Ill-Tidings.

-[If I Had A Heart.] It had been several years since the violently forced incarceration of Ashcroft. Its bringing was kismet; revisiting a cell and again finding himself alone (after murdering his inmate quietly, of course). Not a scintilla of penis was touched nor a hole penetrated, attempting once to force before the cellmate’s manhood was brutally torn from his pelvis. The Ari’ni did not wish to fight this (what he recalled as) nebulous criminal. He knew not of the man’s crimes, even throughout the duration he never cared to learn. After the prolonged justice of bludgeoning from Celesin guards, Ashcroft was granted peace. For the duration of those seemingly endless months, Ashcroft spent strengthening his body (and injured legs) like any other criminal would or simply mediating in silence. Wishing not the consequential affliction of another beating, he steered clear of his xenophobic prison mates. In his states of confined tranquility, he recalled many times his only true friend before this revelation; a woman whose name lives on through his rifle’s fury.

Once Ashcroft had returned with the unknown party that had broken him out, they parted ways whilst his rescuers received elaborate rewards. It was a shorter journey with Ebon perched upon his shoulder.
Immediately he retook command of what was left of his cartel and began to induct other skilled warriors and factions into Our Nostrum along the path. The Market was a temporary hold for their operations, but it became exhausting with frequent urban wars. The Patrons were weary of Ashcroft, who suspected his endeavors to subjugate the various families. They were right think his behavior as dubious. However, after the destruction near Janus’ establishment, the Hunter remained under the radar with this dealings, sending out scouts (and often himself) to lands beyond the Market.

Here he discovered an island north whose great peak lobbed molten balls to the heavens like hellish catapults. Its southern and eastern shores were turned to jagged ramparts as the mineral rich magma cooled rapidly from the crashing of arctic waters. The air was polluted, the land unpredictable, the now boiling waters tainted by acidic runoff. However, it was not until a year or two passed that the noxious mixture of compounds was complimented by the fumes of slag and machinery. Flora learned to adapt and feed from the ash on the outer northern and western shores. A beautiful and thriving forest stretching a few miles into the mainland before its transition into a wasteland. Many common fauna could still be seen and hunted in these parts while more infernal monstrosities inhabited the ashlands.

Aptly named Felpyre Enclave by sailors seeing its smoke in the horizon, was once a temperate rainforest inhabited by a massive tribe of orcs before its largest mountain erupted. Our Nostrum ships arrived with their ‘iron men’ a fortnight after its devastation, expecting and presented with resistance. Ashcroft sought for an alliance initially on the grounds of the land’s poisoning and dangers but was quickly met with protest. Their chieftain challenged the Ari’ni to single combat, but was soon slewed by Ashcroft’s tactics.

Forgoing an alliance, they became a true vassal of Our Nostrum. The males were trained and then participated in a series of rites before their true recruiting into Our Nostrum. Kalrug, the greater of Anubria orcs currently, was appointed to the position of leader thereafter. They then took on the name that reflected the land that they still called home, Arjalinerk Aok. (Ash Blood). Although there is no following segregation, the quasi-chieftain ensured racial disputes were snuffed out before they turned to wild fires. We speak of the multispecies mixing within squads. They all learned to coexist alongside the dwarves and humans of the Vanguard, including the bellicose Anubria ranks. There they and many others began an extensive excavation deep into the ashlands, refining and molding the metals onsite.

The power of the volcano called to Ashcroft, who then proceeded sculpting the mountain and integrating his facilities within. Using the geothermal energy of the fiery peak, he was able to expedite the rearming of his forces. Strange other ventures were done and many other approached but it was left to be discovered; the Anubria Vanguard revealed during the aforementioned battle in the Market was only a taste of Ashcroft’s additions to his militia. But was he going to strike at the many empires? Bring war with this state-sized martial power? Heaven’s no, especially when those who oppose said empires were more in need. That foreboding force of nature dubbed ‘Felpyre Cauldron’ yielded to a portion of the material spectrum they required, thus seeking the potential from distance lands. Their neighboring landmass provided among the sturdiest lumber in the lands yet ore-rich veins were scarce.

It was not until a month later that reports of the precious and strong metals they sought after resided south east around the unclaimed forest frontier. Large equipment and vehicles were then to be loaded upon roughly fifteen ships in an initial clearing party. Ashcroft stood quietly at railing of a high mezzanine that overlooked the operations from at least two hundred feet. The only movement was the occasional lifting of the complicated heat-pipe leisurely grasped in his calloused fingers. Serpentine smoke slithered from its bowl, blackened its frequent use, before it faded in the wind’s surge. The only opening cleverly hidden in illusion by its sharp cliffs. The pollution was at the lowest levels inside the obsidian cave where the harborage resided, allowing those a filling breath. This immense, naturally fortified cavern was the only location considered not only adequately open but held the lowest levels of pollution. It was an area of peace, especially the moderate elevation.

The Ari’ni was not the only audience above; accompanied by one from his ‘council’ of sorts. A towering, broad abomination of a humanoid known as Kalrug ‘Worldsmasher’ dressed in his usual lack of clothing. Dangling pieces of metal hung over whatever there was beneath with panels of the same material curved over his flesh and natural armor, bolted directly to his enhanced skeletal structure. He was the largest of this engineered race, his splicing procedures having been the most prolonged; like an addiction to steroids, always desiring that physical perfection. Kalrug stood with a brutish air permeating his form, awkwardly awaiting a word from Ashcroft who had summoned him to this particular area.

Assuming that his lord’s attention was elsewhere, the Anubria orc reached down and began to borrow his hands beneath his belt. The General then proceeded to bring his tainted hand up in the hopes of filling his nostrils with genital odor before Ashcroft abruptly addressed him. “Mistah Kalruug,” he began with a heavy exhalation, “I’ll kindly ask ya’ll ta not pah’take in tha itchin’ ‘n smellin’ o’ yo’self, at leas’ in mai presence.” The Hunter’s back remained to his subordinate, tapered teeth back to gnawing on his pipe’s mouthpiece. Crickcrickrickriiiick… The smell of ground herbs intermingled with the acrid smog of machinery as wispy smoke tumbled over his silhouette. The sensitive but armored audio-organs jutting from his shoulders twitched with the crackling, isolating it from the distant rumble of machinery amplified by the cavern’s wonder acoustics. Luckily it was drowned by the waves pummeling its precipitous walls, further shaping the bladed south.

“You requueeested me to be here, Ashcroft,” Kalrug hissed, muscles in his throat compressing the breath behind each word, “When Iiii should be down there, overseeing my operations. Discu-” He was interrupted by the venomous twang of the Hunter’s voice, “I wan’ tha smelter an’ refinery erect’tid wit’in three days o’ yer comin’ ashow.” He turned to Kalrug whose expression was less than pleasant, waving that still smoldering pipe, “Tha’h is ova’ ten tons worth’a precious metals in that small parameter, I expect tha numba' ta be greater or at.” Smoke curled around his words before the winds swept them into translucent, a spectacle filling in the momentary pause, “Ah’this’ indigenous fahna are deemed hostile. Whateveh means necessary ya’ll ah ta keep them from ouh site. Stay fah from the sho’, tha otha’ factions ah watchin’,” He took another inhalation of sweet smoke, ”Stay fah from the sho’.” Ashcroft turned back through his fading cloud, obviously dismissing the immense Anubria orc with the resounding ting of his footfalls upon the grating. Each General had their own section of Our Nostrum to manage, and it was Kalrug’s to venture and begin tearing up Arthis for its riches.

Meanwhile, Our Nostrum’s cancer did not stop at the ashlands. Their hands reached into forests (that went for miles inland) lining the northern and western coasts in hopes of suppressing a recent resistance. The orcs who had divided themselves from the once massive tribe after the majority swore fealty. Ashcroft was not there, however, to witness the fall of one of the many rebellious tribes but instead sent Alessa and Heracci as shifting supervisors, granting Marionetteo the uneventful watch over Ashcroft’s Market territory. There was little chicanery between the Hunter and the Patron despite the city’s Lord being weary of the Hunter’s intentions.

Anyways, Ashcroft wished to discuss current matters with Heracci whose shift was coming to an end. Alessa approached from behind to gander at what the Lighthawk Splicer was observing himself. Stomping up behind the abhorrent General, the smell of a fresh cigarette the woman held between her canines heralding Alessa’s approach. Peering forward as she stood adjacent to him, she grinned and addressed the splicer, “’Ey, natives give you any trouble, Heracci? I ‘eard their bloody war drums in further north on meh way back,” She spoke with a jocular tone heavy with old tongue, releasing smoke from betwixt her lips after her friendly question. The tobacco was Nexxian, sweet yet husky especially to one such as Heracci. There was grin twisting the left corner, surveying the area below with a smug-tainted gaze, “Tha boss wishes to speak with’ya, possibly concerning the laws of the shipment due south to the Market. The trade lord’s were joking about the Pirate of the Storms swallowing it up,” Her expression turned sour, grimacing to the railing and back to the construction, “Bunch of bloody fuckin’ drunks, can’t pull their heads from the Black Sun whores.”

-[If I Had A Heart.] The Anubria orc remained with the slight facial contortion suggesting confusion, “Faaar from the shore?” He knew not which shore Ashcroft spoke of, almost translating such words as contractive. The Hunter paused in mid-step, the last ‘ting’ of his shoed hooves drowned by the sudden backfire of loading machinery.

Ashcroft waited for it to end before glancing back to the hulking aberration whose back was now turned as his attention was elsewhere down the catwalk. His spines were rigid, convulsing periodically in a fairly audible rattle. Upon his upper-back was a strange device housing three canisters, their surface worn and tarnished by past battles. Down the center of each one was a glass inlet displaying the measurements using elven units. Various mesh-covered tubes at the bottom of this contraption were connected to many parts of the body. Gruesomely they anchored by adamantium claws to both elbows, neck, directly to the stomach and heart including a hooked feeding tube.
 
These were essential to combat the drawbacks to his monstrous form, contending or even surpassing the strongest in these lands. Kalrug’s structure was not built to house the much required energy storage Mors naturally possessed. This resulted in burning through an amount of calories beyond survivability, he was fed a consistent diet and leveling agents. Ten gallons of puree while the rest of the canisters consisted of ten-gallon concoctions to stabilize the body and provide nutrients. However, this bothered him little even with the occasional trickle of liquid meat from his great maws.

“Tha’ sou’than sho’s o’ tha unclaimed no’than woo’lands,” Ashcroft bit down on the mouthpiece of his mechanized pipe after the initial clarification. The whirring of its inner heating element gave way to the crackling of sweet smelling herbs. His lipless mouth ajar as he exhaled whilst speaking through a tumbling cloud, “The’h awh some notable fac’tions gawdin’ tha coastal laans tah simplay puut.” The Ari’ni now kept his back, ending the conversation with his silence. Onto the next meeting it was, inquiring to the progress of suppressing the rebelling tribes along the coastal lines. They sat upon a crucial territory that not only held precious resources but a defense advantage. Outposts were separated by a dense, temperate rainforest where the possibility of orc raiding parties was all one could think of.  

Meanwhile, Herraci and Alessa had dissolved the revolt from one of many divided tribes. With few deaths from Our Nostrum, they were able to snuff out the threat. Those that survived and swore fealty to the cartel were restrained and destined for much greater things, possibly becoming those abominations. Armored vehicles were parked about, their exteriors stained by ash and soot from the inner lands. Buildings of brick and metal were scattered about of a man-made clearing, various equipment integrated into each eye-sore of a structure. Suited guards and Anubria walked amongst the wheel-torn earth, workers scattering from section to section. To the south of the camp toward the wastelands were cages where those not wishing to surrender were imprisoned.

The two ‘Generals’ were situated in the center to overlook the succeeding operations. Alessa was just about to touch the cigarette’s filter to her lips before it was snatched in a fraction of a second. Her fingers still in the position of holding it, took her a moment to realize what had occurred. Arms raised and hands open, her confusion quickly turning to a somewhat jovial outrage, “Wha’ tha hell, Heracci? Can ya stop doing that or what? A gi’l will nevah get used to tha’, nawt even with Ebon doing it.” She retrieved her half-empty pack of imported smokes, taking another between her teeth, “An’ ta answer, tha Pirate of Storms waz some folklore figure.” Alessa began again after lighting the end, the ember flashing with each pull into the lungs, “A man riding the storms with eyes like lightning, bringing ships and their warriors into the seas. They even made some stupid song ‘bout it, can’t remembah for the loife o’ me.” Laughing lightly and shaking her head before adding, “Traders an’ their delusions I’m sha, but whut isn’t fake is the boss wishing a word. Maybe you can learn the song for him, shaly he’ll—Hey, careful, those Primal Cores are not easy ta make!–undahstand. Heh.” She interrupted herself as she observed a lowly dwarf in a stained tanktop pushing a cart of boxed Primal Cores – for the weapons and other such devices.

[If I Had a Heart.] The Ari’ni's conversational concisions toward Kalrug were nothing, well, short of necessary. The evolved auditory organs of this abhorrent hulk made it only much worse to instruct wielding the nuanced English language. His own orders came out simple albeit mysterious, but this was not to be confused with incompetence. Battle prowess throughout the various skirmishes only surpassed the preceding, fluctuating as the orcish mindset settled into the quasi-primal cerebral networks. Of course safeguards existed when associating brutish and nigh-unpredictable creations of science with the unchanged forces. These were ever present in the urban conquests of the neutral lands and their mob hierarchy. Control was attained with control of one’s tools, and this was the Generals’ feat.

With such merits toward violence, social understandings were understandably lacking – often bordering on the comedic deconstruction of sentence or situation. The other Generals in all their colloquially born dialects found swift but shaky adjustment in addressing their associate. Even Ashcroft was guilty of those unconscious utterances, occasionally letting slip basic idioms and the like. These were met with perplexed responses that were often left to fade among other words.

Silence filled the space betwixt the two, the low rumbles and screeches of loading machinery in the distance. “It ssshall be done,” He finally said with solemn obedience after a few seconds of orcish calculation amid the quiet moment. Following a stiff half-bow, the great orc turned sluggishly to the nearest pathway and began his noisy departure – feet almost shuffling across the grated floor. Moans of the catwalk’s structure resounded across the obsidian curves of the ceiling, drowning out the factoryesque symphony in proximity.

Kalrug’s wide and unintentionally loud steps brought him only eight feet before Ashcroft’s scraping voice rose over the thunderous footfalls, “If ya’ll would, repout ya findin’s an’ success, Mistah Kalrug.” Ashcroft waited until he heard the rustle of the now attentive Anubria orc peer over the shoulder before adding, “Even if tha’ land’s esoteric protectors ‘pear wit’ pleas, eat ‘em an’ shit ou’ results. O’ some adventures galvantin’ thea’h cocks ‘bout tha land wishin’ ta peek, eat ‘em an’ shit ou’ results. Be it fiah o’ blade; eat ‘em an’ shit ou’ results, Mistah Kalrug.” Few of the sentence’s sections were fully absorbed by the spliced abomination whose sensory antennae translated what was deemed rudimentary. The last part stood out in the orcish processing, smiling appreciatively the best he could from behind his own upper frame. Grunting, he left the Hunter’s presence completely, down the steps and began his waltz to the areas below.

Now near the harbor, he began to direct the shipments wheeled up the ramps. Crates of necessities ranging from food to devices of mass destruction. Alongside were various excavation and logging equipment driven slowly up to be parked within the ship’s hull.  The Anubria General flailed his arms about to better convey his directions, sometimes displaying his own superiority through the lifting of heavy cargo and loading it himself. Ashcroft’s back had still been turned as he gave the ending words, nails digging idly through the ashes of the pipe’s bowl. Glancing to the happenings beneath across and beneath the mezzanine’s level, he left it up to the commanding brute of an individual; he awaited the next subordinate to debrief.

Meanwhile, the two Generals continued to conversed miles from the enclosed harbor’s location, yet Ashcroft knew Heracci’s punctuality was hardly a concern. A few seconds meant little, granting a window that allowed him another of sprinkle freshly ground herbs into the resin-caked concave of the pipe. Here, he anticipating the eventual displacement of his General’s relocating for the inevitable discussion. The talkative Alessa quelled her momentary boredom with Heracci’s company, finding the lull of commanding overwhelming. She had already hurt or broke most of her Konstarian play things after a sexually charged conquest in the unsavory lands. It was truly astounding her body remained unsullied throughout the seemingly innumerable encounters but perhaps even the diseases found her too crazy. Regardless, she sated her subtle pleasures with conversation and Nexxian cigarettes. “Maybe,” He took another drag of the smoldering cylinder as she answered Heracci in a dismissive shrug, “’E’s not much o’ tha talky kind o’ pahsen, if you’ll remember. Heh.” Emerald pools shifted to the edge of the lids as she barely turned, “Certainly isn’t wanting to be an audience for you’l singing, I’ll tell you that much. Probably tha’ Patron pullin’ ‘is half-assed patriarchal guidelines into tha operations. Puppet-man probably is needing help of ‘is own; can’ wipe ‘is ass without those little ‘bots o’ his.” She examined her cigarette for approximately a second until her piercing eyes lifted to follow what was considered a lightly armored tank passing through. She nodded to the letters forming inside her head as she made one last remark, “Maybe tha Storm Pirate even rustled the crusty undergarments o’ that bastard.” She smirked, now looking directly at the Ebon-spliced Heracci standing beside.  

Her humor took a brief step to the side as she waved away a lingering cloud exhaled in a single but random cough, “Oi suspect, um, oi suspect, maybe, now seeing as your rotation to the Market shores is’coming, an’ that reptile-family isn’t appreciating our actions. I wou’ jus’ be bloody glad neither o’ us are travelin’ to oversee excavation.” Shrugging off the notion of finding one’s self in the unknown frontiers and islands to be a most unpleasant one even for the General.