The sounds of his mechanical feet on the metal floors echoed in the narrow corridor as well as the occasional squelch of a mixture of gore and feces that lined these halls, illuminated only by the soft glow of the red crystallin lights, as they consume very little energy. He cared extraordinarily little about the cleanliness of his prized ship, only that it would be operational as soon as possible, and by the looks of his diminished checklist, that might be today. He looked at the clipboard he held in his last organic arm and flipped through the several vellum pages, recycled from the flesh of his kin, lists of items needed to get done, all written and crossed off in his own blood, well, mostly. Ink was a scarce substance. He noted that there were only a few boxes left unchecked. Starting from the top he went towards the main deck to get a status update from one of his direct disciples.

He approached the sealed door that led outside and grunted as he turned the latch, the fresh rotten air entering his lungs. The atmosphere of filth blocking the light of day and the clouds crackle and spark with a crackling energy, the nearby bog bubbles and boils, releasing more of its toxic gas, and in the distance, he surveyed as the boiling sea continues to dissolve the island's edge, the horizon clouded by steam. On the main deck the goblin artificers all simultaneously ceased all other actions and stood at attention. Upon giving a simple command, they continued working on the several rows of anti-air turrets layered on top of each other. Each one was unique, personalized by the gob that fixed and operated it. He didn’t mind, he understood the pride and joy of his creations and took solace in the fact that he wasn’t the only one. There are so few ways to find joy in this barren wasteland that is currently on the verge of destroying itself. A massive, cloaked figure approached and knelt before him, fist over his chest.

“Lord Tork, you grace us with your presence.” The figure said, lifting his face to reveal a black skinned orc wearing green lensed goggles, various tools lined his belt and vest for ease of access. Even when kneeling, they were both at eye level.

“Krak, what is the status of our auto cannons?” Tork asked forcefully through his voice box, his words emitting from a speaker located in his throat hidden under his crimson hood.

“All units appear fully operational, me lord. Permission to demonstrate?”

“Granted.” Krak wasted no time in leading Tork to the nearest mounted turret, the goblin performing maintenance visibly shaking as they approached. Her coarse, red skin barely visible under the grime and oil. Her clothing was in similar fashion, baggy pants and tattered brown shirt held together by her tool belt. Assuming the worst, she stood in parade rest, her cloak bellowed as the wind slowly began to rise.

“Soc!” Krak barked. “Prepare for demonstration!”

“Y-yes, sir!” she replied before grabbing a long belt of rounds linked together and loading it in the feed way, closing the top cover, and finally knocking the side lever back, chambering the round with a satisfying CHLUNK.

“Take aim at those rocks there.” Krak instructed, pointing to a line of spiked rocks in the distance. She nodded and aimed down the iron sights, waiting for permission to fire. “Now since I specialized in Firearms in the Artificer Tree, as per your request, me lord, I immediately saw where we can improve as I was flooded with new ideas and schemas. For example, I noticed that for each round fired, the shell casing is ejected and ultimately lost into oblivion. I know how much you hate waste, me lord, so I altered the guns in such a way that it fires the entire round. That is seventy-five percent more bullet per bullet!” He announced proudly. “In addition, I also altered the rounds themselves to detonate upon impact. Observe, FIRE!” he barked. Soc smiled gleefully as she squeezed the trigger, a spray of rounds erupted from the end of the barrel.

DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN

The rock line never stood a chance as large chunks were near instantaneously blown off, reducing it to mere rubble and dust. Small explosions echoed upon impact. Tork noted the lack of muzzle flash and stored that information away for later. “Most impressive, Krak. You have done well.” Tork complemented, nodding in approval. “Finish what is needed and prepare for launch, meet me on the bridge when it is completed.”

“Consider it done, me lord.” Tork turned and turned away, flipping through a couple pages on his clipboard. Anti-Air Defense systems: Check. As Tork headed back inside he could briefly overhear a conversation behind him.

“I do good?” Asked Soc timidly.

“You did great.” Krak assured. “Unload your turret and find a seat to strap in.”

Tork would have smiled if he could, but having a respirator grafted onto one’s face makes it rather difficult. So, he’ll just have to be happy knowing his engineers are in good hands. The next thing on the list were the land vehicles, located in the well decks almost directly below him on level four which hold the ships embarked troops and the primary heavy combat equipment, the Brachyura Panzer, also commonly known as the ‘Crab Tank.’ Six months ago, the surrounding waters of Stench began gradually boiling, which was naturally followed by a giant crab invasion. With each one measuring about fifteen feet, or five goblins tall, on average. Whenever Tork reminisced about the events he often considered it a blessing in disguise. In addition to giant crab meat being delicious, the incredibly bored, bloodthirsty, and immortal orc troopers had a different outlet for their shared animosity for about twelve days before ultimately going back to killing each other as well as other crew members. Speaking of, Tork realized they were also among the list of things to inspect before takeoff and he did not look forward to it.

“One thing at a time, my apprentice.” Whispered a voice directly into his mind, obviously sensing Tork’s distressed state of mind. The crystal shard embedded in his forehead tingled somewhat, alerting him to its presence.

“Yes, my Master.” Tork said aloud, the tingling fading slowly. After a long drawn out sigh, he went down to the lower levels and traveled through long corridors that stretched over a kilometer towards the far back of the ship. Unfortunately, he didn’t have direct communication to any of his officers or artificers like the way he and his master shared, so he had to walk there manually. To pass the time he rubbed at the smooth, jagged shape comfortably with his arm, reminiscing the day he discovered his master.

He was such a young gob then, always curious of his surroundings, especially the old war machines that were once scattered throughout the island. He always instinctively knew they were unnatural and that they had once served a purpose. While his brothers would wrestle and fight over scrapes, he would tinker with gears, pistons, and wires. Of course, at that time the only tool he had was a rock he’d found so he’d often break whatever it was he tried to fix but the sparks were fascinating, nonetheless.

While out seeking other things to smash, he discovered a titanic humanoid construct the likes of which he had never seen before. Both heavily armed and armor clad, it stood over six meters tall in its prime, its chest chassis exposed by a long diagonal gash, revealing a head sized jet-black crystal. Naturally, he tried to smash it to see what would happen, but in doing so triggered a small explosion resulting with a shard of it lodged in his cranium. It is through that shard that he is able to have this strange direct link to his master. It told him how to properly dismantle and rebuild, guided him through the class trees and to better understand the weakness of his flesh. As Tork advanced through the ranks his master rewarded him with more advanced schematics and schema, such as his prized Cybermantle augment when he reached Expert rank. Feeling a little extra nostalgic today, he opened up his character sheet, despite it not having changed much in the last year or so, stunted by his current project.

Name: Tork, Tyrant of Stench

Age: 57

Race: Biolium-Infused Goblin

Class: Artificer

Level: 70 progress to next level: 25%

Profession: Artificer (Master lvl 8)

Statistics:

Health: 950

Stamina: 800

Attributes:

Strength: 75 (Artificial)

Dexterity: 80 (Artificial)

Constitution: 95

Intelligence: 156

Wisdom: 55

Charisma: 10

Augments:

Cybermantle

Rarity: Legendary

Quality: Masterwork

Description: This framework of Biolium, wires, and impulse transmitters that is fused onto your spine and lower rib cage. As you gain further Augments, this mantle acts as a sub-dermal anchorage point and grants an additional 50% to attribute effects from other Augments.

Respirator Unit

Rarity: Epic

Quality: Masterwork

Description: This augment replaces the lower face and neck with a series of tubes, wires, vox-grills to purify your air supply, granting +30% bonus resistance to airborne toxins and gas weapons/spells. The vox-synthesizer located in your neck is capable of transmitting your voice in a small variety of ways.

Digitigrade Bionic Legs

Rarity: Unique

Quality: Extraordinary

Description: These advanced locomotion bionics are fully integrated into the hip with spinal link and allow you to walk, run, and climb at above normal levels. Your digitigrade design in combination with the item quality level grants a +30% to speed, jump/leap, and resistance to fall damage. However, the only method of increasing your Dexterity is upgrading your Bionic Legs to a higher quality. Current Dexterity: 80 (30% + 50% from Cybermantle)

Biomechanical Utility Arm (Upper left)

Rarity: Unique

Quality: Masterwork

Description: This unique design incorporates a selection of useful tools and attachments such as: Automatic Crescent Wrench, Socket Wrench, Interchangeable Screwdriver, Blow Torch, flashlight, and a Hammer.

Bionic Arm (Lower Left)

Rarity: Epic

Quality: Exquisite

Requirement: Cybermantle

Description: A more common limb replacement (or in this case: addition), this version simulates arm and hand motions exactly and includes a numbed sense of touch while granting a bonus of Strength. However, the only method of increasing your Strength is upgrading your Bionic Arm to a higher quality. Current Strength: 75 (25% + 50% from Cybermantle)

Shoulder Mounted Ballista

Rarity: Unique

Quality: Masterwork

Requirement: Cybermantle

Description: This mechanical limb emerges from the shoulder and is equipped with a Firearm or Ballista-class weapon. [Currently Equipped: Rancor Jackhammer]

Rancor Jackhammer

Soulbound

Rarity: Mythic

Quality: Exquisite

Weapon-Class: Shotgun

Range: Short

Base Damage: 213-314

Rate of Fire: 240 RPM (Rounds Per Minute)

Rounds: 10

Full-Auto: When set to Full-Auto this Firearm continuously chambers and fires rounds when the trigger mechanism is actuated.

Semi-Auto: When set to Semi-Auto this Firearm automatically loads the following round into the chamber and prepares it for subsequent firing, but requires you manually activate the trigger to discharge each shot.

Quick Reload: The detachable bullpup cylinder magazine increases reload time by 80%.

Bear Trap: Unique to the Jackhammer is the ability to convert a loaded cylinder from the weapon into an anti-personnel device similar to a land mine.

Description: A direct descendant of the Pancor Jackhammer, the Rancor is believed to have forced itself into existence out of spite through its creator Krak, Weapons Specialist.

{Skills}

Tork let out another long blissful sigh, causing the Respirator Unit to vibrate slightly. He enjoyed going over his extensive character sheet, the two transparent pages hovering in the sides of his vision. Being so distracted by his statistics, Tork almost managed to bump into the door to his destination. Funny he thought, how time seems to fly by when one is having fun. Looking down he noticed a goblin sized blood stain on the left side of the door pooling to the floor next to the severed arm. Hoping it wouldn’t jam the door, he pressed the green button on the side panel, the door instantly sliding to the right upon command and revealing the source of the blood. Goblin meat managed to get stuck to the side as a small intestine stretched across the doorway. Not wanting the door to jam in the future, he used all three arms to dislodge the biomass and unceremoniously plopped it on the metal floor beside him, further staining the already blood-soaked halls as it splattered.

As he stepped through his eyes immediately landed on the Brachyura Panzers, dozens of them all lined up in several rows, their bodies lowered for ease of access as more of his artificers continued working on them. Thankfully, his entrance went unnoticed, so he circled around close to the edge of the gargantuan room. If Tork remembered correctly, he designed it to be a hundred yards in length and as sixty yards wide to allow ample storage space as well as twenty feet high for extra head room. He observed as some of the now biomechanical giant crabs walked up and down the opened bay door, the goblins piloting them getting a feel for how they are driven while an artificer supervisor rides on top a metal platform bolted on the chitin carapace, both taking notes and giving directions. Some of the Panzers had spikes that naturally decorated the legs and claws while others were reinforced with armor plating. Much like the auto-turrets above, each of the Panzers were unique in design, even the main cannons located where their mouths varied. A few of which seemed to forgo the hundred-five-millimeter cannon entirely in favor of… a fifty-caliber rotary gun? That wasn’t in the original schema the Great Machine has provided!

Scanning the room, Tork spotted the elevated office space in the corner of the room where presumably the goblin he left in charge would be hiding in. A rectangular welded stairwell leading up to the eight by twelve metal box built into the ceiling with a wide window overlooking the entire area. Not wanting to waste further time he saw an opportunity to demonstrate the superiority of metal over flesh. With his best foot forward, he dashed into a full sprint, the rapid clanking of his feet echoed loudly as the world whirled at the edge of his vision until a lowered Panzer came into view. With precision timing, he sprang on top of it, landing in a full crouch, earning a surprised yelp from a goblin worker welding the railings in place. Leaping from position, he sprang on top another Panzer walking by, getting another surprised yelp from a gunner. Waiting until the right moment, he hopped from one Panzer to another with ease until he miscalculated on his third jump, the Panzer moving more slower than anticipated, its body not aligned with his current trajectory and therefore nowhere for him to land. However, he managed to hook the main gun barrel with his wrench hand and used the momentum to swing his legs forward, grabbing a light fixture while mid-air, carrying him just enough to grab the top railing of the stairwell and swing his legs over.

He turned back around expecting to be rewarded with an applause, or at the very least, stares of awe and envy. However, it seems his displays of athleticism went mostly unnoticed as many were too preoccupied with their own tasks. While his pride deflated somewhat, he didn’t take it too personally, instead he appreciated the focus they displayed. His people really have come a long way from the beasts they once were. Sighing to himself and smiling internally, he turned to the door and let himself in, much to the surprise of Specialist Clutch, who froze in mid-bite of his mystery meat food ration.

“Lord Tork!” Clutch managed to say before standing at attention, the slab of meat resting on his forehead as he saluted. “Is this another surprise inspection?” His disheveled grey coveralls covered in a healthy coating of oil, fresh blood, and old feces.

“Negative. Although it seems to be a surprise regardless. What is the full status of our Brachyura Panzers?” Tork queried. Clutch wasting no time in scrambling to grab a few sheets of vellum.

“Sir! As of this afternoon we currently have twenty-six panzers, thirty if you count the armored personnel carrier lobsters.” He started reading from the first page.

“Ah, so that is what you ended up doing with them. Where are they now?”

“They are scheduled for patrol, my lord, they will be back shortly.”

“I want them back as soon as possible. We are to depart today.”

“Oh! As in, we launch today?”

“Correct. Continue with the report.”

“R-right! We have four panzers currently under maintenance and repairs due to a minor explosion resulting in only seven fatalities and two injured.”

“I see. Would you care to explain why some of the panzers have rotary guns?”

“Ah, well, when we got an unexpected delivery of more crab corpses, we didn’t have enough loading mechanisms or the large gun barrels, so naturally I approached Lord Krak on the subject who graciously provided his leftover experimental machine guns. You see each of the six barrels attached to a motor firing once during each revolution of the barrel cluster, providing a very absurd rate of fire of six-thousand rounds per minute!” Clutch exclaimed with excitement. Whether it was from pride or arousal Tork could not tell and decided he didn’t need to know.

“How many do we have?” Tork asked, giving Clutch a moment to compose himself and glance at his clipboard.

“As of now four, all are fully operational.”

“I see, I am curious about their actual performance. Prepare for launch.” Tork ordered.

“Yes sir!” Clutch affirmed and while we went to relay the orders over the intercom, Tork reached for his own clipboard, marking another check on the list. Brachyura Panzers: Check

Tork took his time walking down the stairwell, enjoying the frenzied display of goblin and orc alike hastily trying to get everything in place. Tools were thrown into boxes and wheeled away so the panzers could lower and be strapped down, their legs tucked under their bodies. That position might have been uncomfortable had it still been alive. Almost all the meat had been carved out and promptly eaten, leaving only tendons, which are now coated in biolium, and the brain, which is used primarily to help operate the legs, making all the panzers more machine than creature.

All the shouting, ratcheting, and the stomping of crabs echoing throughout the room was getting a little too much for Tork’s ears, so we put a little extra spring in his step straight towards the door. Relief washed over him as the door shut behind him, the cacophony of noise now muffled and tolerable. Perhaps it would be beneficial to install an off switch in my ears? He chewed on this thought as he trekked down the halls through the gore. Now that he was paying attention, the splatters and squelches under his feet were also rather distracting. This was quality time to dwell on new ideas and its being wasted away with trivial nonsense! He was already thinking through a new schema when a new sound invaded his hearing. A steady but soft thumping was traveling towards him from behind but when he turned nothing was there.

Now on alert he widened his stance, his shoulder mounted ballista sprang up from under a flap on his cloak. An ammo counter and two reticles appeared in the center of his vision, a circle where he was looking and a cross where the Rancor Jackhammer was pointing, the pair aligned almost instantly. He raised his utility arm, a small flashlight sprang up and illuminated the dim hallway but once again there was nothing there, and yet the sound of soft thumping drew closer, until he realized that the sound was coming from above him inside the air duct. Looking upwards, he led the shot to where he predicted it would be and shot at the space ahead of it, accidently firing three shots in quick succession as he forgot the gun was set to full auto, causing a chain reaction. First, the resulting weapon fire echoed loudly in the otherwise quite narrow corridor, which caused a loud ringing in Tork’s overburdened ears. Second, he somehow managed to destroy a hanging support strap, causing a section of the ventilation shaft to collapse at a downwards angle, Tork collecting himself just in time to see the vent's occupant slide down, stopping right in front of him. For a moment he was transfixed in the look of fear in her bright green eyes, the pupils matching her unblemished blood red skin, her short, silvery hair framing her adorable face. The next moment however, the look of fear transformed into that of primal fury the second he heard the familiar sound of an unlatching gob grenade under her makeshift cloak, which was quickly thrown at his face, fixation turned into panic.

Tork found himself now lost in a green smoke, which in addition to the ringing caused a burning sensation in his eyes. His saving grace was his respiratory unit, protecting his lungs but not so much his nose, the familiar stench of the outside bog invaded his nostrils. By the time the smoke had cleared and recovered from the sensory overload, she was already long gone. Enraged, he fired multiple rounds down the corridor in both directions until the ammo counter read zero out of ten, thus further damaging his ears. He seethed, the shoulder mounted arm reached over with the jackhammer pointed upwards, allowing easier access to the gun's cylinder. He took it out and replaced it with a loaded one from his pouch on his waist. He waited for the ringing to subside, now committed to replacing his ears in the near future, as well as possibly his eyes. Now that he thought about it, he might as well do a total overhaul on his body when he got the chance, he could use the upgrades. He knelt down to examine the grenade, its tag appearing in his vision.

Knowledge check: Success!

Goblin Smoke Grenade

Rarity: Common

Quality: Poor

Weapon-Class: Explosive

Damage: 32-68 per second for 5 seconds

Description: Emits a blinding, toxic gas in a 3–4-yard radius.

He picked it up with his mechanical hand, feeling a numb sense of sloshing inside as twisted off the cap. Once he shined a light inside, he confirmed that it was the bog’s black sludge. Bested by a rat fink with a cheap grenade. He thought to himself. Why did he hesitate so much? Why was she in the vents? Who was she? He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed the sound of someone limping behind him. Panicked he whipped around, already aligning the sights on an incredibly surprised black orc raising both his hands, subsequently dropping his war axe. His body was covered in scars. Ah, one of my immortals. He confirmed.

“Aye, boss! Everything alright? I heard shooting and thought there’d be a fight. Got shot in the leg here, see?”

“Yes, that was me.” Tork admitted. “My apologies. It seems we have gobs crawling in the vents.” He continued, making a gesture toward the collapsed air ducts.

“Is that why it smells? I don’t know much about the vents, boss.”

“No, the vents work to spread air throughout the ship. While you’re here, can you give me the status of the other immortals?”

“We’re all here hunting each other for sport, currently. We call it ‘Tag,’ last orc standing wins.”

“Wait, this ship is two kilometers long, how do you know you have won?”

“Oh, We’z all in a group and it shows their health and such in the party tab here, the rest are waiting in the barracks. Looks like I’m in the top five!” He said with a prideful smile.

“Oh good, then when you respawn you can save me a trip and tell the others to prepare for launch.” Tork said coldly as he covered his ears. A confused “what?” was all the orc let out before chunks of his head were blown off in a fine red mist. Brain matter now decorated the wall behind him, his body collapsed under its own weight, blood sputtering and pooling on the floor as he got a notification that he scored a critical hit and awarded him with extra experience points. He watched as the body slowly kindled, small flames eating away the flesh, leaving behind only ash and bone. Once again, Tork had another thing to cross off his list. Aggravating Immortal Children: Check

With that out of the way, the last thing he needed to check now was the engine room and since it was adjacent to the crafting room, he debated on paying a visit to that as well. The temptation of going over and gawking at new toys almost won him over, but that’s a trip best saved for last when there they’re off this abyss blasted wasteland and miles up, flying through the air. He had no idea what waited for him out there but whatever it was it had to be better than this. Traveling through narrow corridors and up extensive ladders he passed the time by humming to himself, challenging his mind by struggling to come up with words that rhyme, singing aloud the first things that came to him.

“Here I am, I walk these halls.

Feces and gore, line these walls.

Escape the boiling sea and the acidic crust,

by a massive leviathan, forged on the land of rust.

Under engines vengeful roar,

on revolving wings, we shall soar.

In the skies we shall roam,

try to find a brand-new home.”

He rather liked the singsong voice his vox synthesizer provided. It gave him a unique sound and he was able to provide a backbeat via popping noises. This continued until he arrived at the most secure and cleanest part of the entire ship, the engine room. He fished out a key from his pocket and unlocked the access panel hidden on the floor in front of the vault door, enabling him to turn the rotating number dial to the correct combination. Once he heard the right click, he sealed the access panel and then finally, pulled the lever on the door downwards and, with effort, pushed the vault wide open.

There was no gore or any bodily fluids, instead the room was lined with cables connected to eight massive crab sized batteries with blinking lights indicating the charge level. To his delight, all the lights were blinking like a synchronized light show and the further he walked in the louder the sweet whirling of the engine became. At last, there it was, the Great Machine built into the ship’s exterior. Its skull shaped head hung limply but the core in its exposed chest shined brightly through three rings that slowly spun their gyroscopic dance. All four limbs that once belonged to mechanical colossus have been replaced by cables of various thickness, continuously flowing electrical life through his master. He rested a hand on its chassis, feeling the soft hum as the shard in his head began to tingle, its consciousness slowly awakening from its slumber. The lights in its eyes glowed a dim orange.

“Ah, my apprentice. So good if you visit. I take it this means preparations are met?” The synthesized voice asked in his mind.

“Just what is necessary, my Master. I wish to depart today if possible, the boiling sea continues to eat away the island and thus our time.” Tork stated grimly.

“I see. This is not ideal, but we will make do, as we always have. I only have enough energy stores for approximately three days of flight, if we continue to harness the storm’s lighting, we can extend that, but this is unreliable.”

“What shall we do if our power runs low?”

“Land at fifteen percent and I shall begin cultivating more energy. We should have enough firepower to fend off any threats that come our way. And if not, we would have enough reserved power for an evacuation.”

“Very well, Master. I shall have the rest of the crew to prepare for departure.”

“I shall pour more power into the systems so you can access the ships interface. Go forth my apprentice. Today, the Pillar of Stench shall rule the skies and witness the beginning of a new end.”

“It shall be done.” Tork affirmed before the connection faded. He didn’t understand what his master meant about a ‘new end’ but that wasn’t important now. With the final item crossed off the list it was now time as ruler to take his position on the throne.

He left the room, sealing it away from the ship’s more savage passengers and traveled his way up several more extensive ladders. He was thankful when he finally opened the latch to the stairwell that led to the bridge and climbed up with ease, his feeble right arm throbbing as he pressed the green button on the access panel with his wrench hand. The door slid open with a pleasant swooshing sound, alerting the two occupants to his presence. The pair quickly drop their cards on the table to stand in solute.

“Lord Tork!” They said simultaneously. The one on the left, First Officer Klint, was a gob of action and sharp wit, always reliable even when the stakes were high. The long coat of his uniform complimented his slim physique. His perfectly trim moustache curled under his arching red nose. The gob on the right however, Helmsman Crash, stood in contrast, his bulbous red belly sticking out of his uniform, fat practically pouring out of him. The unfortunately named helmsman was once the ship's esteemed chef but couldn’t handle the pressure and caused him to stress eat a little too often. When he caught wind that Tork was looking for someone to steer the ship he didn’t hesitate to apply. He had only gotten the job because he literally ate some of the competition. Thankfully, he had a knack for navigation, so complaints were minimal at best. With a simple command, they were at ease but did not sit back down.

“Where is Second Officer Nokk?” Tork quarried, inspecting the bridge, finding it surprisingly clean despite a few food scraps here and there.

“He’s currently dead, I suspect he’s in the process of respawning as we speak. Something about ‘playing a game with the boys’, my lord.” Reported Klint. “Or would it be more appropriate to call you ‘Captain?’” he asked. Tork paused to consider it. While yes, it is technically more appropriate to be referred to as captain, he was quite fond of his tyrant title, he worked hard for that title! But even goblins have formalities, so he settled on a compromise.

“Only by officers.” Tork answered simply. “I’m going to make an announcement, stand by.” He said while taking his seat at the captain’s throne. The moment he settled in, a new page entered his vision, one he had never seen before.

Pillar of Stench

Rarity: Unique

Quality: Decent

Vehicle-Class: Cruiser

Power: 63%

Passive Power Regen: 1% per hour

Status: Grounded, Operational

Warnings: Docking bay door open. Damaged ventilation shaft on deck three. Leaking oil line on deck five.

Specifications:

Length: 2342 meters

Width: 506 meters

Height: 796 meters

Mass: 16 million metric tons

Armaments:

Mark I Custom Megablaster Zapp Cannon

Missile pods: 44

Anti-air Autocannons: 124

Drop Pods: 67

Complement and Crew:

5,263 Naval personnel

26 Brachyura Panzers

4 Lobster Carriers

A holographic display of the ships layout slowly rotated next to its statistics, highlighting spots the warnings tab mentions as well as roughly showing how populated sections of the ships were, the denser the redder it seems. He tried to scroll down mentally with no response. After a couple more attempts, he realized it wasn't being displayed on his vision at all, rather it was right in front of him. reaching out, he pressed on the scroll bar on the screen and pulled it downwards until he found the ability section.

Stationary Hover

Cost: 2% power per hour

Description: The ship’s four turbines allow it to hover in place above ground up to a certain elevation.

Quick Launch

Cost: 25% power

Description: With the assistance of the ship’s turbines, the ship will angle upwards and launch into the atmosphere, via twin thrusters.

Active Flight

Cost: 5-15% power per hour

Description: Twin thrusters propel the ship forwards. Power usage varies with the ship's speed with a minimum of 5% and maximum of 15%.

Mark I Custom Megablaster Zapp Cannon

Cost: 40%

Description: Also known as the Mass Accelerator Cannon or MZC, is a super heavy weapon system that fires a ferric-tungsten round at supersonic speeds from the bow of the ship.

Lightning Coil Conductors

Cost: None, passive

Description: These surface towers allow the ship to harness energy from lightning where it will be converted into usable power.

Tork was pleasantly surprised by the small wealth of knowledge, he didn’t think it would be quite so simple, but of course, like most things in his life, he knew it had to be easier said than done. Doing some quick math in his head, with power only at sixty-three percent if he did a quick launch right now, he would only be left with thirty-eight percent to play with and according to the screen active flight uses at least five percent an hour, meaning there’d be only seven hours of flight with three percent remaining. Oh wait, he forgot about the passive regen! Doing the math again he let out a disappointed sigh, even with the regen, it only added an extra couple hours at best. He looked out at the horizon through the bridge windows, his seat providing a wide view of the ship’s surroundings. The boiling sea drew ever closer, now consuming the bog, the bubbly water turning a blackish green. A bolt of lightning arched across the skyline as raging clouds swirled above. His time was running thin and he knew he didn’t have much choice. He pulled a cable from the console next to his armrest and plugged it into the vox synthesizers in his throat, the entire ship going dead silent as sound emitted from the speakers for the first time.

“Hello?” Tork tested, feeling the power in his voice as it rang throughout the ship. “It is I, Tork, and it is with great sadness that our home as he knew it, is no more. It seems that it could not stand the test of time. However, that does not mean WE cannot. Through all our collective efforts, we have constructed the biggest vehicle known to gob and orc alike! I hereby announce the Pillar of Stench fully operational and we will embark within an hour!” Tork waited a few moments as he could hear the collective cheers and vigorous roars from all around. “Tie everything down, all loose tools and younglings need to be in SEPARATE secure locations. Once you are done, please find a seat and wait for further instructions.” He finished, disconnecting the cable from his throat, letting it pull itself back into its home with a quick zip. The entire ship hummed to life as the console let up with flashing lights, the two officers immediately pouring over the streaming data.

“Any orders, my lord?” Crash asked, tearing himself away from the screens.

“Keep monitoring the ship's system while everyone gets ready and notify me when something comes up. I’ll be in my quarters.” Tork replied. Once he got the nod of understanding, Tork rose from his seat and turned toward the door behind him, it opened automatically to his presence, or more specifically, it reacted to the shard in his head, granting access to only him. As soon as he stepped inside the room illuminated itself with different light bulbs scattered all over the room, revealing piles of scraps, side projects in varied stages of development, and scattered notes. He leaned down to pick up a piece of the velum of the floor and tried to blow the thin layer of dust off out of habit. When he remembered he can’t really do that anymore he sighed and simply shook it off before reading, finding it to be quite dated.

It wasn’t so much there was a date on the velum or the faded ink that was the giveaway, instead it was the way it was written. Goblins, at least to Tork’s knowledge, never had a written language. The concept of putting words on paper just never occurred to them until Tork came around. Writing the language itself was the easy part as he simply used the same language and letters the system used, even the dullest orc could read from the system. It was the matter of the writing format that he had to get creative. The first iteration was you take a circular piece of velum and write the first word in the center then write the rest in a spiral. In hindsight this wasn’t the best format to use and it didn’t take long until a new, more efficient one was developed. Instead of writing in a spiral, they would write from left to right in lines on square velum. Few remember the old ways and the ones who did are dead or dying. Thinking about it, Tork realized he was arguably the oldest living creature on this ship, in fact, he can’t recall seeing anyone lucky enough to die of old age. Could he be the first? Did he want to be? Something about that idea seemed unnatural to him.

“Bah!” he called aloud, shaking his head of such useless thoughts when there was work to be done. There was always work to be done! He walked with determination and sat at his drawing desk, producing a blank sheet of vellum and some old schema for reference. He decided to start working on a new set of ears since that had been a more prevalent problem in recent memory. He didn’t need to build new ears from scratch but decided he might as well, figuring that in his line of work they were going to get torn off somehow anyway, he might as well do it on his own terms. Time flew by as he made several sketches before settling on the right design. He still clung to the idea of wide pointed ears and sought ways to improve on it, starting with a switch that would automatically disconnect them when firing the shoulder mounted ballista. He was in the middle of figuring out how to amplify sounds when he heard a knock on his door, pulling him from his train of thought. He went to answer the door where it once again opened upon his presence, finding officer Clint waiting patiently standing upright with his hands behind his back.

“Captain Tork, I believe we are ready for launch.” Klint said proudly gesturing behind him.

“Second Officer Nokk, reporting for duty sir!” Nokk announced, his deep voice booming with authority. “Please forgive my tardiness, my captain, I came as soon as I was able.” He was a massive hulk of an orc that had been exposed so much to the radiation that he mutated and developed spikes that protruded out of his uniform that were already bursting at the seams from bulking muscles. He was also the most powerful confirmed immortal on the ship, naturally as chief of security he led the small orc task force that brought down the giant crab invasion.

“Your tardiness is forgiven so long as it doesn’t repeat.” Tork warned.

“Thank you, captain. I understand we are launching today.”

“That is correct, and now that you’re present, we can begin.” Tork said, taking his seat at the helm. “How much time has passed in my absence?” he asked no one in particular. This time Klint spoke up.

“Thirty-two minutes and five seconds, my captain.” Earning a quick glare from Nokk before taking position at his own seat.

“Good timing, everything should be secured by now, I’ll make the announcement.” Tork stated, plugging the cable back into his throat. The click of the connection echoed throughout the ship as everyone onboard became quiet. “Attention, this is Tork once again. The launching sequence is about to begin. Please fasten your seat belts and secure them tightly. It is advised that you hang onto something bolted down within reach, NOT each other. I also advise against using the waste extraction rooms at this time. That is all.” And with that he disconnected the cable from his throat, retracting back into the slot. Glancing over to the console he quickly spotted the big red button promptly labeled ‘Launch Sequence’ and hovered a single digit above it. “This could work, or explode. Either way, it was worth it. Is everyone ready?” he asked. Looking around the room all he saw was firm nods. Without further ado, the only thing heard after words was a single click. There was a soft hum emitting from the front turbines before it steadily turned into a whirl, as their speed increased so did the dust cloud below.

“Front turbines are at thirty percent speed and rising, rear turbines are at fifteen.” Crash reported.

“Wait, shouldn’t they be the same?” Asked Nokk worriedly.

“Not yet, everything is according to plan.” Klint assured.

“Fifty percent!” Cookie reported as the bow of the ship began slowly pointing upward, the turbines increasing in volume. “We’re tilting!”

“We can see that you fat grog!” Shouted Nokk, his knuckles going white as he gripped the arms of his chair. If Tork could smile he would be beaming. All his hard work was for this moment and the sounds of the engine were like music to his ears as Crash started the countdown.

“Launching in ten, nine, eight, seven…” Tork tuned everything out and only focused on the sweet melody of the engine. Is no one else hearing this? He thought to himself before some force suddenly pushed him backwards, his cyber mantle flat against the chair. Everything moved in a blur as the thunderous clouds rapidly approached. He felt his heartbeat with every pulse and words seem to just flow from his mouth in song.

“From the Isle of Stench,

Where it will never go away!

We fly through the filth,

Towards the light of the day!

Blazing vengefully into burning skies,

Searching wildly in the shining light,

The Great Machine plans your demise!

The Pillar of Stench is your blight!

Metal flier, flying higher!”

The bow of the ship easily pierced the clouds as electricity coruscated across the hull, causing the ship to shutter violently. A blinking notification appeared in the bottom corner of Tork’s vision demanding his attention, but he ignored it. Nothing was going to make him miss this moment, he waited far too long for this. Just as quickly as the clouds approached, they had abruptly vanished, and all those on the bridge suddenly found themselves above a whole sea of fluffy dark clouds and being greeted by a massive blinding ball of light among a blue sky. The crew sat in surreal silence for several moments, taking in the whole scene. In the end, it was Tork who spoke first.

“Status report!” He shouted, knocking everyone else out of their stupor.

“Two-hundred-five casualties including six immortals. Power is currently at sixty-eight percent.” Clint reported. Tork was taken aback by this news. How did they have more power now than when they started? He turned his attention back towards the blinking notification, hoping that it held some answers.

Your Lightning Coil Conductors have absorbed natural energy, restoring 29% power!

Warning: Active flight is now on.

“How do we have so many casualties just from launching?” Tork asked as an afterthought.

“I’m having someone investigate via party sense as we speak, captain.” Klint replied and was rewarded with a nod of approval.

“What is our current course?” Tork asked, looking at Crash.

“We are on three-twenty and with five percent power we are cruising at twenty gob throws per hamburger!” Crash excitedly announced, but Tork only cringed. It was common practice for goblins to use food for measurements as well as currency, specifically the hoarded food boxes labeled ‘M.R.E.’ as they were the most delicious and sought after. Tork had tried to get everyone to use the proper measurements provided by the great machine but they only adopted a perverted version. So now inches were thumbs, feet were literal feet or the hotdog M.R.E. because they were approximately the same length, and one hour somehow translated into ‘hamburger’ allegedly because it takes an hour to consume a hamburger M.R.E. And lastly a ‘gob throw’ was roughly one mile from cannon. And not for the final time, Tork let out an audible sigh.

“Change direction to twenty and keep power to five percent. Alert me when we are approaching fifteen percent in energy stores.”

“Aye-aye, captain! Two-twenty!”

“No, just twenty! We should be able to find land if we keep going North.” Tork was ready to settle in, get comfortable, and enjoy the ride when Nokk calmly made an unsettling announcement.

“Captain, I’m seeing something on radar, something big is coming our way and fast.” Tork winced, of course it wouldn’t go so smoothly, that would be too boring!

“Battle-stations! All hands on deck!” Tork barked at Nokk who in turn relayed it to Krak who then presumably began barking his own orders at his gunners. It wasn’t long before whatever was coming to appear, flying quickly above cloud level heading straight towards them. Squinting his eyes, Tork concluded that he made the right call as it wasn’t one large something, rather, it was several smaller somethings that, as they drew closer, appear to be humanoid in nature, sprouting wide pearly-white wings from their backs and sporting shining bronze colored armor. He had no idea what they were but as far as he was concerned, that didn’t matter. They swarmed the ship’s hull and Tork’s natural blood lust took over as the symphony of gunfire rang out across the skies. The flying invaders carried long golden bidents that apparently fired lighting from the tips, and would swoop down to strike the gunners, only to be absorbed by the ships Lightning Coil Conductors that were scattered across the ships surface. Several of these pests were gunned down in a fine red mist this way. Tork smiled gleefully as their lighting continued, inadvertently charging the ship's battery. He was so overcome with joy he sang to himself, stomping on the ground as he did so. The other officers joined in his contagious vigor.

“More than fifty years ago!

I got this rock stuck in my face!

It helped me learn, it helped me grow,

So we can leave this awful place!

We were dying slowly under crimson light,

When the Great Machine heard our plight!

It only thinks it doesn’t feel,

It doesn’t laugh or cry,

All it does from dusk to dawn,

Is make their soldiers die!