Artist:   Smenco
Writer:   TwoFacedDragon

The Lord demands everything from us; hard work, dedication, no dereliction, no slacking. When your time card is punched, you are on the clock. Whether it is filing another fifteen forms for the same fife of wheat to be sent to Whestleton harbor in West Wessex, in order to receive a write off from the Crown for deliveries to a non-existent town. Or it is bundling burrows of bark-less wood to be baked and bowed for barrels of aging whisky. Every single one of us has a job, a hard job; a restless job that is formed and founded by the grand father clock that ticks the time wasted by weary warriors of pen, paper, and produce. It has always been this way here. The lord has a tight ship to sail, as he says. Always galivanting about how the demand is the wind, and the supply our sails. Oh and don't forget the peasants below! We ordinary folk are the boards and rope that keep her together. And as captain, we should be honored by his gracious step that strides across our grease and sweated backs. After all, it is his position to keep the course of this damnable company, this every unsinkable sinking ship.

And here he is striding through the halls in his pristine green silk coat; made in the sweat shops in the far lands of China. And his thick cotton kilt made with the dyes of blooded red. And the leather. A shiver runs down my spine every time I think about where those strips came from. Or that bag... That old man had it coming though. Troublesome competitor both legally and economically to the company. The tinny troubling terror, as the lord would call him, did everything he could to sink this ship. So I guess an honorable death by duel was a respectable way for him to go. Still don't know how, but even death the bastard holds his scowl. But that is all besides the point. Here he is just strutting through the place he owns like, well, like he owns it all, when we have work to do. He's the queen of this damnable hive of mishmashes madness, and he is taking precious time to "inspect" the work force. INSPECT! His burning gaze of controlled murder and contempt is enough to freeze any of the goat folk on the second floor in their tracks. Some of them even faint! It's unproductive at times, and harmful in others. Yet every time I plea for him to stop this nonsense, he just brushes it off, stating he "Needs to go for a walk".

And who am I, you may ask. Who is this babbling idiot stylized in his shadow, with an unpleasant chuckle? Well, I am his bastardized secretary, of course. Everything he is not. A beautiful contrast of what he is and will be. That tall, full of himself, monster with wings as wide as the room, and as strong as the weathering sea. Why I am nothing but a poor lad, bought as a scruffy spotted cub off the coasts of Africa. They tell me I should be grateful that I was taught to read and write, that I now know how to speak in 7 different languages fluently, with another five sparingly, that I have a house, a room, an allowance, and even most needed glasses. Actually, when I think about it, it would be a nice hook up... IF THIS MAN COULD STOP FOR ONE SECOND.

"L-Lord Vascal." I sputter through huffing muffled hysteria. The winged beast does not respond, but rather continues on.

Gathering my composure I try to stir the stone once again from his course. "Sir! We do not have time for this! The meeting with the local lords of Yorks are waiting for us on the other side of the compound. We should not keep them waiting!"

He slightly criks his head to the right. It is not enough for him to see behind his tendrilled dreads, but just enough to acknowledge my complaint. Which is something, but just as much as a leaf stops the sun's rays. His stride remains the same, his pace unchanged. He is committed in his action, and his decision, and there is nothing I can do about it; even though that is the entire purpose of my job. I try anyways. "Lord Vascal, you must-"

"For the last time Edward." The stone voice of this mountain of muscle before me interrupts. "You must call me by my first name with title, or by position, such as Boss or Sir. We don't recognize class or past heraldry here, only merit of the individual." He speaks stoically with only a tinge of agitation, as he struggles to move his mass around a corner made for bodies two thirds his size.

Heaving a breath once more, sliding in right behind him with sufficient ease of practiced motion, I try again. this time approaching the issue from another angle. "Lord Orin, the other trade barons and land lords will be displeased with you wasting their valuable time."

"They can wait as long as I like." Another turn in the path, as he grunts around a hindering column in the center of the room. No matter how well the architects were able to build this place, they could never defy the laws of gravity. "If they do not want what I can offer, there is always the door. I prefer business partners who understand the proper virtue of patience after all."

Through another hall and around a last corner, and we had arrived at the destination that way finding ship master desired. It was the storage area. Section 2303, created with skilled construction work, and miss marked due to a typo. The second warehouse of facility three held enough space to hold almost an entire ship. That is if you were to cut the sails off of course. The heavy stone base, thick wooden walls, with an over aching glass and metal ceiling gave the place a feel over over done simplicity. It was a warehouse after all. And in the center of it all were brisk scurrying of dozens of small figures before us. Wide whiskers on slender built bodies. Thin grey furs of a thousand shades and dyes racing through the lines of storage boxes. In the center of it all was a slightly taller figure, with one twitching ear and a stubby, hairless tail. It rested on the stub and it's haunches like an unstable tripoded chair. The rat ran his section, like the captain ran his ship. Squeaking out orders more relatable to furious and barkings of an ex soldier or British boxer hound.

None of the figures stopped their work except for the foreman rat. Turning to see who or what would dare interrupt his corner of the company grounds, the first came at us with a scowl, which quickly turned into wan smile, as if silently laughing at personal monologued humor. "Lord Orin! What'ya pleasant surprise to see ya today. What honor do we bear to expect ya hospitality on this fine day?" The words skittered between broken teeth.

Briskly moving forward towards the man, without a word. The beast came up to the foreman until he was but a bare stride's step from him. Silence filled the space, as all the workers stopped and stared at the silent two stoic dangers that filled the space in small center of the warehouse. Without providence, the dragon raised his hand and rested it upon the scruffed coat of the rat and finally said, "I heard today was your fifteenth anniversary with the company. Not only that but I was informed that five of your litter are having a birthday this week. Is this true."

The rat man's eyes narrowed as he winced. Whether this be due to an old pain from aging, or a natural reaction from an apex predator approaching his space was unknown. Either way, his words did not resonate it, but rather the words were with sorrow and memory. "Aye, tis be da day. Given me whole life to da company. Work hard, earn much for da kids. Which be a true struggle since da wife died. Not as many hands to feed der' mouths ya know."

Pausing when realizing what he just said, the rat man turns his head and blinks, as if trying to find a way out of the hole he had just dug. "N-not saying that you don' pay me fair lord, b-buh rather I not be workin' hard enough to earn what I'd like."

The stone face of death looked down upon the little collection of bone, fur and fez; unmoving, unaffected. Held for a second longer than expected, as everyone looked around, wary of what might happen; before finally the dragon gave a nod, and slapped the lad on the shoulder. "You're right. You haven't been working hard enough. And due to that, I have a special assignment for you."

The room froze in fear and excitement; waiting for the next part of the ship master's command. "You are to inspect the recent addition to the town. A local carnival was built by the board walk last month, and I haven't had the time to direct any recourses to see if such a system of tourism is profitable. Talk to Sssarah in accounting for your funding on this inquiry. There should be enough for you, and twelve others of your kin, to explore the facilities thoroughly for total of four days. Make sure to inspect the pace both on and off the weekend, so best to start this Thursday. I need a report on quality of items expected from several stalls, the quantity of supply needed to sustain sails, and the possible profits of adding a logistical branch in that sector of the economy. Do you understand." It was less of a question, but rather a means of grounding the ratman before him.

Blinking rapidly, as if the action would help retract his jaw back to the shut position, the shocked individual could do nothing but stammer for a second. Obviously blindsided by this, you could see his mind quickly scrambling to collect the surprise he was just told, as he struggled to weave a coherent response to return to sender. "Why... Yes- Yes! Of course boss! I- I will see to it immediately!" And with that, the rat man slid his sleek shoulders out of the crimson's clawed hand, and raced back the way we came. All else still silent as everyone else remained lost and confused on what just happened. And with no one to now boss them...

Striding forward I growled out as simple command, "Alright! That is enough fa ye. GET BACK TO WORK!" And with that, things returned to how they once were. Concealing my smile and stifling a laugh, I turn to see the acknowledgement on Lord Orin's face, only to see he had turned away and began his return towards the door.

Doubling back through the storage facilities, the fields of filing rooms, through the main hall, out to the court yard, and finally to the housing facilities for welcomed and unwelcomed guests; we arrive at housing hall. The double doors of weathered sea wood, shined and polished into a solid wall of unaging planks. Embroidered with purposefully oxidized coper and leafed gold, the entrance expressed merely a hint of the fineries of the inner sanctum of this portion of our facility. And just as rugged and refined the outside, the inner marble and roman concrete stone meshed well with the red drapes and carpet; gold embroidery laced through all of it. The gas lit torches filling the hall with a mythic orange hew. And in the center of the columned, gas lit, glass tinted illuminated hall; was a single solid slab of carved wood, made from a single tree. It's crimson brown coloring was a natural hew of the tree itself. Commissioned from a Hispanic missionary, before the land was consumed by American Enterprise. The single slab table was both a marking of reach and power for not only our lord, but his company. Around this solid chunk of dead tree, was a collection of carnivores nobles that looked less lively than the thing they stood around. Where the lord was a mass of muscled stone, these furry and feathered ferocities looked as wryly as aging oak.

The rainbow of colorful glowing eyes turned toward us. This was the part I hated the most, but strangely the part he enjoyed. The looks of disdain, fear, and hate, as the very man who was running them all out of business entered his own house, to make his own rules about how the game will be played. With a wide and toothy grin, with fangs of ivory daggers, Orin finally spoke. "Gentlemen! You know that you are all equally worthless to me, so let us get to the point. We are here for one reason, and it is the item we seek above all else, Profit."

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Just, wow! Such a lovely piece by the incredible   Smenco

Not gonna lie, this is probably one of my favorite pieces I have commissioned so far. And if you agree with me, you should definitely check her out. Well... in a business way. Sorry lads and laddies, she is taken. That being said, her commission slots are not yet. So if you want an amazing piece with this level of quality, you should go check it out.

Anyways. I am please to introduce you guys (well not his first intro) to one of my favorite BBEG characters, Orin Von Vascal. He's a owner of a massive maritime trade company that triangle trades between the three continents of Europe, Africa, and North America. Yes this is during the time of the 1800s. Yes the narrator technically was bought via a slave trade. No I am not going to justify slavery in any way. that being said, do note that this character is Technically evil. That being said, no, none of his employees (Not even his secretary) are slaves.