latter two almost appeared to serve as extensions of the warrant officer. Argyle was an unknown, yet overwhelmingly competent in their area of expertise. As to Wallais, Ragusa had served with him for going on six-months in the West Blue, the two men were like fire and ice, but their end goals were ultimately the same. As a whole, the squads put together were an odd mix of untamed talent and experience, but notably competent. It was a good rotation, a good group of marines. 

The memory drill was playing itself in the back of his mind when she asked for his name. At that moment, a crack in his demeanor first appeared, he'd made a mistake by not announcing himself, a rookie mistake. The internalised grimace was before his eyes for naught but a moment, but to a close observer it would be visible. Posture wise, he remained unchanged, only the wind lightly touching him as he stood still as stone. The seamen could not have noticed his folly, and that was a small victory in his failure. 

"Petty Officer Dubrovnik Ragusa, ma'am," He answered, curtly and carefully measured. He'd have to drill himself on proper etiquette that night after stock-take, burn tolerance training could wait, "acting quartermaster."

As he stood before the woman, under her gaze, his judgments became more and more concrete. She was cold and deliberate, even more-so than he, her eyes alone betrayed that fact. That was not the demeanour of most of the junior officers he had served under, so full of gusto and spunk. Ragusa, truth be told, did not know what to make of it. His first instinct was genuine relief, but the oppressive aura she put off almost seemed to wash that away. Fears of overzealousness in the undertaking of her duties had been replaced in the career sailor's mind with those more deeply hidden, if she were to take a utilitarian mindset, some of the recruits under his command may not return from their first engagement. Ragusa's gaze and stance held true, he would understand this woman if he were to serve under her, if at least to ensure those men and women made it home. And if not, that her orders were executed perfectly.

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #4}

---

“Petty Officer Dubrovnik Ragusa, ma’am,” the sailor recited, adding his role to the introduction. But Yngvildr knew this, for it had been explained clearly to her. Though her face — equally as stern and statuesque as that of the man before her — betrayed nothing of her feelings, there was a sense of surprise resonating within her. Here was a soldier who had been hardened by his past, though whether it was a singular event or the culmination of tours was unclear. He gave away nothing. Perhaps a view of his file would shed more light, but service history said nothing; the extent of his stoicism would be proven in the hours coming.

“Dubrovnik,” the Junior Lieutenant spoke, turning to view the horizon once more. Eyes could just about make out the jagged edges of besieged buildings, solidifying the enemy’s presence amongst the town — a calling card of Bison’s that had not gone unnoticed. “Make certain all arms and munitions are divided appropriately among the squads,” she said, perhaps a little more sharply than she believed, “I want all deployed units armed and ready to march by the time we disembark… Dismissed.”

Seconds were becoming a precious commodity, minutes growing scarce. But perhaps what drove the silent yet very real determination of the Hammer of Justice was the fact that, within these next few hours, the worth of the World Navy would be tested. One side would come out of this a victor, the other smeared across the earth; damn sure was she that the Marines would not become the latter.

^{—— APPROX. 45 MINUTES LATER ——}

Boots rattled the sturdy gangplank as uniformed men and women stepped from the confines of the ship and onto a wide beach of coarse sands littered with grassy dunes. The sun’s rays beat down upon the shore with unabating ferocity, its heat tempered only by the cool and constant flow of saline air. This was the last moment of respite any of these Marines would receive as they formed up in preparation for the march. MCPO Wallais was overseeing the seamen, almost all of which were First Class save for a smattering of Apprentices.

Yvionne watched and waited, setting her absent gaze upon those placed under her wing, one by one. Nightingale, a noticeably lanky individual, gave an affirming nod from their position at the railings of the ship. Ascot and his unit had remained amongst the rigging and sails, perched and awaiting the call. Gavel was out of sight, which had thus far proven only to mean he was hard at work. But then, the Lieutenant’s eyes shifted across to perhaps the most rambunctious of the contingent.

A shorter and stockier example of a sailor was, with the assistance of his squad, wheeling a trilogy of small and canvased carts from the ship. Captain Talon had approved them, whatever they might have been, for they certainly weren’t cannon. Curiosity was a pointless endeavour — there was a reason said sailor had been chosen. Argyle, short and stocky and dark skinned, with tight and silky cashmere curls protruding from beneath his cap. What he lacked in height, he made up for with a sharp-toothed grin of pride and anticipation.

^{“Two minutes,” Yvionne called out:
“Then we march!”}

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
<sub>Yvionne gives her orders to Ragusa.

The troops disembark in preparation while Yvionne observes the NCOs under her charge, specifically Argyle and his unusual contraptions.</sub>

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain

[The Love Ballad]

The junior lieutenant gave her orders succinctly and directly, the tone of her voice betrayed absolutely nothing. The experience was particularly peculiar for Ragusa, who was used to being the most stoic one in any given location, and yet it appeared that his CO had managed to outdo him. It was a very welcome change of pace, the thought of his last command under a particularly giddy ensign was not a fond memory in the least.  

With the vessel's commander's gaze returned to the horizon, scanning the ever-present fortifications, Ragusa knew what he had to do. He had orders, and he had a part to play in preparing the men and women for the coming operation, a role that no other marine on the ship could complete to near his ability. 

"Ma'am," he stated the term again, this time as an exit, and pivoted neatly on his heels.

The march away from the prow was much the same as the march there, that same quiet confidence emanating from his entire frame. Of course, internally, he was still mired in doubt. First, as to his mistaken introduction, and second as to the constant uncertainty that came from serving under a new commander. Fortunately, that second fear had been curtailed to a certain extent by Yngvildr's demeanour. 

To his chagrin, many of the man seemed to be lacking in the same sense to keep their doubts under wraps, a few of the more senior seamen were looking to the ever-approaching island with genuine dread upon their faces. Fear was like a disease in the corps, Ragusa knew that all too well, and morale could not afford to drop.

"Wakana, Albrecht, Hove," Ragusa addressed three of said marines, his tone was neutral, carefully measured, and yet the intention behind it was clear, "with me, we're on munitions duty. We're preparing a final stock-take and dividing resources as required. Fall in."

Fear fell way to annoyance, stock-take was infamous among the crew for its dullness and, even worse, the quartermaster's insistence upon perfection over minutia. Yet still, the three seamen fell into line behind the rapidly moving petty officer as he descended down and into the ship. Groans were kept at a respectable minimum.

-Landfall-

Ragusa stood at the bottom of the gangplank, eyes scanning every marine that came down from the ship, mentally making note of the visible equipment. To his right stood the blatantly dejected-looking Hove, a small checklist in her hand as she ticked off all of the major items that went down. A few of the seamen first class had been granted a small number of bombs to utilise in the assault, these needed to be noted specifically. Rifles and sabres, in their vast number, did not need to be, rather the few that would inevitably go missing would be included in the post-battle armament report that Ragusa would prepare. By all that was mighty he hated paperwork, it was tedious and most of the information he already knew, but it was code.

Argyle was, naturally, one of the last to descend from the ship. With him he'd brought near his entire stock of explosives, not cannons like Ragusa had first assumed upon hearing that a siege-expert had joined the crew. No, he'd received special permission to arm himself primarily with dynamite and bombs, the same bombs that he'd so graciously allowed some of the foot-soldiers to borrow. Of course, he'd kept the type that stuck to surfaces to himself, Ragusa had not seen anything like it, but Argyle insisted they were the finest military tech this side of Reverse Mountain. Finally, there was his tour-de-force, a trio of bazookas and their own unique series of ammunition. As a whole, the armament lacked the same decisive fortress-breaking power as even a few cannons. But, something about the way Argyle's eyes lit up when he discussed topics even tangentially related to explosives made Ragusa more than sure that the petty officer was capable of making up for it in other ways.

"Dubrovnik," The smile leaked into Argyle's voice, creating a confusing mix of genuine enthusiasm and smugness, "permission to come ashore?"

Wordlessly, Ragusa and Hove checked under the canvases. Nothing was out of order, not that there was anything more Argyle could hope to bring down short of stripping the cannons of the ship proper.

"Of course," Ragusa answered and nodded at Hove, who quickly marked the paper.

The rest of the marines steadily made their way on to the shore, hastily making their way to the mustering point. When the last marine finally made landfall, Ragusa nodded to Hove, who in turn briefly returned to the ship to hand the checklist over to one of the marines still aboard. Ragusa, for his part, made his way over to Wallais, checking his own rifle for defects all the while.

Wallais took a moment from shepherding apprentices into properly formed lines to crack a joke at the PO's expense, a wry smile crossing his face, "Dubrovnik, do you even need that?

Ragusa did not look up from inspecting the sights, "It's standard issue."

"Aye, but will you use it?"

Ragusa slung it over his shoulder and met the man's gaze, "No, probably not."

The laugh that came from the other man was more of a dry chuckle than anything uproarious, and duly he returned to getting the sailors in order. In due course all were lined up and ready before the Junior Lieutenant, ready for orders. Wind whipped at uniforms and at hair, but they adrenaline had begun to pump into their veins, they were scared, but they were ready.

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #5}

---

Prompt and organised, the men and women assigned to Yngvildr Yvionne’s command had presented themselves in rank and file — an array of troops of varying background and origin all ordered appropriately. She did not care about the fear that pestered the faces of some, assuming she even recognised its presence, nor for the smiles of others as they worked to straighten their faces. To any other eye, it would be obvious as to the division between these troops, but all turned steady and still as she walked before them.

Once again, eyes of deep plum and emotional void swept across the numbers. Near the fore stood those non-commissioned officers that Talon had picked specifically, their squads neatly lined up behind them. Wallais, Dubrovnik, Argyle; an interesting trio of the splenetic, the stoic, and the smug. There were other Petty Officers aside from them, but they had been chosen more or less to fill the numbers rather than cover the important roles. Of which, Wallais held the most important, duly taking a single step forward and saluting.

“All seamen present and ready, Ma’am,” her second announced.

Already, Nightingale’s men were hard at work, anchor weighed and sails angled to catch the returning winds from Flat Farm’s coast. The ships guns, though relatively small in comparison to those of a true battleship, would be used to bombard Bison’s fortifications from sea. Any damage and casualties would be a bonus at best, but all it was was a distraction tactic. The main assault would come from an unanticipated angle — land.

Yvionne cleared her throat.

“We march now, south between the hills to Paddyville,” the LT bellowed, winds failing to distort her call. “From this point on, consider yourselves engaged in combat — there will be no rest until Bison and his crew have been crushed… Petty Officer Argyle, I trust you have sufficiently geared you and your squad for breaching the perimeter?”

^{“Yes, ma’am!”}

^{“Very good,” she replied with dull monotony, turning about:
“Now… Quick march!”}

Hammer resting over her left shoulder, albeit at an angle, Miss Yngvildr began to move, setting the rhythm for her troops to follow. A highland pace, just a tad slower than the average drill, was more than enough for the coming trek. True to its name, Flat Farm Island — even at its steepest — had steady inclines and gentle declines that made flatland field marches rather easy to maintain. Why she had chosen such a specific pace was simple enough. The difference between this and a standard march would be negligible over the course of a single mile; and any energy conserved by her troops was energy better spent on the battle proper.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
_{Yvionne addresses her troops, then begins the march towards Paddyville.}

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Wallais [NPC] ❘ #0a8a7a ❘ Master Chief Petty Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain

[The Love Ballad]

Dubrovnik Ragusa fell into formation neatly, his own paces matching that of his commanding officer. Anticipation ran hot through his veins, the expectation of coming combat was always wont to do that, fear mixing with excitement in an uneasy twist. The more he dwelt on the thoughts, the more prevalent they became. Were he a weaker man, the emotions would be plastered upon his face for the world to see. Yet, he was not weak, and they remained hidden behind his unbreakable stoicism. The same could not be said for the more junior troops, many of the seamen openly displayed their fear. The few apprentices, many of them rather young, showed their nervousness most blatantly. That was to be expected, it was almost inevitable that some of the men wouldn't make it through the fight. 

Ragusa gave a quick glance over his right shoulder, overviewing the men and women under his command. Fear was present on the faces of more than a few, confirming his earlier fears, he would have to take steps to rectify that once they had finished their march. Part of leading a squad, a vital part, was cultivating a positive morale. 

The slower than usual march, ever-so-slightly-slower mind, and the ease of the terrain allowed for Ragusa's mind to wander. Replaying memories in his head, making sure to burn them well and truly into his hippocampus, he allowed himself to stray from his usual quantitative focus revisit the moments before his latest deployment.

He'd been called into the captain's quarters without notice, an abnormal occurrence for their small patrol ship. As he'd entered, he'd passed Wallais, himself on the way out. The conversation with the captain was quick and to the point, his exasperated superior obviously unhappy with the news that was to be delivered. He was to be transferred, along with Wallais, who was at the time the acting Second Mate of the crew, and a not-insignificant number of sailors. The details were scarce, but the transfer was to take place quickly and as efficiently as possible. The brief attempt to probe any more information was met with a staunch refusal. Three days later, they departed that ship for the final time and embarked upon their new craft, orders in hand. 

And now here they were, here he was, marching ever onward, Paddyville's distinct shapes of houses and hastily constructed fortifications looming ominously on the horizon. They had arrived. 

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #6}

---

Twenty minutes was all it took for the Junior Lieutenant’s forces to reach the outskirts of Paddyville. Twenty minutes of silence broken only by the rustling of grasses and shirts as wind blew across them and, of course, the rhythmic march they had maintained all the while. Twenty minutes for men and women to consolidate their fears and their ideals, or else stow them away behind masks of stone. For some, this was the longest twenty minutes of their lives. For Yvionne, this was nothing but fleeting seconds.

Lush hills rich with grassy crops of rice and leafy taro had been shaped into terraced plantations, windmills sitting amongst the subtle valleys where the winds were strongest. But to any eye, trained or otherwise, the place was desolate and empty despite the greenery. Sailed arms stood locked in place, rattling in the winds, but otherwise still. That, plus the absence of men and women tending to the terraced paddies, made it feel unwelcoming. But perhaps the most imposing of all were the barricades and the buttresses.

Thunder cracked.

The thunder of cannons, not that of the heavens, though it might as well have been for the judgment that was being brought to bear. To Yvionne, this was all the signalling she needed — Nightingale and her troops had fired upon the pirates’ vessel at port. On the wind, the subtle smell of burnt black powder and the shouts of ruffians were further testament to this fact.

^{“Argyle!”}

“On it, ma’am,” the Petty Officer replied, letting out what could only be described as a gleeful giggle as he and his squad unloaded articles from their handcarts. Argyle’s smile was nothing short of prideful as three seamen took to a knee, tubular weapons mounted over their shoulders and aimed high to the spiked crest of the perimeter wall. An imposing structure of two dozen feet, forged of broad logs roped together with what seemed to be rather hasty brickwork laid out at its base.

^{“Ready…! Aim…!”
“The f*¢<’s the noise out—?!”
“Fire!!”
“Eek?!”}

The deafening sounds of the three bazookas firing in near perfect harmony drowned out the panicked screech of a man stationed at the border wall’s watchpoint. Indeed, Miss Yngvildr only just caught a glimpse of a beefy man’s eyes widening as he ducked for cover behind the array of wooden spikes before the three projectiles collided with the wall’s upper limit. Small but heavily packaged shells splintered timbers and scattered debris, bodies as well by the pained screams that followed.

“All squads, follow me,” Yvionne bellowed, coldly as she darted forth towards the foot of the wall. Argyle’s bazookas had shaken the structure and, wasting no time, the Hammer of Justice was about to prove to these greenhorns and veterans alike the reason for such a moniker. Her maul falling from her shoulder, haft grasped tightly in both hands, she swung once against the supporting beams. Wood splintered. Twice, timbers cracked. Thrice; the solid square head of Sans-Serif caused the fence to cave at the point of impact.

“A picket fence won’t stop Justice,” she grunted, inhaling air rich with the scents of salt and fire. Before her was a hole — a splintered breach in the barrier just large enough for men to march through two by two. But what lay beyond would be that which challenged the wits and woes of those under her charge.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
_{Yvionne commands Argyle who uses his toys to bombard the perimeter wall. Yvionne then manages to smash through the wooden barrier to allow her troops to start flooding inside.}

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Wallais [NPC] ❘ #0a8a7a ❘ Master Chief Petty Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee — #aaaaaa ❘ Other
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain

[The Love Ballad]

Ragusa jumped ever-so-slightly at the sound of the cannon-fire, the thunder of death and fire erupting from the otherside of the town. Hastily, the Petty Officer relaxed his shoulders and rolled his neck, he had to be relaxed for the coming storm. The thunder as always, served as harbinger of the tempest to come, and heavens-willing he would form a part of that typhoon. Such was his duty, such was his destiny. Since he was a lad, he was raised for moments like this, and the corps would not find him willing. 

"Argyle!" Junior Lieutenant Yngvildr called, and the squat petty officer replied with an unseemly giggle.

The man's gleeful undertaking of his duty was unsettling to his fellow petty officers, the look on both Ragusa's and Wallais' faces trapped in looks locked somewhere between stoicism and disappointment. Of course, the former led more toward stoicism and the latter to more blatant disgust. Yet the way the man held himself apart from the bliss-filled look that covered his entire face was that of a professional soldier, he and his troops took to their knees and shattered the top of the wall without breaking a sweat. Truly, the bazookas in the right hands were a weapon that made even Ragusa worry. Fortunately, he'd yet to meet a pirate that possessed their sheer destructive power, nor did he hope to meet one soon.

Pirates screamed and fell with the shattered wood, smoke rising from where they had stood. The cannonfire may have caught the attention of some of the defenders, but those closer to this side of the pallisade would certainly be aware of the main force of the attack.

The call went out from the JL, a call to charge. Ragusa followed closely behind, breaking into a run to keep up with her increased speed. It was with awe that he watched as she smashed the barrier as if it were made of naught but balsawood, he wasn't even aware of the men forming up behind him, having been left behind by the more hastened movement of their superiors.

“A picket fence won’t stop Justice.”

And they were through, the fact that the pirates knew that they were assaulting from two-fronts was entirely irrelevant. They couldn't stop them from breaching the town, they had failed in the first and most important aspect of a siege. The marines had already won, Ragusa could taste victory, and it was sweet.

The officer lead the way, two seamen quickly following after her, cheers and battlecries not only erupting from their mouths, but also from their comrades in the back. Ragusa followed quickly after, in the second group of two to enter the breach, he had to clear a path for his men.

The sight that met him was one of chaos, burning wood sat all around him, and more than a few wounded pirates lay across the ground. Some of those men may have been dead, Ragusa could not tell, nor did he care. They were no longer combatants, they were irrelevant. More pressingly, a number of pirates had dug themselves in behind pre-assembled defenses of sand-bags and what appeared to be wagons. Their rifles pointing out from above and to the sides, they were aiming directly at the breach through which the marines were now pouring. The sound of thunderous fire still bellowed out from the ocean, additionally the ungodly screams of the wounded pirates surrounded them, and even still the vague sound of crying children from somewhere deep in the city reached the troops. That was not to mention the smell, black powder overwhelmed all other scents, even that of fire and the iron-tinge of blood. The sights may not yet be grisly, but it was clear to Ragusa, this was the beginnings of hell.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to care.

The first few troops through seemed to panic the pirates more than anything, but their nerves had steeled the second that Ragusa and the young seaman apprentice to his right had followed. A shot rang out, not aimed at the Junior Lieutenant, as a more experiences fighter should have done, but at the young woman flanking Ragusa. The petty officer moved without thinking, shooting his arm out and pushing her with ungodly strength. She was flung to the ground, bruised and battered, but the bullet whizzed past her, grazing the NCO's arm and embedding in the wooden barricade.

It was then, finally, that Ragusa raised his voice, "You all heard the L-T! Through the breach! I want this town secured!"

The pain was nothing but a dull throb, even as the bleeding slowly stemmed and stained his perfect dress-whites. Worse yet, despite his call, he had lost sight of the Junior Lieutenant, sure that she was enacting swift righteousness with her hammer.

There was no smug grin from Ragusa, as he transformed, only the practiced movement of a man far too used to what would otherwise be considered to be a fantastical power. The man raised in height nearly half a metre, but the true gain in mass was in width, his shoulders and torso stretching to the point that it seemed as if his uniform would snap off. Where once his arms ended in hands, they were replaced by serrated claws, themselves longer than what the full length of his hand used to be. Yet most notably was the thick coat of russet-brown fur that covered his entire body, extending to the newly grown half-maw where once his mouth was. Where once the marine stood, there was now the Hybrid Form  half-chalicothere half-human.

The few marines that had already entered the breach that had not transferred with Dubrovnik and Wallais seemed almost in shock. Yet, Ragusa paid them no mind. He had dig-ins to destroy.

Ragusa barreled forward, unleashing his Plava Tehnika, slightly modified to break through makeshift barricades as opposed to pinning opponents. Momentum built, even as bullets littered his limbs, the ancient power of his zoan boosting his already impressive pain-tolerance. The same nearest dugout that had wounded him earlier was his first target, and he all but dived toward it. 

---

Techniques (#a61818)

[li]

Hybrid Transformation

The user has the ability to transform into a half-human half-chalicothere form. They retain their humanoid shape, but their stature rises to roughly 2.5 metres tall when standing at full height. Their body becomes significantly broader and heavier. Further, the user's arms become significantly longer, reaching down to the ground. Further, the hands at the end of those same arms are replaced by five long and serrated claws. The user's face becomes half-way between that of a human and a horse, with an elongated maw and ears resembling that of an equid. Finally, the user's entire body becomes covered in a thick russet-brown fur.

[/li]

[li]

Plava Tehnika, slightly modified

In his hybrid form, Ragusa charges forward in a rush resembling that of a rugby tackle. He takes advantages of both his humanoid figure and the expanded bulk of the chalicothere to put extra weight behind the charge. The modified form focuses on barreling into a defensive fortification as opposed to pinning an enemy to the ground, the technique remains unchanged, however the focus is altered.

[/li][/ul][/div][/font]

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #7}

---

Yvionne did not wait — not a drop of hesitation in her movements as she marched into the fore. Walter Bison’s crew numbers had been impressive at the Navy’s most recent estimate, but there was always room for yet more to have joined the man’s ranks in the weeks leading up to this assault. Numbers mattered not. To the Junior Lieutenant, odds immeasurable were just psychological obstacles on the path to Justice; things better ignored that allowed to wreak havoc on one’s own imagination.

Bullets flew. Steel flourished. Shouts and screams filled the air.

^{“Damn Marines! Quick,” yelled one pirate:
“Somebody go tell the Captain, now!”}

Ears heard it, eyes saw it; a small unit of scourges with a squarely built man bellowing orders, and from that unit broke a lithe man who quickly burst into a sprint for the deeper parts of town. Yngvildr wasted no time, as always, yards ahead of the charge as musket smoke filled the air and obscured vision. But though she tried to break into a sprint in pursuit of the runner, her path was cut off by the one who had called out the order. About level with her in height, though twice as wide, he wore a telltale article upon his head — a helm fashioned into the style of a bovine skull.

“Rare to see an officer on the front lines,” he mocked, bringing a large club to bear. “Should’ve stayed behind your desk!” A swift swing followed, aimed for her core, yet all the slate-haired superior did was raise the haft of her hammer to intercept the blow. Metal clashed with metal, ringing out and adding yet another note to the battle’s cacophonous arrangement. The attack was strong, but not enough to shift the woman despite the tremor of the impact carrying through her form.

^“Grr!”

“Where is Bison?” Yvie asked, shrugging off the blow.

^{“Why the hell should I tell you?!”}

^{“Because,” she replied, aiming an unorthodox swing:
“It’ll make things quicker for both of us… Impact!”}

Kraaang! Thrust forwards, the cuboid head of Sans-Serif met the enemy’s best attempt at mounting a defence against it, but the fellow’s stance was already weakened by the previous clash of weaponry. Back he was pushed, heels digging into dirt to claim stability. At perhaps the same time, the LT’s periphery picked up the sights and sounds of something unusual. The crashing form of a half-man, half-beast barrelling through sandbags and similar defences was a sight she was not that unfamiliar with, but an interesting one all the same.

^{“What the—?!”}

^{Dubrovnik…? Miss Yngvildr noted mentally:
I wasn’t made aware he was an Ability User…}

To some — her foe amongst them — the sight of what was something supernatural instilled fear and confusion. To others, it was a minor distraction, as proven by the distant cries of Wallais as he ordered his troops into spearheads and rotations to swamp the battlefield. Seamen rushed through the dust and the smoke, cutlasses and sabres brandished against yet more piratical inhabitants. Though she didn’t particularly request it, aid had arrived to back her up as she swung her hammer again at her foe.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
Yvionne clashes with a group of Bison’s men, led by one of the pirate’s immediate subordinates. Yvionne is moderately surprised by Ragusa’s demonstration of ability, but continues her fight unabated.

---

Impact ❘ Yvionne thrusts forwards with the head of Sans-Serif to slam into an enemy and push them back. Despite being a thrust rather than a swing, it still hits with significant force.

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Wallais [NPC] ❘ #0a8a7a ❘ Master Chief Petty Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee — #aaaaaa ❘ Other
Bison’s Officer [NPC] ❘ #2334b6 ❘ Pirate
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain

[The Love Ballad]

Ragusa crashed through the bulwark, bags and wood erupting around him as he all but exploded forward. The hybrid-form marine landed harshly on his arms, the limbs barreling into the unfortunate form of one of the pirates who had been using the structure for cover. Luckily for the man, the chalicothere-man's claws did not penetrate his chest, but rather the colossal form of his assaulter used his body as a spring to fling his body further forward. The continuous momentum from the initial dive caused Ragusa to all but slam into the ground, however his prior push against the man he was set to collapse on top of allowed him to continue onward in his movement. Where he would have ended on the ground, he instead found himself with slightly more time in the air, his chest and arms the only exceptions. Taking advantage of this extra time, the beast-man twisted and turned onto his side, using the ground as a brake. He all but slid to a halt, his legs digging into the ground with a thud. The landing was harsher than it would otherwise have been, but he wasn't prone, allowing the petty officer to quickly rise to his feet.

The pain was present, as it was always wont to be after a landing like that, but it was a dull ache in the deep recesses of his mind. He was a sailor, and that meant he'd trained himself long ago not to worry about such trivialities when their was proper work to be done.

Ragusa surveyed the scene he had just barreled through, two wounded pirates sprawled on the ground by the force of the crash alone, one in the process of struggling to his feet. Two more had managed to avoid his blatantly telegraphed attack in time and now stood at the ready, rifles pointed squarely at his centre-mass. 

They went down first, gunfire from the marines tearing through them before they had a chance to react. The men who had come along with him through the hole, the men who had followed him to this unit, the men who stood united with him in common cause, those men knew how to operate. Wallais and his squadron would maneuvre through clever tactics and battlefield adaption, it was the job of Dubrovnik and his lads to punch a hole through the centre, and in the process to draw the attention of the enemy. The greater force was under the command of Wallais, in as much his capacity as a Master Chief as it was in his ability to survey the overall field. Ragusa's own combat capabilities were somewhat more limited, in truth he shone best in preparation of equipment and planning. Yet, there remained one area in combat where he was more than his superior's equal.

"Vanguard formation!" Ragusa bellowed out, the greater size of his chest allowing the words to carry further than they would have were he a mere human, "Break their lines, give the others a chance to move in!"

The beast moved quickly to the next makeshift dug-out, this time not bothering to unleash a proper technique, instead making full use of his lengthened claws and enhanced reach to bat away the sole marine who had dared to leave the cover. His two compatriots could not even think to fire upon his approach, for the men advancing swiftly behind their NCO were laying down an impressive level of covering fire. It was only after that swing that they turned to open fire on the behemoth, but he was quicker with his Crvena Tehnika than they were with their trigger fingers. The centre of the fighting followed much the same pattern, marines moved in quickly, their superior numbers allowing them to pin down the pirates to their few makeshift barricades and defensive positions. As the line advanced, those positions were cleared out. That was not to say that the marines were not taking casualties, the criminals were on the backfoot but they were far from helpless. More than a few broken bodies in white uniforms lay across the ground, the blitz nature of the tactic having reduced their own ability to take cover.

In his focus, Ragusa was only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He knew that the Junior Lieutenant had taken off to stop a messenger, only to have her path blocked by one of Longhorn's lieutenants. In truth, he had not had a chance to properly keep track of his commanding officer's battle. His mental faculties centred solely on leading the men through the guts of the conflict, but he was more than confident in her ability to defeat the man. Her prowess with the hammer at the gate and her sheer presence had made sure of that. 

As to Wallais, Ragusa had not heard the fiery man's voice in quite a period. Although he was aware of the fact that many of his men had moved into assist his own, and the LT herself. Where gaps in the lines formed, or where sailors found themselves ahead of position, as it appeared that he and the CO had done, seamen were not far behind to offer support.

The path before the encroaching marines became ever clearer, as the road behind lay filled with defeated pirates and their fallen comrades. If even some of the marines could distract the pirate lieutenant long enough for their own lieutenant to break through, there was still the chance that she could catch the runner. Their advance could surge forward far enough that there would be no way for the pirates to react before it was too late. Then the sound reached the combatants.

In the distance, deep in the heart of the town, a horn bellowed loudly. 

---

Techniques

• Crvena Tehnika
  In his hybrid form, Ragusa slashes rapidly with his claws. The knife-like appendages are capable of tearing flesh and slicing well into an opponent.

[Vio]

^{Yvionne #8}

---

Each strike was met with waning resistance; proof that Bison’s own officers were inferior to those of the World Navy — at the very least inferior to Miss Yngvildr as she followed one swing with another. The chaotic flow of the battlefield was beginning to spill beyond the initial boundaries, evidenced by the movements of white shirts through the streets and the feeble but present attempts of new pirates to help stave off the assault. Worse still, the hue and cry of the messenger as he darted through the streets, gaining greater distance with each passing second.

Time was of the essence.

“Trencador de Crani!” Taking his opportunity, the horn-helmed man unleashed a fierce downward strike, far swifter than that of beforehand. Yvie was unable to react in time, barely repositioning her hammer before the club came down upon her head, knocking her to her knees from where she flopped onto her side. A mighty blow had been dealt, though its exact effects were unseen.

“You’re all fools! I’ve felled your weakling commander,” the brute bellowed, stepping past the LT’s body. Some of the pirates’ faces broke into smiles of confidence, in contrast to the fear and dread that manifested on the faces of greener seamen. Others remained stoic, either out of obliviousness or due to the commanding structure of Wallais and other Petty Officers. “Drop your weapons now! And Captain Bison might give you merciful deaths! I— …? Wait, what?!”

“Urgh… That hurt,” Yvionne grumbled, standing with her weapon in one hand as her other gently rubbed her head. A little bit of red on her fingertips from beneath her hair was indication of broken skin, but even for a head wound it was rather minimal, at least as far as she could discern. She had been on the ground for just a matter of seconds, steeling her will against the reverberations that were finally subduing.

^{“Now,” she said, hammer in motion:
“Impact!”}

^Smack!

“Ack…!?” The faintest crackle of breaking ribs was drowned out by the other, more intense sounds of battle as Sans-Serif’s head was driven into the pirate’s core with incredible force. Much of his strength came from his speed and control of his weapon. Yvionne’s own might was pure and true, guiding solid Seastone as it shattered bone and sent the helmeted hulk reeling. His form splayed out like a discarded ragdoll, slow wheezing was an indication of his vitals, but otherwise he was very much out cold.

^{“Bloody heck, LT,” Argyle chittered:
“What are you made of…?”}

^{“Argyle…”}

“Uh… Y— Yes, ma’am?” the diminutive demolitions expert stammered as he walked through, carrying one of his own bazookas over his shoulder and a fresh shell in his other hand. Whether his eyes showed confusion, fear, or anticipation was entirely up for debate, but what followed was surprise — clear as day.

“Throw that shell to me,” the Junior Lieutenant answered.

^{“Uh… But, ma’am, this is my last—”
“That’s an order, Petty Officer…”
“Ah…? Alright! … Hup!”
“Courier!”}

Clang! Perhaps the size of a small cabbage, maybe smaller, the bazooka shell had been lobbed underarm towards the slate-haired siren. In mid flight, she had squared herself and primed her weapon, only to deliver what most would have compared to a golf swing to the projectile. Over heads it sailed at decent speed, pitched high over the battlefield by a single strike, whistling as it broke through the war-scorched winds. Just seconds later, it reached the terminus of its arc, bringing an end to the messenger’s mad dash for the inner circle with a resounding crunch. Yvionne cared not for the extent of the strike, only that it had done its job; one of many duties yet to be fulfilled.

---

SPOILER: Click to show

{Post Synopsis:—}
Yvionne’s fight against Bison’s Officer is closed when he delivers a punishing blow to her head, but his attempts at shaking morale are thwarted when he realises Yvionne was barely fazed by the blow. Yvionne finished him off, then makes use of Argyle’s equipment to stop the messenger in his tracks.

---

Impact ❘ Yvionne thrusts forwards with the head of Sans-Serif to slam into an enemy and push them back. Despite being a thrust rather than a swing, it still hits with significant force.

Courier ❘ Taking an object such as a small boulder or cannon ball, Yvionne delivers a powerful swing with Sans-Serif to send the object flying towards a target with speed and force.

---

Yngvildr Yvionne ❘ #8e4585 ❘ Lieutenant, Junior Grade
Dubrovnik Ragusa ❘ #8f3d3d ❘ Petty Officer
Wallais [NPC] ❘ #0a8a7a ❘ Master Chief Petty Officer
Argyle [NPC] ❘ #e65219 ❘ Petty Officer
Miscellaneous [NPC] ❘ #eeeeee — #aaaaaa ❘ Other
Bison’s Officer [NPC] ❘ #2334b6 ❘ Pirate
Jacob Talon [NPC] ❘ #fada5e ❘ Captain