Morsh
10-12-2006, 01:36 AM
Of Morsh, Chapter One.
Morsh stared through the black bars of his cramped cage, slouching lethargically on the metallic floor. He managed to catch a glimpse of the harbor through the warped driftwood entryway as the key-wielding goblin shuffled in carrying his usual assortment of clutter. The atrocious mixture of decay, heavy air and blistering heat was washed away for a moment by the cool air drifting in from the harbor. The orc let out a heavy sigh.
"Faster work, faster! More money for me this way." The goblin let out a high-pitched and scratchy snicker as he slammed his box of junk on a nearby table and made his way back out to the streets of Ratchet.
Morsh relished the additional gust of cool air from the closing doorway before fixing his bright eyes on the small hammer and chisel in his hands. He hung his big green arms over the horizontal bar of his cage and began chipping away at the large piece of rock set before him, slowly sculpting the material into something fitting for the goblin to sell. Diligently and systematically eliminating small portions of rock was a daunting task, and before long he felt his mind begin to wander to thoughts of home.
The sanctuary in which he once resided was one of inheritance and lineage, and it was a both a responsibility and an honor to upkeep its tradition. Structurally, it was designed to move through the history of the Mugrahsi bloodline by the cycles of the sun and moon; a series of holes were driven into the roof of the structure, architecturally planned in such a way that the light from above would illuminate large stones at a precisely scheduled time, each stone bearing likenesses of a former elder etched by their respective progeny. Morsh had nearly finished the likeness of his father, Elder Rohgal Mugrahsi, and estimated one more day of solid work would mark the task's completion.
The same little goblin had always seemed curious as to the source of the light shining from within, and could often be spotted eyeing the residence from across the sands. Occasionally the goblin would come so close to the dwelling that Morsh would be able address him, often telling the creature to "go away!" in his most threatening voice. The day preceding Morsh's capture was entirely different, however ; the goblin had not come while the sun was up. The evening came, and the goblin still had not arrived. Morsh assumed that his threats had finally paid off and retired to his bed for the night. Several hours later, he was awakened by the sound of footsteps in the room. As he reached for his axe, the goblin rendered him unconscious with a single sap.
Morsh's blinked, his mind returning to the task at hand. He never really had that much passion for carving; he found it overly tedious and dull, and only did it out of necessity. Having seen the idols carved by his ancestors pawned by the goblin for profit, Morsh only worked now to avoid the sharp pains of spear-jabs through the bars of his cage. He was entirely certain, however, that this project would be his finest and would merit him no spear-jabs whatsoever.
Time passed slowly. The sculpture was complete after several hours, but the goblin would not return for several days. Morsh grew very hungry and longed for a glass of water... the sounds of the waves in the harbor seemed to call out to him, and he felt his mind grow weaker with each passing minute. Once in a while he would drift off to sleep, but would awake to the sound of his own grumbling stomach or a vulture's screech in the distance.
Finally, late into the night, the goblin returned carrying an even larger box of scraps and junk-metal. Morsh looked up wearily at the goblin from his cage, grunting slightly and sitting up.
"You work faster!", the goblin screeched while glancing in Morsh's direction, setting the box down on the table next to the previous one.
Morsh snarled, furrowing his brow at the goblin. "I've completed this one, I require more stone."
"I get more stones for you in the morning, now I sleep, very tired." The goblin set his lantern down on the table, removing his miniature leather vest.
"Before you sleep, might I have a drink of water or a piece of meat?" Morsh felt his stomach grumble once again, the hunger pains rippling outwards into his chest.
"No!" the goblin snapped, shaking his spear menacingly at the orc.
"If you won't let me eat or drink, at least come see the work I've made."
The goblin groaned, coughed a bit, and picked up his lantern. He grabbed his spear, walking over to the cage, kneeling before the orc to meet him at eye-level. "Show me now!"
Morsh slowly reached behind him to grab the stone sculpture he had carved. He held it up to the goblin - it was a creature's head ; long pointed ears, a pointed nose, and a pointed object protruding from the forehead.
As the goblin's eyes grew wide, Morsh quickly jabbed the chisel into his kidnapper's forehead with a thundering growl, sending the creature to the floor in a violent spasm. The goblin's small arms made a vain attempt to thrust the spear in Morsh's direction, but fell limp and lifeless within a matter of seconds.
Morsh's eyes flared with anticipation of his release as he hoisted the heavy stone sculpture over his head, crashing it down upon the padlock binding his cell. After six or seven desperate attempts, the padlock broke and fell loose. Tearing the chains off the bars, Morsh pushed the gate open and made his way out into the night, starving and dehydrated, but free of his prison.
Morsh stared through the black bars of his cramped cage, slouching lethargically on the metallic floor. He managed to catch a glimpse of the harbor through the warped driftwood entryway as the key-wielding goblin shuffled in carrying his usual assortment of clutter. The atrocious mixture of decay, heavy air and blistering heat was washed away for a moment by the cool air drifting in from the harbor. The orc let out a heavy sigh.
"Faster work, faster! More money for me this way." The goblin let out a high-pitched and scratchy snicker as he slammed his box of junk on a nearby table and made his way back out to the streets of Ratchet.
Morsh relished the additional gust of cool air from the closing doorway before fixing his bright eyes on the small hammer and chisel in his hands. He hung his big green arms over the horizontal bar of his cage and began chipping away at the large piece of rock set before him, slowly sculpting the material into something fitting for the goblin to sell. Diligently and systematically eliminating small portions of rock was a daunting task, and before long he felt his mind begin to wander to thoughts of home.
The sanctuary in which he once resided was one of inheritance and lineage, and it was a both a responsibility and an honor to upkeep its tradition. Structurally, it was designed to move through the history of the Mugrahsi bloodline by the cycles of the sun and moon; a series of holes were driven into the roof of the structure, architecturally planned in such a way that the light from above would illuminate large stones at a precisely scheduled time, each stone bearing likenesses of a former elder etched by their respective progeny. Morsh had nearly finished the likeness of his father, Elder Rohgal Mugrahsi, and estimated one more day of solid work would mark the task's completion.
The same little goblin had always seemed curious as to the source of the light shining from within, and could often be spotted eyeing the residence from across the sands. Occasionally the goblin would come so close to the dwelling that Morsh would be able address him, often telling the creature to "go away!" in his most threatening voice. The day preceding Morsh's capture was entirely different, however ; the goblin had not come while the sun was up. The evening came, and the goblin still had not arrived. Morsh assumed that his threats had finally paid off and retired to his bed for the night. Several hours later, he was awakened by the sound of footsteps in the room. As he reached for his axe, the goblin rendered him unconscious with a single sap.
Morsh's blinked, his mind returning to the task at hand. He never really had that much passion for carving; he found it overly tedious and dull, and only did it out of necessity. Having seen the idols carved by his ancestors pawned by the goblin for profit, Morsh only worked now to avoid the sharp pains of spear-jabs through the bars of his cage. He was entirely certain, however, that this project would be his finest and would merit him no spear-jabs whatsoever.
Time passed slowly. The sculpture was complete after several hours, but the goblin would not return for several days. Morsh grew very hungry and longed for a glass of water... the sounds of the waves in the harbor seemed to call out to him, and he felt his mind grow weaker with each passing minute. Once in a while he would drift off to sleep, but would awake to the sound of his own grumbling stomach or a vulture's screech in the distance.
Finally, late into the night, the goblin returned carrying an even larger box of scraps and junk-metal. Morsh looked up wearily at the goblin from his cage, grunting slightly and sitting up.
"You work faster!", the goblin screeched while glancing in Morsh's direction, setting the box down on the table next to the previous one.
Morsh snarled, furrowing his brow at the goblin. "I've completed this one, I require more stone."
"I get more stones for you in the morning, now I sleep, very tired." The goblin set his lantern down on the table, removing his miniature leather vest.
"Before you sleep, might I have a drink of water or a piece of meat?" Morsh felt his stomach grumble once again, the hunger pains rippling outwards into his chest.
"No!" the goblin snapped, shaking his spear menacingly at the orc.
"If you won't let me eat or drink, at least come see the work I've made."
The goblin groaned, coughed a bit, and picked up his lantern. He grabbed his spear, walking over to the cage, kneeling before the orc to meet him at eye-level. "Show me now!"
Morsh slowly reached behind him to grab the stone sculpture he had carved. He held it up to the goblin - it was a creature's head ; long pointed ears, a pointed nose, and a pointed object protruding from the forehead.
As the goblin's eyes grew wide, Morsh quickly jabbed the chisel into his kidnapper's forehead with a thundering growl, sending the creature to the floor in a violent spasm. The goblin's small arms made a vain attempt to thrust the spear in Morsh's direction, but fell limp and lifeless within a matter of seconds.
Morsh's eyes flared with anticipation of his release as he hoisted the heavy stone sculpture over his head, crashing it down upon the padlock binding his cell. After six or seven desperate attempts, the padlock broke and fell loose. Tearing the chains off the bars, Morsh pushed the gate open and made his way out into the night, starving and dehydrated, but free of his prison.