《Of AI and Orcs》 Dont touch weird shit ¡°You hear the announcement?¡± ¡°Yeah, sounds like another generation is bout¡¯ to vanish from the town.¡± The other miner sighed, his soot-covered shoulders sagging. ¡°Town¡¯s already dying, this might be the final nail in the coffin.¡± The other miner mused, thinking of his son. Jerod, who just started growing hair on his lip. Poor kid had no idea what was coming. ¡°Town¡¯s never not been dying. Hell, I don¡¯t think this town has ever been alive.¡± One miner chuckled, momentarily breaking the gloomy tension. The two aged miners were pulled from their thoughts when something blocked out the flickering light cast from the lantern above them, their only source of light down in the tunnels. ¡°Move.¡± It grunted, a massive iron pickaxe resting against one great shoulder. The two miners wordlessly shuffled aside, making way for the brute in the cramped shaft. Neither bothered to greet the giant, both knew it was pointless. Everyone knew how much Bron hated small talk. It was something you¡¯d learn from your very first day in the mines because if there was one constant in the Deep-burrow mines, it would be Bron. Bron had been working in the mines longer than any other. The old orc would be nearing his 80th birthday by now, and he¡¯d been labouring down in the depths for at least 70 of those years. It was work that could drive a man mad, go to the vein, swing a pickaxe, fill a sack, climb back up. Repeat. Even among coal mines, the Deep-burrow mine was infamous for its shit working conditions, monotonous labour and lack of railed carts. Hell, even the pay was shit. Most who worked here only did so out of desperation, and never for long. But not Bron.
Grey¡­ Grey¡­ Grey¡­ Grey streaked with black. Bron dropped his sack on the floor, the rough fabric rustling as he kicked it aside. 800 metres down and he was still finding coal. Bron wondered if this gods-forsaken mine would ever run empty, he was starting to doubt it. With a firm hold on his rusted pickaxe, Bron struck the vein with a heavy blow. Barely even feeling the vibration, he reared back and swung again. Settling into the familiar routine, Bron slipped into autopilot. Staring blankly at the wall with old, tired eyes. Shards of rock bounced off his burly chest in great amounts, the rock quickly yielding to Bron¡¯s impressive orcish strength. He was no stranger to this work, and it showed. His pickaxe precisely targeting the surrounding granite, gradually revealing the (not so) precious mineral. Bron could do this work in his sleep by now, countless days spent in the mines had turned the old Orc into a master at his craft. He knew exactly what striking stone felt like, and what striking coal felt like. Which is why he was so startled when he struck something hard, something that did not yield to his strength. Metal. Leaning in, Bron none too gently brushed aside the gathered dust. But the second his hand touched cool metal, an unbearably painful shock ran through his body, his every muscle locked in place. ¡°AURGH!¡± was all the Orc could grunt out from seized lips, his shaking body immediately collapsing to the ground. Bron vaguely felt his head bounce off the stone floor through the haze of pain. Thank gods for thick Orc skulls. [BEGINNING BIOLOGICAL SCANNING] An impossibly loud voice blared, with a buzzing voice Bron swore he could feel down to his soul. He desperately looked around for who it was, but all he could see was the stone ceiling above him, his body still not obeying him. [SAPIENT RECOGNISED ¨C COMMENCING PLASMA INTEGRATION] ¡°ARRRRGHH¡± Bron¡¯s screams filled the cramped shaft as liquid fire ran through his veins, boiling his body from the inside out. [PLEASE STAY CALM] ¡°ORAHH! FUCK YOUR CALM¡± [FORMING AI] ¡°GORODS GRIMY BALLS!¡± [AI FORMATION COMPLETE] [CRUCIBLE COMPLETE] The mind-numbing pain finally subsided. Bron lay on the cool floor for what felt like hours, just breathing. Taking great big gulps of the air his paralysed body previously denied him. Dear gods almighty, Bron should have known better. He¡¯d worked in these damn mines his entire life, he knows the 3 rules. Don¡¯t eat weird shit, don¡¯t touch weird shit, don¡¯t even fucking look at weird shit. It was a simple set of rules that had kept Bron alive for more than 70 gods¡¯ damn years, and he went and broke em, and look what happened. He got electrocuted, and probably injected with some hopefully not deadly hallucinogenic drug. He was too old for this shit. [You¡¯re never too old to defecate Bron.] Huh, guess the drugs haven¡¯t worn off yet. [If you don¡¯t have a consistent digestive practice, I could suggest some good medicinal plants that can improve your internal bacterial environment] Bron brought himself back to his feet with a grunt, eyeing the weird metal thing with apprehension. Without taking his eyes from the blasted thing, he grabbed his sack and pickaxe and walked back up the shaft. Only looking away once he turned a corner.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. [It¡¯s quite alright Bron, the procedure is complete. Making contact with the delivery unit won¡¯t activate it.] Bron needed a drink, or several. Maybe with a generous amount of grog, he could flush out this annoying drug. [I¡¯m no drug, Bron. I¡¯m a biologically implanted nerve-imprinting artificial intelligence biomancer, or BINAB] Hell, with any luck Bron might even die from alcohol poisoning. Death didn¡¯t seem like much after that experience.
¡°Early night Bron?¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± ¡°Alright, you meet your coal quota?¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay, I¡¯ll just add it to tomorrows work-day.¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± With a final grunt to the Lead-man, Bron left the mine. His head aching, and his wallet empty. Today was turning out to be a pretty shitty day. [I¡¯ve been scanning through your memories Bron and I have to say, you don¡¯t get out much do you?] Bron followed the worn track through the Dark-wood forest, lofty trees adorned with thick vines towering over the large Orc. The occasional hoot of a Muck Ape echoing through the untamed woods. Thankfully, a generous few meters were cleared out either side of the track, to make any lurking predators slightly easier to spot. Unfortunately, the mine had been built right on the coast, so the sound of crashing waves made the perfect blanket of sound for predators to hide in. Not that being able to see or hear a Fern Lion would make any difference. Soon the narrow dirt track became a muddy road, and the dark woods faded behind him. There were very few buildings in the town, a small corner store, a filthy bar held together with luck and a few rusty nails, and a dozen or so dirty huts built with whatever people had on hand. Sticks, cloth, bark. No house was the same, but all houses were similarly destitute. Home sweet home. [Well, this is depressing.]
Mudlock was supposed to be a temporary town. Only set up by desperate miners to extract anything they could from the small coal vein nearby, a project that was supposed to take only a few months. But the Deep-burrow mine, as it would later be called, wasn¡¯t as small as they thought. It just kept going and going, with no end in sight even 90 years later. the town and mine were still alive, if barely. Clinging to life like a drowning rat. It was a terrible town in the middle of nowhere, with barely any supplies sent to it by a kingdom that often forgets its existence. All in all, a horrible place to call home. But, Bron had been living here since he was 8. Having moved here after his family were killed, and he¡¯d been here ever since. Doing the same job, every day, every year. It wasn¡¯t an interesting life, but for an Orc with no credentials or noticeable skills, it was about as much as he could hope for. Well, either that or working as a slave-soldier for the kingdom. [So, um¡­ which lovely house is yours?] Oh right, grog. Bron needed to flush this¡­ whatever it was, out of his system the only way he knew how. [I¡¯m not a drug Bron. I¡¯m a biologically implanted nerve-imprinting artificial intelligence biomancer] And that damn stubby better not water it down. [I know you can hear me.]
Dranik¡¯s bar wasn¡¯t too busy, only one or two patrons drinking at a rotting wooden table. The bar never did get many customers until the miner¡¯s shift ended, then Dranik could rake in some real money. No-one drank more than coal miners who hated their lives. The short dwarf chuckled as he wiped down his bench with some of the new disinfectants brought in with the supply wagon, thankfully the crown finally remembered that this mudhole existed. Pausing in his cleaning, Dranik poured himself a small cup of fine liqueur, the good shit he once drank with his friends back in Karrak. After all, miners weren¡¯t the only ones who hated their lives. ¡°Oh yeah, this old mining town¡¯s finishing up. Just sign this contract to run a bar till we dry out the mine.¡± Dranik mumbled, not the for first time, as he brought the cup to his lip. ¡°It¡¯s only got a few months left in it, should be a good bit of cash for the holiday.¡± He continued, slamming the empty cup down pouring himself another. ¡°It¡¯s only a lock-in contract for formality really, to make sure you don¡¯t run off with all the proceeds. Like we said, it''s only for a few months.¡± Another cup was poured, the harsh drink slightly overflowing. ¡°few months my ARSE! 15 gods¡¯ damn years in this BUNGHOLE!¡± The furious dwarf bellowed, ignored by the few customers who¡¯d long since grown used to the barkeeps'' spiel. The angry dwarf was very much a constant in the small town, one of 3 actually. Dranik was always angry, the mine was always open and¡­ Bang! The reed door was slammed open, and in walked the third constant of Mudlock. Bron. A large Orc who stood head and shoulders above even the tallest humans in Mudlock, and far wider too. Bulky muscular arms connected to burly shoulders, a substantial gut and dull green skin. All together with a face not even a mother could love, lopsided, wrinkled and with two worn tusks jutting from perpetually frowning lips. But who wasn¡¯t frowning in Mudlock? ¡°Oh great, you. I was wondering why the average intellect of the room just plummeted.¡± Dranik grumbled, already grabbing the largest pitcher he had. ¡°Grog. Now, tunnel rat.¡± Bron spat, resting his bulk against the old stained counter. [That sounded racist.] ¡°Don¡¯t ye speak to me like that! Ye fat fuckin pig face!¡± The angry dwarf retorted. [That sounded really racist.] The red-faced dwarf started pouring some of his cheapest, nastiest swill into the pitcher, adding some of his disinfectants for an aftertaste. Maybe this time the great old oaf would go blind. ¡°I see you skimping me stump, more.¡± Dranik sneered at the Orc but added more disinfectant all the same. All but throwing the pitcher at the Orc, taking some joy in the splash that hit the Orcs shirt when Bron caught it. But Bron couldn¡¯t care less about his rags, and immediately downed the pitcher in great gulps. One of the men drinking at the table stared in awe at Bron, who just drank what had to be the highest proof alcohol in the kingdom like it was damn water. The men drinking with him barely even glanced, having seen the same feat and more many times. Bron pounded the bench with his empty pitcher. ¡°More.¡± [How are you still alive?] ¡°Shut up!¡± Dranik watched the old Orc warily, pouring the bane of his bar another drink. Seeing the Orc now shouting at nothing, the Dwarf felt true hope finally light in his heart, a tiny ember of optimism. That maybe, just maybe, Old Bron had finally lost it. Orcs were a strange people, long thought to be beasts and monsters cursed by an old vengeful god and given sapience. But what made them truly unique among the sapient, was their strength. An Orc in the midst of a battle-rage had truly fearsome might and was more than powerful enough to rip the limbs off any unfortunate man who crossed their path. And an Orc never lost their strength, not even old age could blunt their edge. Orcs reached their physical prime around the age of 40, and never leave it. An orc in their 80¡¯s was every bit as physically capable as a younger Orc, but they could die of age just the same. Apparently, it usually began with the deterioration of their minds over the span of a few days, then they die quietly in their sleep. Like their bodies, the finely tuned war machines that they are, just turn off. And Bron was nearing that age. Wouldn¡¯t be all that strange for the grumpy Orc to one day just, not show up to Draniks bar. Oh, how he couldn¡¯t wait for the day¡­ ¡°Another.¡± Passing the Orc shaped problem another drink, Dranik lamented that today wasn¡¯t that day. [Fascinating, your species biology seems very capable! Even your blood-filtration levels are off the charts, perhaps an early evolutionary trait to deal with poison?] Bron angrily rubbed his brow, this weird hallucination just wouldn¡¯t go away. Usually, Bron was damn near immune to toxins and drugs, maybe he was getting near that age. Whatever, maybe if he drinks enough, he¡¯ll forget he was drugged. [That¡¯s not how that works.] ¡°This is going on your tab Tusker. With interest.¡±
Bron tasted mud. Why was walking so hard? Clumsily putting an arm against the ground, Bron heaved himself upright. Nearly tipping back the opposite direction. [You biologically sapient beings confound me. Purposely poisoning yourselves for what? Fun? From what I¡¯m reading your endorphin levels actually dropped, so not even you think this is fun.] Damn fucking flea-bearded ale-stain stopped passing him drinks, saying some nonsense about, ¡®Not wanting a fat dead swamp skin rotting up his bar¡¯, as if a little grog could kill Bron. Tomorrow, Bron swore he¡¯d drown the rock gobbler in his own piss. If he could just figure out where he was? If back that way was the bar, then his hut should be somewhere to the east, near the forest''s edge. Wait, where was east? [East should be toward your left.] ¡°Feck off ya grimy git, and git outta my fuckin head!¡± Bron roared at the persistent voice, he was starting to think it wasn¡¯t just a drug. [No, your other left.] The stupid voice didn¡¯t know what it was talking about, Bron had lived in this mudhole his entire life. He knew his gods'' damn way around. [This is the complete opposite direction.] His hut should be around here somewhere¡­ [The town is barely 200 square meters; this should not be this difficult.] ¡°You think this is my first rodeo?¡± Bron questioned the sky, who never seemed to shut up! [You¡¯re staring at an empty road, if you¡¯d just turn arou-] WHO MOVED ALL THE FUCKING HUTS? [Creator give me strength.] 2. Annoying voices ¡°Gods almighty, my fucking head¡­¡± Bron grumbled into his uncomfortable bed, wincing at the cold unforgiving wind blowing in his face. Weird, he could have sworn that he¡¯d patched that hole up last week. The bark shouldn¡¯t have rotted off already. Wearily cracking an eye open, and recoiling from the headache-inducing light, Bron swore. This wasn¡¯t his house. Hell, this wasn¡¯t even a house. He was lying face down in the dirt, a few meters from the bar. A miner¡¯s wife was eating some porridge on its shoddy veranda, giving him a very judgmental gaze. Bron grunted at her, swearing something about ¡®pig skinned harlots¡¯ and propping himself up. Rubbing his poor aching skull. It¡¯s been a long time since the grog had knocked Bron off his arse like that. Maybe the stumpy little git hadn¡¯t been watering them down? Judging from the red sun''s position just over the forest, it seemed Bron hadn¡¯t quite missed work. Damn shame that. Some memories were gradually coming back to him, something about getting electrocuted, some annoying voice, him threatening to rip out a man¡¯s throat and feed it to him. It was always dangerous to come between Bron and his grog. Well, at least the annoying voice is gone. Gods above, that was unbearable, Bron disliked talking, but he hated listening. [No, I¡¯m still here, just fascinated by your suns. A red giant orbitally locked with a dwarf star, amazing. Does it have much effect on tidal processes?] Bron roared at the gods who cursed him, shocking the miner¡¯s wife into spilling her cold porridge.
[So, don¡¯t you care about what I am?] ¡°Couldn¡¯t give a rats arse.¡± [Or about what I can do?] ¡°Can you shut up?¡± [Hypothetically¡­ yes.] ¡°Mornin¡¯ Bron, heard you had an interesting night.¡± The lead-man remarked, marking something on his dumb little sheet. Bron was pretty sure it was blank and quite sure the man in front of him couldn¡¯t read. Bron grunted at the man, which could mean anything between ¡®I hope you get crotch rot¡¯ to ¡®you have a lovely day¡¯ in Bron speak. The man decided to preserve their working relationship and assume the latter as Bron trudged into the mine. [I¡¯m telling you anyway. I am a crucible, a tool forged by the greatest scientific minds and quantum magick engineers to ever grace the sequada] Bron took a right, to the deep shaft ladder and started slowly climbing down. His pickaxe clutched in one hand with his sack. Today he¡¯d have to fill it up two-fold, thanks to a certain voice that WOULDN¡¯T SHUT UP. [A crucible is used to make warriors into weapons by reshaping their very molecular making up, we do this by utilising a specific mana energy wavelength called ¡®Quelaticmafergadors wavelength. I know, long name.] ¡°I don¡¯t know, nor do I care, what that means,¡± Bron spoke to the ladder, still clambering down one-handed. Which wasn¡¯t as difficult as one might think. [Quelaticmafergadors wavelength is a very special type of mana that¡¯s only present in the cores of living fauna, no one is quite sure why, but that¡¯s unimportant. What is important is that I can use this mana to reshape you, make you better. Whatever you want, I can do it.] ¡°Can you make me deaf?¡± It was a trait Bron had always wished he was born with, especially now. [Yes, but I can also make you stronger! Faster! You want wings? You get wings! You want two more arms protruding from your kneecaps? You¡¯ll never bend over again!] This all sounded like a lot of effort. And effort was something Bron had in very short supply, that and money. Particularly money, Bron¡¯s grog wasn¡¯t free, unfortunately. [Regrettably, I am the ¡®Arena¡¯ model, so there are some¡­ rather annoying restrictions.] ¡°Make me deaf.¡± [I cannot, first of all, you have no Quelaticmafergadors wavelength mana. If I use yours it will quite literally kill you.] ¡°Dead, deaf. I¡¯ll take either.¡± Bron thought out his options and considered something he honestly believed he¡¯d never do. Make conversation. Maybe if he talked to the annoying damn voice, it might be satisfied for a second and finally shut the fuck up. It was worth a try. And so, with a long, long sigh. Bron tried. ¡°How would I get this¡­ Quel-whatever mana?¡± He questioned to empty air, still moving down the ladder. [Let¡¯s call it Q-mana, and as it¡¯s essentially tied to one''s lifeforce, you would need to kill something. Anything really, so long as it¡¯s fauna.] ¡°hm¡­¡± [And you don¡¯t need to talk aloud, I can read your thoughts just fine.] Oh good, now Bron would never escape the fucking thing, not even in his own mind. [Ouch.] ¡°I have work, food, a home and grog. Why do I need you? And what¡¯s it going to take to make you go away.¡± Bron¡¯s deep growling voice seemed to fill the narrow shaft as he worked his way down the ladder, his words bouncing off the walls and coming back to him in short angry bursts. [¡­ I¡¯ve already integrated with your Q-mana Bron, I can¡¯t be removed.] Bron considered this daunting new information, and his only consolation was that soon, he might die of old age. [And your work can literally be done by an 8-year-old, your hut is built from garbage and your ¡®Grog¡¯ is little more than anti-bacterial wash.] ¡­ Bron kept climbing down.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Pausing for a breath, Bron leaned on his pickaxe. Waving a hand around to disperse the obscuring dust he¡¯d thrown up. [You¡¯ve lived in this glorified mud pit almost your entire life Bron, I¡¯ve scanned your memories.] Bron huffed and shouldered his pickaxe once more.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Clang! [I saw what happened to your parents Bron, it¡¯s understandable for a young child to hide somewhere nobody can find him.] CLANG! [But it¡¯s been nearly 70 years, surely you wish for more? More than¡­ this?] CLANG! [This planet is simply a wonder! Mana levels here are unlike anything my supplied metrics have ever seen! First of all, this planet is massive! So massive that gravity should be squashing you right now! (Maybe it¡¯s hollow?)] CLANG! [Entire continents untamed by man! Great and powerful monsters lurking below and above! Immense seas dominated by bloodthirsty pirates and colossal creatures!] CLANG! ¡­ Bron threw down his pickaxe and began angrily shoving large shards of coal into his bag, uncaring of the sharp debris that cut into his hands. ¡°What¡¯s it to you? You¡¯re just an annoying fucking parasite, why do you care?¡± He snarled at the voice that questioned his entire life, now Bron didn¡¯t know much about social etiquette, but that was probably pretty fucking rude. [There¡¯s an entire world of adventure waiting! Doesn¡¯t that excite you?] ¡°No.¡± Bron gathered his sack, grabbed his pickaxe, and began the long trek back up. [¡­. ]
¡°Evening Bron, meet yer¡¯ quota?¡± Bron handed the man his coal-bag, now brimming with the dull rock. ¡°Enough mineral to cover the tab.¡± Bron grunted at the annoying man. [Actually, coal isn¡¯t a mineral. It¡¯s derived from an organic source so it¡¯s actually a sedimentary rock.] Bron audibly sighed and trudged down the beaten track back to town, thinking of grog and its wonderful amnesia inducing properties. [It usually starts off as plant matter that gathers below lakes, before being buried by sediment carried in by rivers. Then overtime the plant matter turns into ¡®peat¡¯, before the pressure and heat of the planet finally converts it to coal.] ¡°Fucking gods and their curses¡­¡±
[This again?] Grog sure tasted like shit, but that never stopped Bron. He absent-mindedly pondered if he had an alcohol dependency but realised, he didn¡¯t really care. Grog was the only thing in the world that brought him some semblance of joy, fuck what other people think. [So close Bron, so close.] The bar this time was quite busy, full of chatty miners eager to get out of the stuffy shafts and talk over some good beer. Every table was packed, except for Bron¡¯s. Just the way he liked it. No shitty conversations, no annoying co-workers. Just an Orc and his grog, it was perfect. [Are planet-quakes ever a problem in the mines?] Well, almost perfect. [Your cranky shtick is getting old Bron.] ¡°I am old.¡± He replied into his pitcher, giving anyone who glanced his way the stink eye. [Okay, I¡¯ll make you a deal Bron.] ¡­ ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± A phrase Bron honestly thought would never leave his mouth. [I¡¯m curious about the magick of this world, just tell me how people develop their own.] ¡°And?¡± [And until you finish drinking, I¡¯ll shut up. And you don¡¯t even need to talk out loud, just project your thoughts.] Bron considered the deal. It was a good one, drinking was quite sacred, it was a holy time that needed no distractions. Especially talking distractions. ¡®Fine.¡¯ He thought, resigned to the fact he was about to¡­ talk, probably a lot. [Thank you.] ¡®You call it Q-mana, the magick that makes up our beings. We call it our Core.¡¯ Bron asked for another two large pitchers, he would need to wet his throat for this. The fact he wouldn¡¯t be using it was irrelevant. ¡®Every living creature has a core; through it we gain strength and can powerful magick spells. There are 4 main physical traits, strength, speed, endurance and recovery. And 2 Magick, soul and spirit.¡¯ ¡®A young mud ape with a fresh core will always only grow in primarily strength and speed. This is the same for its entire species. But a sapient core is unique for the individual.¡¯ [I see¡­ So one man might grow in strength, and another speed?] ¡®Correct. For example, you might grow primarily in strength and endurance, with a secondary growth in speed, and little to no growth in recovery, spirit and mind.¡¯ ¡®But someone else could have no primaries, secondaries in 4 traits and nothing in the other two.¡¯ [I see, so there¡¯s a set number of traits you can specialise in, to keep things fair and equal across the board. Do you know the specifics?] ¡®No, I¡¯m not a bloody scholar. I¡¯m just an old miner who¡¯s heard a few things. Are we done?¡¯ [Almost, just two more questions, how do you grow?] ¡®No one¡¯s sure, but fighting shit seems to work best.¡¯ [And¡­ what are your traits?] ¡®We call it growth. And my growth is none of your damn business. Besides, can¡¯t you check my memories for that? Hell, couldn¡¯t you have checked my memories for all of that!¡¯ Bron shouted in his mind, suddenly realising the damn¡­ whatever it was, may have played him. [I could have, but it would¡¯ve been difficult. Looking through memories is a lot of data, especially mundane memories. It¡¯s far easier for me to look at specific memories that stand out to you, since they¡¯re much easier to locate.] Bron took a long swig from his pitcher, downing the swill with one extended gulp. [So, what is your growth?] Bron looked into his empty pitcher, seeing his white bearded reflection in the dull metal. ¡®Probably mostly strength, with a secondary recovery and endurance.¡¯ [Probably?] ¡®Yeah, probably.¡¯
¡°Hurry the fuck up you sacks of Propoid shit!¡± Even as Rodain screamed, the naval galleon drew closer, it¡¯s deck already teeming with soldiers. ¡°Fuck! Cap¡¯n they¡¯re trying to board!¡± One of the crew shouted from across the ship, with his sword hand shaking so much it was a wonder he still held the blade. ¡°I have fucking eyes, Xeres! And that¡¯s ¡®CAPTAIN¡¯, I told you to lose the bloody accent!¡± Rodain swore back across the ship but kept his eyes on the galleon, seeing the their crew loading the cannons once more. Piss and shit! This was the last time he followed a damn tip, he should have known it¡¯d be a trap. They always fucking are. And this trap was a bad one, a fully stocked naval war galleon, someone must really want him dead. Or alive, they¡¯d been trading cannon shots for a while, but since both ships had a barrier specialist on board the going had been slow. Though both ships bore various holes and scrapes, the mages weren¡¯t all-powerful. But Rodain got the feeling that if the other ship wanted them dead, he wouldn¡¯t be breathing right now. With any luck, he could use that. ¡°Hard to starboard!¡± He shouted, throwing the wheel to the right with every ounce of his weight. The second the enemy ship came into view of the cannons, pandemonium ensued. Great booms shook the air and the entire ship was simultaneously deafened, smoke swallowed all vision and the crew took cover behind anything at hand. The enemy ship was suddenly alight with vibrant spinning disks of light, repelling the iron balls that slammed into them, after the first few cannonballs though, the disks abruptly faded, allowing a few shots to hit the ship unimpeded. Rodain tool pleasure in seeing the enemy crew ravaged by wooden shrapnel. He decided to target the enemy crew, since sinking a galleon of that size would be damn near impossible with his dwindling ammunition. The galleon swung around in response, at great and sudden speed. In a matter of seconds, they were in direct line of the enemy cannons. ¡°What?¡± Rodain shouted, before seeing a thin but taught anchor line from the ship leading into the ocean. The fuckers had done a club haul! Where on Dranaut did they find such strong rope? The desire to take the enemy ship swiftly grew tenfold for Rodain, good rope like that was extremely hard to come by. THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! THUNK! Instead of their deck being devastated by cannon fire, powerful grapple lines had been fired into their hull, and with a jerk, the two ships began growing closer, and closer. ¡°You four, keep firing into their deck, avoid sinking it, I want that fucking anchor. EVERYBODY ELSE! Grab something pointy and get ready to kill some FUCKING ELVES!¡± Rodain unsheathed his longsword, and with a slight flex of his mana, it roared alight with an intense purple flame. ¡°It¡¯s time to teach some leaf-lickers why you don¡¯t fuck with the Dusk of Dawn.¡± His crew answered with a resounding roar as a multitude of weaponry was drawn, the pirate crew¡¯s bloodthirst now suitably ablaze. Dozens of soldiers leapt aboard, answering with a war cry of their own. Within seconds, the deck was teeming with violence as sword met axe and warriors clashed. Rodain faced a heavily armoured man wielding a Warhammer, the soldier had the emblem of the Fahar kingdom Tank division proudly printed on his chest plate. Rodain narrowed his eyes in disdain. ¡°By order of the Mage King, you are hereby under arrest, Pirate captain Rodain. Come in peace or come in pieces.¡± Rodain snorted, fucking pompous officers. They get one or two promotions for being ¡®slightly above average¡¯ and suddenly they¡¯re hot shit. Well, Rodain would be more than happy to give the dumbass a flaming reality check. Darting forward with his startling speed, Rodain slipped past the hammer swung in his direction and viciously slammed the point of his sword into the soldier''s open-face helmet. With one hand on the pommel and another gloved hand on the blade, he had more than enough leverage to push the scorching sword into an eye socket and scrape the back of his helmet. Luckily, Rodain didn¡¯t have to fear his own mana-fire. And with the ever so familiar stench of burnt flesh, the man dropped like a sack of rocks. ¡°Huh, easier than I thought,¡± Rodain remarked, surprised. Usually, officers were made of sterner stuff than that. Maybe a hasty promotion? Even so, the officer had quite a lot of men. Men who were currently cutting down his crew like weeds. Seeing his first mate emerge from the hold, Rodain navigated his way through the battlefield to greet the mage, cutting down the occasional challenger. Once he reached his first mate, the dwarf mage threw up a quick barrier spell to keep out any enemies. Rodain had been very lucky to convince the diminutive barrier specialist to join his crew. ¡°How were the slave rowers?¡± Rodain asked, he usually kept a few dozen slaves in the hold to propel the ship through the dead wind, and unfortunately, he saw the ship take a few hits to the hull. And now that he noticed it, the ship was sitting a little lower in the water. ¡°Hold flooded, they all drowned. We¡¯re going to need more rowers before we cross back over the dead sea.¡± Jas told his captain, his bearded face neutral. ¡°Piss. Any idea where we can get some more?¡± ¡°Well¡­ There is a remote village nearby¡­¡± 3. Pig-skinned pirates ¡°Good haul Bron?¡± The lead-man politely questioned Bron, who¡¯d just emerged from the mines, freshly coated in itchy, annoying coal dust. ¡°Hmph.¡± Bron grunted to the irritating human, throwing his bag at the man who stumbled as he caught the considerable weight of ¡®sedimentary rock¡¯. [Why don¡¯t you like him?] Bron didn¡¯t answer the voice as he walked down the forest track, because sometimes you don¡¯t need a reason to dislike someone. No, he definitely didn¡¯t dislike the human because he got promoted to lead-man after working here for a measly 2 years, whereas Bron had been working here longer than he¡¯d been alive and didn¡¯t even have a pay rise to show it. No reason at all. ¡°EEEEEAAAHHHH!¡± The high-pitched scream of a Mud-ape suddenly pierced through the night, as a large dominant male member of the species leapt from a tree and landed in front of Bron. Ah fuck, was it mating season again already? Usually, the mud-apes got fiercely territorial to show off to the females of their species, even fighting humans and other sapient creatures. Which is quite rare any other time of year for the shy creatures. You wouldn¡¯t think so though, with their appearance. Even hunched over as this male was, he still stood around half the height of the towering Bron. Paired with long powerful arms, a stocky torso and sharp canines, mud-apes became quite feared in this region. [Oh my, I would suggest slowly backing away, avoid eye contact and don¡¯t show any teeth. Primates habitually associate those gestures with aggression.] Bron stomped the ground and leaned forward, roaring at the wild beast, to which the mud-ape screeched its own challenge. [Okay, probably not the best idea.] With a short pounding of its chest, the mud-ape threw itself at Bron. Long robust arms providing the creature with surprising speed as it barreled toward the aging Orc. ¡°GRAAAAHHH!¡± Bro roared once more, batting aside a flailing hairy arm and wincing at the force of the blow, he¡¯d be bruising there tonight. But not before he gave the fucking thing some bruises of its own. With a resounding thud, one meaty green fist met the side of a furry face, the mighty strike slamming the mud-ape into it¡¯s namesake. Before it could recover, Bron kicked it in the ribs as hard as he could, sending the ape rolling a few meters away. Having lived in these woods for the better part of 70 years, Bron knew how to deal with a mud-ape. You hit it hard, and you keep hitting it until fucks off or dies. Either works. Not giving the ape a chance to recover, Bron darted over and grabbed one of the beast¡¯s flailing arms. Picking it up and throwing it off the track and into the forest. The ape flew for a good few meters before colliding harshly with a sturdy tree. Blearily shaking its head, the ape slowly stood up, stumbled around for a few seconds, glanced at Bron, and darted deeper into the green. Letting loose a few hoots as it ran. [Huh, I thought that¡¯d be more exciting.] ¡°It¡¯s an animal, they prioritize survival. It isn¡¯t a fucking monster.¡±
¡°I thought you said there was a town here?¡± Rodain questioned Jas as he looked over an empty beach, riddled with sharp craggy rocks. ¡°It is a pretty remote town, probably doesn¡¯t even have a port,¡± Jas answered, busy with a few other men as they lowered the rowboats. ¡°Very well, I¡¯ll take every sailor we have and head inland. Once we find the town, we subdue and take any able-bodied men they have. Hear that men? No killing!¡± Rodain shouted across the ship, receiving a few disappointed ¡®aye¡¯s. ¡°Jas you stay aboard the ship.¡± ¡°Aye Cap¡¯n¡± ¡°Captain, Jas. Captain.¡±
[Back to this huh?] Bron raised the pitcher and downed the contents in one breath, then moving on to his dinner, simply picking up the bowl and gulping the broth down much like the grog. After slamming the bowl down on the wood bench, Dranik handed him another pitcher. ¡°I hope you choke, swine.¡± Bron grunted at the man, ignoring the jab in favour of the divine drink placed Infront of him. But his attempt at poisoning himself was suddenly interrupted by the bar door slamming open, and a bloodied man falling into the bar, screaming at the shocked inhabitants. ¡°PIRATES! PIRATES IN THE TOWN!¡± [Pirates?] ¡°pirates?¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± The shocked muttering of Dranik and the annoying AI went unanswered as a large tattooed man kicked down the door and sunk his axe into the skull of the bloodied man with a wet thud. ¡°Oops.¡± The murderous stranger sarcastically drawled. There was a second of shocked silence, then absolute pandemonium. The bar was overtaken with screams as every man and woman in the building threw whatever they had on-hand at the pirate, then dashed out of the building, most using windows since the main door was occupied. Well, everyone except for two. One hid behind the counter, barely containing his own shaking body from throwing itself out the window.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. And the other grabbed all the nearby abandoned pitchers and tipped their contents into his own. [RUN BRON!] ¡®In a damn minute.¡¯ Bron thought to the voice, carefully pouring the precious liquid into his pitcher. He couldn¡¯t afford to spill even a drop! ¡°Well, well. They say in a time of crisis, a man shows his true colours.¡± The muscled pirate said, slowly walking over the recently dead body toward Bron. Lazily spinning the axe he held deftly in one hand, having ripped the weapon free from a skull moments earlier. ¡°And when you take what¡¯s precious to them¡­¡± The pirate growled, raising his axe with a mad gleam in his eye. ¡°THEY SHOW THEIR TRUE NATURE!¡± He shouted, throwing the axe with all his considerable strength. The deadly weapon spinning through the air with vicious speed. Bron only had time to blink before the several pitchers in his arms exploded, the treasured grog inside left to soak into the rotting wood floor. Bron froze, the blood dripping from a long cut in his forearm not noticed or acknowledged. ¡°What¡¯s it gonna be, Tusker? fight, or flight?¡± Bron¡¯s open hands curled into tightly shaking fists as he turned to the pirate. ¡°I¡¯M GONNA CAVE IN YER SKULL PIG-SKIN!¡± He roared at the pirate, the war cry his people grew famous for spilling from his lips as he charged the man, who stood very almost as large as himself. The pirates face grew a maddening grin as prepared to receive the charging orc, something most men would consider insane. [His stance isn¡¯t very spread, lead with a kick to destabilize him, then push him to the ground!] Bron grabbed a sturdy looking chair as he passed it and raised the construct over his head, the pirate¡¯s eyes widened as he crossed his thick arms over his face, but it did little to save him. With a grunt of exertion, Bron brought the wooden chair, designed to hold Orcs, crashing down on the pirate¡¯s skull with a loud crunch, sending the pirate slamming into the floor. [Or that, that works.] Before Bron could celebrate, his feet were kicked out from under him with shocking strength, his own significant bulk slamming into the floor next to the pirate. ¡°Ye got some fight in ya, green-skin.¡± The pirate growled as he dragged himself back up, using a table for support. Bron rolled over and pushed himself up, the stench of his precious grog staining the floor fueling his growing rage. With a resounding roar, he threw himself at the pirate in a bodily tackle. Both of them crashing through a table, sharp splinters ravaging their skin. ¡°Argh, fucking hell!¡± The pirate swore, pounding Bron¡¯s back with an elbow, his arm pumping up and down like a piston. Bron snarled and started punching the man¡¯s stomach over and over, still pushing forward and forcing the pirate closer to the rickety wall of the bar. Bron felt something crack under the pirate¡¯s unforgiving elbow, probably a rib. The sudden pain giving him an abrupt burst of strength as he bellowed! Picking the pirate up and in a show of astonishing might, threw the man through the old rotting wall. ¡°Oh fu-,¡± The curses of the pirate were cut-off as he slammed through the wall, his bruised body showered with old wet wood. The air pushed from his lungs as he violently collided with the cold wet mud outside, his bloodied form quickly layered with the filth. The pouring rain doing nothing to wash it off. Bron stood there, gasping for breath as he held his side with the broken rib. Swearing to gods that didn¡¯t care when he saw the human push himself up from the thick mud. ¡°Fucking pig skins.¡± He swore again, jumping the short two-meter drop down into the muck where the pirate now stood. Landing with a gasp of pain, Bron warily regarded the buccaneer. ¡°Yer¡¯ a tough one, but that¡¯s to be expected of an old, decrepit Orc.¡± The man sneered, wiping the mud from his eyes. [Ahh, a verbal joust. Tell him that he¡¯s a son of a whore and a father of goats.] ¡°Fuck you.¡± Bron rumbled. [Close enough.] ¡°Starting to wish I didn¡¯t throw away my axe.¡± The pirate mumbled as he cracked his neck, slowly walking toward Bron. [Yeah, that was pretty dumb.] The two met in a furious clash once more, Bron¡¯s attempt to grapple stopped with a painful blow to the nose, snapping it to the side. Bron responded with a brutal punch to the pirate¡¯s eye, quickly swelling it up and opening a bleeding cut on their brow. Strike after strike was traded, Bron¡¯s were heavy and unrelenting, the pirate¡¯s precise and practised. After blocking a particularly malicious knee to his stomach, Bron slipped in the mud. The pirate didn¡¯t miss his chance and shoulder-checked the old Orc into the grime but got pulled down with the persistent Orc. Bron felt his lip split from a dizzying punch and retaliated with a punch to the throat. The two twisting and turning in the muck as each tried to get the advantage, the bruises and cuts rapidly piling up as arms, elbows, knees and teeth swung and struck. [Yeah! Get him!] ¡®Useless fucking voices!¡¯ Bron thought as he rolled through the mud away from the pirate, his cloths slick wet to his skin. But when his hand hit something painfully hard, a ferocious smile split his face. A smile he quickly hid. [I¡¯m moral support, at least until you get some Q-mana.] Spitting out what he hoped wasn¡¯t a tooth, Bron stood up on unreliably shaky legs. The pouring rain masking his gasps for air as the pirate did the same. Around the two, townspeople ran from bloodthirsty pirates as homes were torched and looted, the occupants dragged kicking and screaming out. And worryingly, several other pirates circled the two from a distance. ¡°There¡¯s no escaping this swamp-skin, surrender now and I¡¯ll kill you fast.¡± Bron snorted the blooded welling up in his broken nose into his mouth, spitting the disgusting glob into the mud. Bron wasn¡¯t going anywhere, not when the man who spilt his grog was still breathing. [He¡¯s also torching your entire town and killing everyone you¡¯ve ever known.] ¡°I told you I¡¯d fucking kill you,¡± Bron growled with his deep voice of old rage, sluggishly stumbling toward the pirate with an ugly snarl on his face. ¡°Dreams are well and good man-eater. But keep them REALISTIC!¡± The pirate yelled, falling into a dead sprint for the Orc. Bron winced at his broken rib and severely bruised body but ran to meet the crazed pirates charge nonetheless, heavy feet pounding the mud-stricken earth with every step. They collided with a thud and a crack. The pirate''s fist smashed into the side of Bron¡¯s jaw with a thud. The rock Bron had been hiding hit the pirate¡¯s temple with a crack causing the pirate to collapse into the mud, his momentum dragging and rolling him through the sludge. [Nice!] Bron didn¡¯t waste any time, scrambling over to the fallen pirate and bringing the unwieldy granite down upon his face over and over. After a few heavy blows, the pirates face concaved, and he took his last rattling breath through broken lips. Bron fell back into the mud, filling his deprived lungs with air as he panted without pause. The annoying voice thankfully but strangely, silent. For a moment, Bron just relished the quiet of the rain. ¡°Well fought, Orc.¡±
Rodain watched his boatswain ¡®fight¡¯ the orc, perhaps fight was a bit strong¡­ Brawl? In any case, it was a fight his boatswain was winning. Though the orc had been a tough opponent by the bruises on the boatswain¡¯s face, numerous as they were. Rodain just hoped the idiotic pirate remembered they needed these men alive, dead men don¡¯t row. At least, not on his ship. His fellow crewmates gathered around, forming a semi-circle to watch the fight. It wasn¡¯t code or anything to disturb fights, they just wanted to place bets. Pirates would-be pirates. Rodain¡¯s eyes narrowed as they saw the Orc subtly hide a rock behind himself, angling his large body so the boatswain wouldn¡¯t see the deception. Sneaky, sneaky orc. Perhaps, the boatswain wouldn¡¯t be winning this. Rodain supposed now is when he should jump in and subdue the orc, but if he was honest, Rodain never liked the boatswain anyway. Sure enough, not 10 seconds later, the Orc was in the process of beating the man¡¯s skull in with the stone. The blood and brain matter mixing with the wet mud. It was a gruesome sight, causing even the pirates to go uncharacteristically quiet. It was a brutal, underhanded and devious move by the orc, a decidedly¡­. Pirate move¡­ ¡°Well fought Orc,¡± Rodain announced, shocking the orc from his battle-rage as the pirate captain carefully considered his options. Especially since now, he was short a boatswain and his strength specialist at that. ¡°But if you¡¯re done excavating my good boatswains¡¯ grey matter, I have a proposal.¡± He continued, pulling the barkeep he captured''s head back by the hair and gently resting the blade of his sword on the dwarf¡¯s throat. ¡°I have a proposal.¡±