DocterDuck

[Summary for those reviewing: Morloc was born into a highly religious family. He aspired to be a shaman, as a result. In an attempt to worship the spirits, he joined a group of politically appointed shaman, whom were carrying out tasks to suppress nearby elf populations. Disenfranchized with his own beliefs, Morloc went upon a downward spiral, with his own ego collapsing upon itself. Becoming a husk of his religious youth, he was dead set on the destruction of cultural spiritualism.] Morloc was born into a rather structured city, built by the overruling goblins that ran the region. His family themselves weren't anything of note, with having both a father and a mother, Morloc's life continued especially well for the young uruk. His homestead too, something of a rustically-urbanized household, was planted against the cornerstone of a larger, stone complex. The only matter that truly sparked something of issue in the uruk's life were that of his culture, that of what shall be twisted and torn apart. His parents were deeply involved with the Spirits, worshipping them multiple hours a day and praising the acts of Shamanism. Shamans were quite a common sight around the city, lurking about and giving praise to those whom prayed vehemently. As well, the Shamans had something of love, they had something of hope in each of their words. For a race known by their warfare, the shamans offered something of peace, something of sanity for the uruks inside the city. To Morloc, shamans were his saviors, they were what he looked up too. Each hour of every night, Morloc would go ahead and take praise towards the spirits. He would study vigorously and slither his own pupils throughout the tombs of religious texts. Waters would sap from his pupils, glistening the pages of his novellas, due to the sheer amount of reading done. What he believed was simple, he believed that the spirits were everything to him. Yet, his beliefs became an obsession, and obsession that would eventually splinter his lifestyle. Around the age of nineteen, Morloc decided that he had grown enough, and decided to find something of an occupation in shamanism. His inextinguishable admiration for shamanism and the spirits kept, throwing the uruk into all sorts of low-grade occupations around the streets. Though, since Morloc didn't have any professionalism in his stunts, he acted mostly like a bewildered child facing a harsh reality. His jobs often left towards attempting prayers for the sickened across more slummy regions and visiting those without proper sheltering. This exposure, to him at least, bubbled a few ideas within his own skull. Why hadn't the goblins supported those in the slums? Still drunken with a lustful look upon the shamans, Morloc only pushed forward throughout the slummy regions. His efforts to acquire the food his parents brought him and serve it to the impoverish became his priority. Starvation wasn't a major issue in the slums, though. Without the properties of shamanism, nor the critical eye to witness the situation at hand, Morloc assumed that food would serve. His own body wasn't necessary, his body could be perfected by the spirits' strength. In terms of his own body, Morloc was more than angered by his initial countenance. Reddened and slimy on his own, the uruk was also quite short amongst most of his city. As well, he wasn't adorned with anything of horns, and he had something of craggy tusks around the jaw. In total, Morloc was a mess of a man, a mess of a being. His physique wasn't much either, being a rather scrawny fellow, he was viewed as a mutated goblin. Friendship truly wasn't something of his own embarking, due to his own narcissism towards those without such levied ideas of the spirits. In a sense, Morloc was isolated, trapped beneath his own ego and his own wish to destroy the imperfections of his body. Yet, his body would only be temporary, he could absolve himself into the spirits. He would become perfect, beyond anything of such romanticized and beautiful comprehension. In terms of convincing the spirits to endow such favors, Morloc saught his own religious worship, a way to bring his soul upon that of enlightenment. He gave credence to the spirits and the belief that others believed in the same. If Morloc became perfect in the spirits' eyes, others would let go of his own physical and social mixture, and would solely view the ecstasy of his deeds. Said goals, however, were scewed. By the time of his twenty-first birthday, Morloc began to track a hint of attention from a local shaman. The shaman proclaimed that he, alongside a few other people in his posse, would require another member of sorts. A fine, young lad such as Morloc, one who was manipulated by his own day-dreaming, would do. With the fever of a sickened canine, Morloc accepted the dealing, taking tribute towards a higher group of shamans. Yet, these shamans weren't anything of admiration, they were something of political uses. The shaman eventually set off throughout the cityscape, assisting the impoverished as usual. However, one action did occur, something included to be 'civil justice'. The system of 'civil justice' was awfully ambiguous, with the leadership of the shamans' gaggle being an enforcer and messenger of sorts. The leader incessantly reported different demands, demands that inquired extremefied actions against the elvish outsiders and those whom didn't believe in the spirits. Through his blinded love, Morloc found each tongue of choice to be moral. Morloc became a terrorist, in a sense. Ditching the truths of the love he witnessed before, Morloc joined the shamans on the outside of the cityscape. The outside was blanketed in a deserted sheet of sleet, with a few patches of forestry peppered around. Only something of a pathway lead upon the city's Trog, allowing a few visitors to gain something of purified eyes upon the orcish culture. The objective outside was simple, to seek out and eliminate something of a heretical elfish population. The elves themselves were only merchants, wishing to take trades inside the Trog and allow for commerce between the on-edge races. Unbeknownst to Morloc, the elves were to become the prime target of shamanist assault. The leading shaman informed that the elfish were against the spirits, their race brought curses upon the orcs and plunged their world into anarchism long ago. It was only now, that the cardinal sin of the elves would be reckoned. Following with the shamans, Morloc raised his own arms towards the Trog. A crossbow would become the leading weaponry of the scenario. With it's eased control and the ability to swiftly fire a bolt, the crossbow could eliminate the elvish population quite efficiently. As a result, a crossbow was raised, taken towards a few merchants bustling around the streets. The merchants themselves were foggy, being only that of long ears and the pale countenances of high-elves. Yet, faces didn't matter, only the race of the creature. The race of the quarry. Morloc began his minor reign of terror, striking out and slaughtering the elves throughout the streets. There wasn't morality before religion, for his religion dictated what would become morals. Too, a blood-lust rose, conquering the uruk with an addictive flavour of the hunt. Merchants were struck with bolts and raped of their wares. The shaman were the only justice. The elves themselves, a crime for simply breathing, a crime against the spirits' natural bounds. Yet, the reign would eventually come upon it's conclusion, once Morloc had began to mature a bit more. The shamans themselves were much more distanced from the tomes of the spirits, becoming teachers echoing the splatter of history. Morloc witnessed such decline in himself, too, becoming more an enforcer for an obscured force, than the brilliant priest he wished to be. A twinge of morality, a true morality built from the bloodied velvet seeping against each bolt's wedge. Since bolts were to be conserved, each bolt shot would need to be plucked from their target's corpse. The blood began to grope Morloc's psyche, blending into his own skin. Morloc himself never gained the respect nor vindication he believed in. Many children did find him appealing, yes, but his own internal thoughts began to deviate. Would the children below have to be subjected upon slaughtering elves, simply because of a soundless phantom? No. The answer came when Morloc encountered a family of three, as of he. The family themselves were something of an average consumer, the local talisman barter and all the lot. Morloc saw that the family was simply a trader, for once, he sympathized with the condition of another. In doing so, Morloc pronounced his sluggish return to a true morality, a morality vanquishing himself from the inept shamans. Returning back to the leadership of the shamans, Morloc proudly stated that he wished to remain on a duty of peacefully preaching the spirits, without anything of the brutality behind. To contrary Morloc's statement, the leader simply asked one question, why? The question itself dug deeply into Morloc, were his views as a child incorrect? Was his entire childhood wasted upon falsified maniacs? Morloc chose to ignore his own thoughts, betraying himself to simply finish the deed he encountered. Morloc drew his aim back upon the elvish, betting his own moralities against those of the shamans. To destroy his prior life would be painful, yet, it would surrender death's grasps from those of the other morality. Morality became a plagued whip, lashing between both spliced parts of Morloc's life. Upon the drawing of a bolt, Morloc relinquished his aim, before simply fleeing the scene. Morloc would ditch the scum of the shamanists, the scum of the uruk lifestyle he previously supported. He didn't gain the vindication he so imagined, therefore, he could rationalize his own methods of betrayal. The first quest upon his wrath of treachery would be the shamans' leadership, not the messenger, but the figures behind the spoken words. The spirits themselves commanded something of tongue, but, there must have been something truly physcial. The spirits couldn't simply write a tome of infinite knowledge or pour the cosmos into an individual's mind. In such cases, there must have been a larger force behind the teachings of elvish brutality. The teachings were that of the goblins. Promptly, Morloc announced his intentions to his parents, whom were both horrified and shook by the turn of events. Morloc began to take leave from the city, from his home, before attempting a sort of religious revival. Morloc would be contempt with what had been passed to him, he would burn away against the remnants of such writing. Eventually, making is stride towards the hour of the goblins' own capital, Morloc would meet his maker. The maker of which, would be his ultimate destruction. The shamans returned, arming themselves to cross and decompose the force behind Morloc. In which, the shamans were absolutely correct and they mutilated Morloc. The brawl scarred the skin of the man, leaving a fractured and shattered husk of bloodied red behind. Now, he was an elf, and elf compared to the might of wretched huntsmen. Following the assault, Morloc was left, presumed a carcass by the shamans. His mind became warped by the shattering of his belief, the loss of the spirits' will, the perversion of the shamans, and the hatred of his own race. Morloc found himself to gaze upon the remaining people, running away as a messy sack of both sweat and beaten remains. Morloc decided that he would become something else, a perfected race beyond anything of comprehension. If the spirits were afraid of him, willing to beat him by the flesh, he was to be more powerful. Morloc adopted the title of 'Sahyantal', in order to spite the Utopian views of religion. As well, Morloc traversed across the nations of the world, squandering from different regions. His travels were often short and minute, yet, they brought a sense of freedom towards understanding cultures. Morloc detested the scummy remains of which he took as an uruk, wishing to modify himself into a blend of the cultures across the planet. To himself, Morloc would become the spirits, he would become the undeniable savior for a grim planet, sickened by the errors he saw within his own land. Modifications would begin, Morloc tested himself to become something of a prosthetic surgeon, taking from a more lowly-elfish settlement of sorts. The elves themselves were located across a shoreline of sorts, brushed with the balmy-waves of an ocean. The sunshine above burnt against Morloc's reddened body, and the boat he managed to casually hijack from a drunken fisherman. Morloc began to seek what the elves were, specifically the high-elves he was slaughtering years before. In the ultimate reparation for murder and to spite the shamans, Morloc would return his cursed countenance to the elvish. Though he hadn't learned much for modifying himself, the idea was implanted. Now, as to smite another civilization, Morloc began his reign. Yet, Morloc had died during the days of the shaman. Only 'Sahyantal' arose.