Ssethral was not forged in the humid temples of his kin, but in the brine-soaked shipyards of an empire long swallowed by the tide. As a master shipwright, he became obsessed with the concept of the 'Unsinkable Vessel.' He watched in horror as magnificent galleons, capable of weathering hurricanes, were brought low by the silent, invisible treachery of dry rot. This realization triggered a spiritual crisis that birthed his dark devotion: the world itself is a ship, and all life is merely the cargo or the crew. If the crew becomes unruly or the cargo begins to fester, it must be jettisoned to save the hull.
He swore an Oath of the Ancients, but where others see the 'Light' as warmth and growth, Ssethral sees it as the ultraviolet fire that sterilizes the rot. He views the natural world as a complex machine of pulleys and beams that must be maintained with cold, surgical precision. He took the 'Spine-Sieve,' a ritualistic shipwright's adze, and set out to prune the 'termites' of reality—those chaotic forces that threaten the structural integrity of the Material Plane. He does not kill out of hatred; he kills because the blueprints of the universe require a clean workspace.