So it’s Ben a while since I posted anything here, I figured I’d some back with a newer character.
The moc:
Front:
Back:
The moc was originally designed as a Skull Basher revamp ant now takes inspiration from fantasy warlocks, primarily the warloc class in certain fantasy RPGs.
To hopefully capture the sort of "evil magic feel I also game him decorations such as bones and talismans. The two prongs sticking out of his back are meant to be part of his garb alongside his cape.
Size comparison with Uniter Tahu and Umarak the Destroyer
Original Basher revamp (recreation, wrong chestplate)
Character and story
Few know the nature of a warlock’s power, and fewer know the origin. Some say that practitioners sacrifice the souls and essence of living beings to dominate over their world. Others say that warlock’s draw their power from ancient unspeakable horrors that wait just beyond the endless void.
Nothing is known about the early life of Asmond, but throughout his life he has seen kingdoms burn and small communities grow into flourishing villages and towns. All while murder and thievery unknowingly runs rampant as night takes hold of the sky, only to vanish into serene perfection at sunrise. Entire ecosystems be born, evolve, and die within a matter of days. But before that, he was only known as Amsamon Juell, a member of the Serpent Order. The brotherhood was comprised of eight members: Amsamon, Gandari, Jormangand, D’herix, Spainsman, Kutall, Yeith, and Thatidon who at the time was the leader of the order. Thatidon insisted that their dark practices be kept away from the prying eyes of the masses and remain a secret that would die with them–as one of their brethren had been publicly executed for witchcraft. Amsamon, however, was appalled by the suggestion. Blinded by anger over the loss of one of his own and the fear that without new initiates, the dark arts would go extinct., Amsamon lashed out at Thatidon—but his magic was too powerful for the young warlock, and he was cast out.
For months Asmamon wondered the lands starving, dehydrated, and alone. Almost as if it called to him, he found his salvation. While his eyes had long since dried up and rendered him blind, he could feel the raw chaotic energies of the sight before him. Eons ago this was a battleground of monumental proportions. Entire armies from warring factions fighting together against an unimaginable adversary. And even now it called to him. And it whispered, “Morgue Xanhatoth.”
After four long months of isolation, Asmamon had returned to his former home. Yeith was the first to greet him. Taking pity on her old friend, she led him deeper into the home. Thatidon stood before him. “Are you really that foolish? Have the wilds taken that much of a toll on your mind? The Asmamon I new was weak, but he did what he was told.” Asmamon pulling back his crusty, dirty hood responded, “I have learned many things in my time. And now I know what I must do for our kind to survive.” Bending down as if to bow before his old master, he pulled out a sharp stone before gouging it into Thatidon’s side, and with a startled grunt, gave a look of shock. The look was stained onto his victims face as he drove the stone deeper so; twisting it before removing it with a quick pull. Letting blood and bile spill out of the mangled hole in his master’s side. The next hour would be filled with the anguished cries of despair and heartbreak as a once trusted ally and friend slaughtered them one by one. The only to escape his wrath was Spainsman. Who simply walked into the flames as if they welcomed him with open arms. Never to be seen again.
As the dust settled and the flames died, all that was left was ash and a simple silhouette walling away.
Special thanks to my friend Nick for helping me fix grammar and spelling errors.
I hope you enjoyed my moc. Criticism is always welcome.
