#selachid

[samhansby]

The Selachid Order

I've already posted these guys before, but I do it again and at once just so that you can see how tall are they in comparison with each other.

I've covered the last one (Lázaro) just for sake of spoilers from my fanfiction, The Entropic Eye.

[theentropiceye]

Act 2 - 2

The Unfathomable Sand Ocean

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61868641/chapters/159535864

The sun boils down on the endless dunes of the southern desert, casting merciless rays against the land below. The wind is but a mere whisper, carrying loose grains of sand that swirl around the air and distorting the horizon in a wavering mirage.

The footsteps of the adventurers sink heavily into the scorching grains, leaving behind a winding trail that the wind quickly begins to erase. Each step feels heavier than the last as the heat and thick air bears them down, but they press forward nonetheless.

Gwen’s sturdy white-coated horse trudges through the sand, sinking way heavier its hooves into the loose grains with every step. A couple packs slung over its back jostle slightly as it moves, carrying the group’s supplies.

They eventually trudge up a steep dune, and as they do, some grains shift beneath their feet, forcing them to dig in with each step. When they reach the crest, their gazes sweep across the desert stretching endlessly before them.

It is an unfathomable sand ocean, obscured by a dusty haze beyond a certain distance. For a moment, they simply stand there, staring into the nothingness.

ARTHUR (Shielding his eyes with one hand): “No sign of them yet.”

GWEN: “Well, yeah. What did you expect? It’s not like we can see anything else with the sand in the middle of the freaking air!”

SANDIE: “Hey, shimmer down, will you? You’re going to end up like a mess before we find them!”

GWEN (Haughty): “Hah. Shimmer down. How rich of you. I wish this whole place could just shimmer down instead! Maybe I would too!”

SAM: “You don’t like the heat, don’t you?”

GWEN: “How can anyone like this fucking furnace?!”

SAM: “I don’t mind.”

SANDIE (Turns to Sam): “Hah! Coming from you, I’m not surprised. You’re not even breaking a sweat! Literally!”

Sam remains silent for a moment, examining his arms and even his forehead. He realizes that he is, in fact, not sweating.

SAM: “And… how about you?”

SANDIE (Hesitant): “Eeeeh… I think it’s manageable. For now.”

GWEN: “Ugh, not for me, and I’m not sure about Arthur.”

ARTHUR: “I have been through worse, so… I cannot really complain. But still, I am sorry to see you suffer terribly for this.”

GWEN: “Oh, how I wish we were done with this soon.”

SAM: “If it’s any consolation… it’s not so hot at night.”

GWEN: “Heh… you know? That actually comforts me. Somewhat. How I wish it were night already.

Their conversation fades after Sandie’s words, swallowed by the silence of the desert. 

They move sideways to avoid the steep slope of the dune in which they stand, lest they lose their balance, especially Gwen’s white horse. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, far from the adventurers’ reach, the brutal trio of the Selachid Order—Rodrigo, Ancor, and Guzmán—move forward under the same unforgiving sun, twisted in discomfort. Their presence is not one of pursuit, but of retrieval.

GUZMÁN: “Reegghh…”

ANCOR (Panting): “Yeah, buddy. You don’t have to say anything.”

RODRIGO: “He can’t anyways.”

Ancor sighs, running a hand down his face, shaking some of the sweat off his fingertips.

ANCOR: “Ugh… why did the Captain have to send us after that freak?”

RODRIGO: “Better question: How can that fucking freak bear with this heat? Is he even alive at this point?!”

ANCOR: “Well, yeah. It’s Lázaro, after all. He has this… uncanny ability to survive things no one else should! My only concern is where he is.”

RODRIGO: “Probably inside the mausoleum, but honestly? I don’t give a shit about him. For all I care, he can rot to death in this fucking shithole.”

ANCOR (Appaled): “Holy… that’s too much!”

RODRIGO: “Too much?! Bro, you don’t like him either, and I’m sure neither does Guzmán!

GUZMÁN (Hesitant, shifting uncomfortably): “Rrrrr…” 

RODRIGO (Cuts him off): “Not to mention… you could simp with Marcela without him stalking her ass.”

ANCOR (Irritated): “Hey, don’t talk about her like that! It’s undignifying!”

RODRIGO (Irritated, snapping at him): “Fuck off.”

ANCOR (Clenching his jaw): “Just… can you just say anything nice for once?!”

 RODRIGO: “I said FUCK. OFF!”

The conversation reaches an impasse, as Ancor says nothing more for a few moments, unwilling to partake in this particularly vitriolic conversation with Rodrigo, until…

ANCOR: “Do you think… they’re here?”

RODRIGO: “Who? Those dickheads from the island? I don’t care about them either.”

ANCOR: “But… What if they’re after the Sclera, too? Or after us?”

Rodrigo stops and turns to Ancor, ramming his mouth and gritting his teeth.

RODRIGO: “Bro, why do you even care!? We beat their asses at the island, and we’ll do it again if we find them! And we’ll do it harder than before! So hard they’ll even have psychological sequels that they’ll stop coming for us or the Sclera. Now stop bitching before I beat your ass instead! Besides, it was your idea to steal from them, so don’t act surprised if we have them right on our asses!!

Rodrigo stomps forward, kicking up puffs of sand. Ancor and Guzmán are slightly left behind as they exchange confused stares with each other. Ancor can’t help but draw a grimace of anger, showing some of his teeth. Guzmán puts one of his hands on his shoulder.

ANCOR (Keeping his voice low): “Ugh… why is he like this? Maybe it’s the heat, but still…”

GUZMÁN: “Rrrh…”

Unlike Rodrigo, Ancor cannot speak with Guzmán, and thus, they continue forward and catch up with the white shark. None of them speak again.

ANCOR (Barely audible): “F…n. pr..k.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day passes uneventfully for both groups. So much so that, before long, the sun begins to dip. The sky shifts to soft amber hues, and the air begins to cool down. The legs of the adventurers ache, and their breaths feel heavier, and the sand—now sticking to their clothes, armor, and skin—seems to weigh them down even further.

And as if the heat of the day was not punishment enough, the night proves soon enough to be even more so. 

The group of the western adventurers soon catch a glimpse of an immense accumulation of sand clouds right as the sun finally comes down, threatening to engulf them.  The stillness of the desert is further broken by the sudden manifestation of the hostile mobs of the night, milling about at the horizon. They soon notice their presence and begin to close the distance, and so does the incoming sandstorm. The groans and the swirls grow increasingly louder as, until the confrontation within the sandstorm is inevitable. 

Everyone draws their weapons and tilt their heads to one side. Gwen dismounts her horse and steps forward with an exasperated face.

GWEN: “Just… why? Why?! Why is this damn place conspiring against us!?”

ARTHUR: “No need to worry, I can sustain ourselves with my mace!”

SANDIE (Turns to Arthur): “You can?”

ARTHUR: “It has a certain enchantment that can heal you if you are close enough.”

Everything around them has been reduced to a dome of absolute darkness. Their vision narrows—beyond a few feet and the light of Arthur’s Sun’s Grace, all is obscured. The wind has shifted from a whisper to a bellowing roar, drowning out almost every sound.

A husk lurches forward with its arms outstretched, echoing a grotesque gurgle drowned by the wailing storm. Arthur swings his mace, and the golden metal flashes in the dim light as it collides with the creature's head. A shockwave of golden light erupts from the impact, traveling across the group. The husk is sent sprawling. Its body contorts, but it does not fall alone—a seemingly endless horde birthed from the sandstorm itself crawls toward them. 

An arrow is suddenly shot, colliding against Gwen’s shield, but it shatters against the iron. Sam moves with slow steps to the source of the arrow, no doubt a skeleton. His sword is hidden behind his own shield, blocking another arrow. The skeleton comes into view, and he delivers a lunge as he attempts to charge its bow again.

More mobs come in—a flock of phantoms descend from above the clouds, taking advantage of the sandstorm currents to build momentum and strike the adventurers. Sandie sees one coming and ducks, it hits Arthur with a swift headbutt, but it makes it recoil. He retaliates with a strong bash on its head, and soon enough, it ceases to exist.

A second phantom dives, and Sam barely raises his shield in time, feeling the impact shake his arm. He pushes back, swinging his sword in retaliation, but the beast retreats into the storm.

Arthur’s mace glows again, a golden arc of light bursting forth as he strikes another husk, slightly taking away any discomfort the group feels, but they are being overrun. 

Even Gwen's horse is forced to defend itself, kicking the husks that come to it with its rear legs.

SANDIE (Swinging her pickaxe at a husk, panting): “There’s too many!”

GWEN (Shouting over the wind): “Where?! I can’t see anything!”

Sand lashes at their faces, filling their lungs with grit and burning their eyes. Arthur nods, stepping back.

ARTHUR (Commanding): “Any direction will do, but we need to stay away from the mobs!”

They break formation, pushing through the shifting sands, weapons still drawn, barely dodging attacks as they run. The storm’s unrelenting force drags at them, while the mobs pursue them, though at a slower pace. 

After a handful of steps, a break in the dunes comes into view, if only for a short distance. Sand gives way to reddish clay, with steep cliffs rising ahead. Gwen’s eyes widen as she holds her horse with a leash.

SANDIE (Urgent): “There! We can take shelter up there!”

They keep pushing forward. The mobs fall behind as the desert shifts into towering clay mesas, unable to follow them any further. They scramble up the hardened rock as the storm whips behind them. By the time they reach the plateau, they are gasping, soaked in sweat and sand, but still alive.

Gwen collapses to the ground, dragging herself against a rock.

GWEN (Breathless, exhausted): “I… officially… hate this place.”

Arthur leans against a boulder, catching his breath, while Sam remains standing, not sweating or even breathing at all, gazing at the storm below with an unreadable expression.

Sandie glances around, wiping sweat from her brow.

SANDIE (Looking at Arthur): “You alright?”

Arthur nods, exhaling slowly.

ARTHUR: “I am. But more importantly, so are all of you.”

Arthur turns toward the rocky terrain, his expression settling into calculated focus.

ARTHUR: “Still, we cannot stay in the open forever. We ought to take shelter somewhere.”

SANDIE (Widening her eyes): “Oh, I know! We can tunnel into a wall and make a shelter inside! It doesn’t have to be pretty. Just a hole will do!”

GWEN (Muttering, shifting against the rock): “Great. More digging. Just what I wanted to do after running for my life.”

SANDIE (Grinning, teasing): “Oh, come on. You’re not afraid of a little dirt, are you?”

Gwen glares at her but says nothing.

SAM: “It’ll be just a moment.”

GWEN (Sighs): “Alright, fine.”

With no better options and no time to waste, the adventurers gather themselves with whatever strength they have left after all they have endured. Sandie is the first to move, chipping away at the tough clay wall with her diamond pickaxe. 

Arthur searches for a patch of withered oak trees and proceeds to chop them with his mace, despite it not being a suited implement for his task at hand. The sound of breaking wood travels through his surroundings, reaching the group the air as they carve out a small alcove into the mesa.

Meanwhile, Sam scours the area with the intention to hunt down wild animals to sustain them—sheep, pigs, cows, and so on.

Gwen finds herself digging and removing grass patches, still grumbling. Her horse snorts at her, with its white coat now streaked with dust from their journey, seemingly accusing her of her lack of innitiative.

GWEN (Muttering to her horse): “You’re lucky you don’t have to dig, because I would put you to it if you could!��

Meanwhile, the wind howls below the plateau. The sandstorm still rages below the plateau they have climbed. It still bellows unforgivingly, but far from their reach.

The small alcove gradually takes shape, the walls Sandie has carved are smooth enough to offer some room for the entire group.

Arthur starts a campfire, using the gathered wood and charcoal, and soon, a distinctive warmth spreads outside the cramped shelter. Its flickering glow casts shadows against the clay walls, creating a stark contrast to the cold night beyond. The night settles, and so do the adventurers. 

Sam places down some meat near the fire, and Gwen drops beside it, stretching out with a tired groan.

GWEN: “I swear, if another mob shows up tonight, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Arthur chuckles, sitting across from her.

ARTHUR: “Then let’s hope they have no interest in climbing mesas.”

For the first time since entering the desert, they have some semblance of safety, if only for some brief hours, as beyond the badlands and the desert below, the violent trio of the Selachid Order are still on the prowl.

[cmweller]

Challenge #02263-F073: Children Problems

Human children grow their teeth. Problems arise as consequence.

How would that be for species, wou have three rows with hundreds of teeth? How would they react to a human toddler with their special problems? -- Anon Guest

The Edge Territories. Here there be Humans. Raashig was assured that, as a Selachid, the Humans wouldn't attempt to start any aggression. That said, such assurances were not a guarantee. There was always a minimum of one Humans who was drunk enough, belligerent enough, or just operating under enough of a wager[1] to try and pick a fight with a member of species who had eternally regenerating multiple rows of teeth.

Nevertheless, Raashig was more than a little bit nervous as a Human parental and their... pup? Cub? Kit? Their young... climbed aboard the transport to Huaddifoq Station. Humans were famously protective of their young. Dangerously protective. Raashig kept a weather eye on parental and child and attempted to look mostly harmless. If that couldn't be accomplished, then he would at least appear to not be hungering for Human flesh.[2] Raashig carefully watched them both in case they did something hazardous and did his best to be just another passenger attempting to get to their destination alive.

The Human young was small and irritated, producing a constant stream of complaining noises at the state of the world in general and presumably the taste of anything they put in their mouth in particular. The parental, meanwhile, jiggled the young about and attempted to entertain them or at minimum provide them with something to gnaw on. They noticed Raashig. "Don't mind Cal, they're chucking a grumpy because they're getting new teeth."

[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]

[internutter]

Challenge #02263-F073: Children Problems

Human children grow their teeth. Problems arise as consequence.

How would that be for species, wou have three rows with hundreds of teeth? How would they react to a human toddler with their special problems? -- Anon Guest

The Edge Territories. Here there be Humans. Raashig was assured that, as a Selachid, the Humans wouldn't attempt to start any aggression. That said, such assurances were not a guarantee. There was always a minimum of one Humans who was drunk enough, belligerent enough, or just operating under enough of a wager[1] to try and pick a fight with a member of species who had eternally regenerating multiple rows of teeth.

Nevertheless, Raashig was more than a little bit nervous as a Human parental and their... pup? Cub? Kit? Their young... climbed aboard the transport to Huaddifoq Station. Humans were famously protective of their young. Dangerously protective. Raashig kept a weather eye on parental and child and attempted to look mostly harmless. If that couldn't be accomplished, then he would at least appear to not be hungering for Human flesh.[2] Raashig carefully watched them both in case they did something hazardous and did his best to be just another passenger attempting to get to their destination alive.

The Human young was small and irritated, producing a constant stream of complaining noises at the state of the world in general and presumably the taste of anything they put in their mouth in particular. The parental, meanwhile, jiggled the young about and attempted to entertain them or at minimum provide them with something to gnaw on. They noticed Raashig. "Don't mind Cal, they're chucking a grumpy because they're getting new teeth."

[Be sure to visit internutter (dot) org for a link to the rest of this story, and details on how to support this artist. Or visit steemit (dot) com (slash at) internutter for the stories at their freshest]

[samhansby]

Leocadia

Seeing that the posts of my characterse have been positively received, I think I've decided some more. Don't worry, I am still working on The Entropic Eye

So! This here is an extra character that I made while I was making the other sharks.

Unfortunately, she is not going to appear in my fanfic. Maybe she will in future projects.

And it might not seem like so, but she's quite tall, somewhere between Rodrigo and Damasco.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Race: Manta shark

Age: 60

Favorite thing: The Selachid Order

Least favorite thing: Being spotted

"Quiet, reserved, yet gifted with a remarkable intellect, Leocadia is a lady of few words whose demeanor hints at neurodivergence - possibly autism. She addresses herself as a 'manta shark', a species with virtually no information about.

She has taken interest on the Selachid Order - especially its captain and from time to time, she manifests near them, watching over with uncertain intent."

[samhansby]

Damasco

Race: Whale shark

Age: 60

Favorite thing: His crew

Least favorite thing: Being addressed as a pirate

"Pedro Damasco is a whale shark with a commanding presence, adept at maintaining order through a balanced system of merit-based rewards and strict discipline, but when diplomacy and structure prove insufficient, he has to resort to his unwieldy arm cannon to assert his authority. Though he outwardly projects his image as that of a merchant and seasoned explorer, his facade is anything but stable, as he is perpetually engaged in managing the volatile ambitions of his crew, particularly those of Rodrigo, Guzmán, Ancor, and the occasionally unpredictable Lázaro. He and someone else are the founders of what is now a motley crew of sharks he refers to as the Selachid Order, acting as the Captain and its undisputed number #1."

[samhansby]

Marcela

Race: Thresher shark

Age: 37

Favorite thing: Dancing in solitude

Least favorite thing: Lázaro's fixation on her

"Graceful, poised and sometimes haughty, Marcela is a thresher shark who had to join Damasco's Selachid Order after being caught pilfering funds to survive, a history that makes her role as the crew's treasurer an ironic twist of fate. Despite her dubious beginnings, Marcela manages with complete responsibility the Order’s spoils, ensuring their riches remain secure.

When called to acition, Marcela's fighting style comes into spotlight. It blends artistry and lethality, evidenced by the occasional use of her tail as a whip and her razor-sharp ornate fans, capable of slicing through foes. As the number #8 of the Selachid Order, Marcela embodies her title: The Dancer.

[samhansby]

Rodrigo

I wish the .GIF didn't have the gray background, but it does because it would've eaten the #000000 tones from the pants, as if they were invisible.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Race: White shark

Age: 36

Favorite thing: Inflicting the maximum amount of pain as possible

Least favorite thing: Not doing more while he still had the chance

"Rodrigo is the living embodiment of merciless brutality and unchecked pride. His demeanor paints him as a sadistic and bloodthirsty white shark, with little to no redeemable qualities, but in truth, his lust for violence serves as a twisted means of coping with the wounds of his past.

He was forced to find a way to survive on his own, and his desperation eventually led him to Damasco and the Selachid Order. Now, he stands as the number #3 of the Order, bearing a title that perfectly reflects the carnage he brings to the battlefield: The Blade."

[samhansby]

Álvaro

Race: Saw shark

Age: 40

Favorite thing: Taking care of Quintín

Least favorite thing: Fixing Rodrigo's broadsword

"Focused and methodical, Álvaro is Damasco's technician, often dedicating himself to ensuring that all weapons and tools are in top condition with the assistance of Quintín, an enhanced copper golem who he treats as his son.

His sharp engineering skills and disciplined problem-solving make him an essential member of the crew, though he falters when placed under intense pressure, often stemming from Rodrigo's volatile demeanor.

He is the number #7 of his crew, the Selachid Order, and his title is that of The Handyman."

[samhansby]

Carlita

Race: Angel shark

Age: 14

Favorite thing: Playing with Quintín (Álvaro's copper golem)

Least favorite thing: Heated discussions

"Carlita, the youngest member of Damasco's Selachid Order, is an angel shark whose role is that of both the Order's medic and its mascot. With her petite and cheerful personality, she radiates warmth wherever she goes, but she also carries a sense of responsibility that far surpasses her age.

Her trident, turned into a powerful healing implement, has dressed plenty of wounds and, in times, saved the lives of the Order's members. Because of that, no one, not even the most volatile of them, dares to harm her on the slightest. Those who do incurr the Order's unanimous wrath.

As the number #10 in the Selachid Order, Carlita's youthful optimism and healing abilities have earned her the title of The Cherubim".

[samhansby]

Boecio

I accidentally deleted his post, oops.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Race: Basking shark

Age: 57

Favorite thing: Silence

Least favorite thing: Being annoyed

"Boecio is undeniably the most unnerving figure within the Selachid Order. His languid movements and dim-witted behavior, coupled with his towering size and strkingly large maw, create an aura of dread that is impossible to ignore.

Nonetheless, beneath his unsettling exterior lies an unwavering loyalty to Damasco. As the Order’s guard, he wields a physical strength no one else from it can match.

But despite that, and due to his slowpoke nature, he holds the position of number #4 within the Order, earning the fitting title of The Giant."

[samhansby]

Guzmán

Race: Tiger shark

Age: 21

Favorite thing: Triumphing over obstacles, especially through brute force.

Least favorite thing: Any sign of weakness

"Guzmán is a fierce and near-feral tiger shark who spent most of his life in relentless poverty, navigating a harsh world where strength and cunning were his only means of survival.

His life took a pivotal turn when he attempted to plunder a merchant convoy under Damasco's protection. Though caught in the act, Guzmán’s sheer determination and raw tenacity impressed him. As such, he was offered a position within the Selachid Order.

He eventually became the Order’s number #5, bearing the title of The Beast in light of his untamed nature and his role as a relentless force on the battlefield.

[samhansby]

Ancor

Race: Hammerhead shark

Age: 30

Favorite thing: Riches and treasures for himself

Least favorite thing: His captain, Damasco "Sly and opportunistic, Ancor is a hammerhead shark with an insatiable thirst for wealth and treasures of the seas. Armed with his diamond rapier and a sharp wit for deception, he is a formidable foe who excels at exploiting weaknesses, whether through subtle manipulation or outright force... unless challenged to a duel, where he can make a demonstration of his swordsmanship on equal terms. Because of those skills, he serves as a valuable member to the Selachid Order. However, his ambition and backstabbing tendencies also make him a constant threat to those around it, even Damasco himself. And despite his treachery, Ancor holds the rank of number #6 within the Order, bearing the title of The Duelist."

[theentropiceye]

Act 2 - 1

The Selachid Order

The sun rises once again on a distant tropical archipelago. A faint cyan haze lingers in the sky, and the warm, humid air drifts through the scattered wooden houses perched along the sandy shore. Many of these houses are supported by stilts made from various types of wood, their structures blending seamlessly into the natural surroundings. A large dock juts far out into the open sea, and next to it, a makeshift watchtower—constructed from mismatched wooden beams—stands as a sentinel over the bay.

Two figures reside at the top: a slender saw shark and a minuscule copper golem, both clad in simple worker attire. The saw shark is tall enough to peer over the tower's fences with ease, despite his golden eye eyewear and serrated snout. 

The massive galleon lowers its anchor with a metallic groan, and a muffled thud resonates across the water as the chain sinks into the depths, immobilizing the vessel. The crew begins disembarking. Leading the way are Rodrigo, Guzmán, and Ancor, striding with casual confidence despite the weight of the Sclera’s dubious acquisition. The titanic basking shark, Boecio, lumbers behind them, his immense frame casting long shadows over the pier.

Though the trio bears the marks of their skirmish, the signs are carefully concealed. Rodrigo’s sword, though worn, hangs at his back as if untouched. Guzmán’s claws gleam as sharp as ever, and Ancor’s jacket appears pristine, despite the chaos they’ve left behind, keeping the Sclera tucked securely beneath his coat.

The saw shark and the copper golem descend from the watchtower to greet them at the pier. He leans casually against a wooden crate, his ever-present wrench in hand, his saw-like snout catching the sunlight as he scrutinizes the group.

SAW SHARK (Eyeing them up and down.): “Well, well, look who finally decided to sail back. So… how did the negotiations go?”

Rodrigo hesitates for a moment. His usual confidence is tinged with reluctance.

RODRIGO: “Eh… it went well.”

Álvaro raises a skeptical brow, glancing between the group members.

SAW SHARK: “Did it now? I must say, I was expecting you to be covered in blood.”

GUZMÁN: “Rrrrrhh…”

ANCOR (Chiming in.): “Hey, come on, have some faith in us! We told you we’d handle it, and we did. Look!”

Ancor pulls the Sclera out just enough for him to glimpse it. Its jagged edges and ominous gleam catch the morning light, causing the Saw Shark’s expression to shift to one of surprise.

SAW SHARK: “Oh… oh my! You actually did it. The Captain will definitely be pleased!”

ANCOR (Grinning smugly.): “Oh, he will, Álvaro. Trust me.”

The Saw Shark, Álvaro nods approvingly and gestures for them to move along.

ÁLVARO: “Regardless, you might want to say hello to the others. They’ll be glad to see you all in one piece.”

Ancor’s grin widens, and he practically swoons at the thought.

ANCOR: “I can’t wait to see Marcela’s beautiful face again.”

GUZMÁN: "Rrrawrrr..."

RODRIGO (Scoffing.): “You’re all a bunch of simps.”

Ancor waves off Rodrigo’s remark with exaggerated nonchalance as the group heads toward the heart of the minuscule island with houses. Behind them, the immense figure of Boecio steps off the ship. Despite his slow movements, the wooden planks of the dock shake with each one he takes.

Álvaro turns to greet him, craning his neck to address the towering basking shark.

ÁLVARO: “Hello, Boecio. How did everything go? They’re saying it ‘went well.’ Did it?”

Boecio blinks slowly, turning his vacant, heavy-lidded gaze towards Álvaro.

BOECIO: “Heeeellloooooo…”

Álvaro shifts awkwardly, waiting for a proper answer.

ÁLVARO: “Uh… yes, hello. So, did everything go well? Or, let me guess… brute force?”

Boecio’s gaze remains fixed on Álvaro with a blank stare. After a long pause, he finally responds.

BOECIO: “Nooooooo…”

Álvaro exhales, relieved but still uneasy.

ÁLVARO: “Good. Good. Well… carry on.”

With that, Boecio lumbers after the trio. His slow pace cannot match their strides as they make their way toward the island’s heart, but every step he takes feels like an earthquake for everyone around him. The copper golem scurries back to the watchtower, leaving Álvaro to shake his head lightly, muttering to himself as he joins them, too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The crew arrives at a wide clearing surrounded by palm trees and the scattered, elevated homes in which the sharks reside. More of them mill about, composing a chaotic and diverse group. 

A bull shark stands near a table scattered with maps with an arquebus slinging over his shoulder. A female thresher shark, with pink skin and an incredibly long tail, talks with a petite angel shark, female as well and occasionally patting her head.

The attention is soon drawn to Rodrigo and the others, with Boecio and Álvaro following them close behind, but not taking part of the ensuing conversation.

THRESHER SHARK: “Oh, wow~. If it isn’t the Order’s favorite meat grinders!”

RODRIGO (Grinning): “You got that right, princess.” 

ANCOR: “Hey, for the record, we haven’t ‘ground’ anyone’s ‘meat’ today!”

THRESHER SHARK: “Suuure, baby~. Tell me more.”

BULL SHARK: “Whatever, did you get it?”

Knowing that the Bull Shark is referring to the Sclera, Ancor shows it to him. He is somewhat taller than him, and his skin is tinged in deep brown. A couple of fins protrude from his front, almost as if they were horns rather than that, fins. He wears an identical jacket to him, only just tinged with gray.

BULL SHARK: “Hmm. Good.”

ANCOR  (Feigning indignation): “That’s it? Just… ‘good’? You’re not even going to compliment us at least?!  This thing costs us plenty, you know!”

BULL SHARK: “Compliments don’t come naturally to me. You should know.”

ANGEL SHARK: “Awncooor! Youw’re back!”

ANCOR (smiling warmly): “Carlita!”

Ancor and the Angel Shark, introduced as Carlita, promptly embrace in a hug. She is moderately shorter than him, barely making it to his shoulders. Her skin tone is nearly identical to the sand around them all, albeit somewhat darker. Her eyes resemble to those of a Totem of Undying, as if they were a couple of emeralds. Two long fins protrude from each side of her head, almost as if they’re wings more than that. She wears a small, sleeveless pink shirt with golden buttons and a cyan skirt, adjusted with a golden belt.  All in all her appearance inspires wholesomeness, which is evidenced by their interaction.

CARLITA: “I’ve miwssed you sow muwch, you know?”

ANCOR (Still smiling): “Oh, me too. (Turns to the Thresher Shark with a sultry tone). And I’ve also missed you my dear Marcela.”

Marcela, the Thresher Shark, is a lady with an overall refined appearance. Revealing the area under her torso open, she wears a purple outfit with patterns of a lighter shade, a long skirt with golden details and exaggeratedly long sleeves, long enough to cascade way over her arms.

MARCELA (THRESHER SHARK): “Yes, yes. Now go flirt with someone else, like Rodrigo!”

RODRIGO: “WHAT?! I am not gay, you know?! What the fuck is that about!?” 

MARCELA (Haughty): “No, he actually is gay, he just doesn’t want to admit it!”

RODRIGO (Outraged): “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU B—

He cuts himself off, unwilling to finish the insult while Marcela snickers, clearly enjoying his discomfort. Guzmán let out a low, rumbling growl, clearly uninterested in the conversation. Ancor chuckles with Marcela, reveling in the group’s antics as the tension from their mission begin to ease, if only for a moment.

Before the banter can escalate further, a deep, commanding voice booms across the clearing.

???: “Enough.”

All eyes turned as a towering figure steps into view, but not as much as Boecio. It’s a whale shark with cyan-blue skin and white dots all over it, wearing a long, ornate ultramarine coat, swaying with each  step he takes. 

His piercing eyes scan the group with precision.

WHALE SHARK: “I see that Ancor and the rest have returned.”

The crew quieted immediately, their earlier banter forgotten as they fall into line. An air of seriousness settles over the clearing as he prepares to address his group of sharks.

ANCOR: “O-oh. Hello, Captain.”

WHALE SHARK: “Welcome back. Did you manage to retrieve the Sclera?”

ANCOR: “Uh… yes! Here! (He shows it to him.)”

WHALE SHARK: Excellent. (Addressing the group of sharks) Everyone, gather in the meeting room! (Turns to Ancor.) We would like to hear about your trip to the western island.”

ANCOR: “Why, of course, Captain! We are… eager to tell you!”

Rodrigo and the two other sharks that accompanied him show nervousness, as the meeting implies relaying the events that happened on the island.

The crew begins moving to the Captain’s directions. All conversations die out, and their footsteps sink heavily against the sandy ground as the weight of their Captain’s command settles over them. 

CARLITA:  “Uhm… Mawrcela, is Rowdrigo awctually ‘gay’?

MARCELA (Chuckling):  “No. I only said it to tease him.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They all make their way into what serves as their meeting room—a ship repurposed and grounded with wooden fences anchoring it to the island’s sandy terrain. The hull has been hollowed out to accommodate its new purpose, and its interior illuminated by lanterns hanging from the low ceiling. Ladders lead to the ship's deck, though no one climbs them as the crew files in. At the far end of the room, a sturdy wooden table surrounded by ten slabs serves as their meeting space.

around the table, the sharks take their seats in order and with deliberation: Carlita sits first, then Marcela, Álvaro, Ancor, Guzmán, Boecio, Rodrigo, the Bull Shark and lastly, the Whale Shark. Only one seat remains empty.

The room falls silent, save for the faint creak of the ship. The Whale Shark’s deep voice carries easily across the group.

WHALE SHARK: "Rodrigo, Ancor and Guzmán. You’ve returned from the western island. Tell us, how did the negotiations unfold?"

Rodrigo shifted in his seat, his usual confidence visibly wavering. He opens his mouth but he quickly falters, as his words stumble over themselves.

RODRIGO: "Uh… well, you see, Captain, it was, uh… not entirely straightforward, but we… got the Sclera. That’s the important part, right?"

Marcela raised an amused brow, and Álvaro leaned forward slightly, his golden eyewear glinting suspiciously.

WHALE SHARK (Patient but firm): "Go on."

Rodrigo’s hesitation deepens, and he glances at Ancor for support. Ancor, inevitably and literally capable of seeing all around him, leans forward in his seat with a much deliberate and confident tone.

ANCOR: "The Commanders were not exactly cooperative, as Rodrigo said. They seemed to be fond of the Sclera… for some reason, but we made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. As in, we gave them plenty of emerald blocks, diamond blocks… and even netherite ones! You know how these types are, Captain, they are stubborn at first but when you show them the shiny stuff… ho, ho ho! It was so tempting that they couldn’t refuse the offer! I even gave them a spare slowness potion as a gift! Anyway, they came around in the end."

Marcela let out a soft chuckle, her long, pink tail swishes idly behind her and addresses Ancor’s account with a sing-song tone, half-expecting it to be a farce.

MARCELA: "They ‘came around,’ you say?~ With that ton of blocks? I never expected you'd be capable of pulling that offer. Heck, you’re the greediest one here! Are you sure you did what you say or… did you just offer them Guzmán’s shiny claws, or perhaps Rodrigo’s oversized sword?~"

GUZMÁN: “RRRHHGG!!”

Guzmán grunts with annoyance, offering no verbal response and fixing his gaze on Marcela. Rodrigo, on the other hand, cannot disguise his irritation and lashes out at her.

RODRIGO: “First you call me gay and now you doubt me? What the fuuu— I mean… what the heck did I do this time!?”

The Bull Shark, seated at the Captain’s right, raises his voice enough to shut Rodrigo up.

BULL SHARK: "Silence! (turns to Ancor, who is sitting in a middle seat on the right, between Marcela and Boecio) So, no one followed you back? No trouble on the return trip?"

ANCOR: "No, Sancho. None at all. We’re professionals, after all." (He smirked, spreading his arms in mock innocence.) "The Sclera is safe in our hands, just as promised."

The Whale Shark’s piercing eyes linger on Ancor for a long moment with an unreadable expression. The rest of the Order exchange skeptical glances. Their suspicions are unspoken but palpable.

WHALE SHARK (Shifting the subject): "Very well. And Lázaro? I have noticed that he is not here with us."

Sancho, the Bull Shark answers promptly, straightening in his seat.

SANCHO: "Hmm. Still in the desert, Captain. He’s all by himself, searching for the Sclera in the mausoleum. I’ve received no words from him yet, but knowing him, he probably won’t even bother."

WHALE SHARK: "I see. I think we can safely conduct this meeting without him. If by any change you or the others find him, do tell him the news. Now… we cannot afford to waste any more time. If the legends are true, reuniting the Sclera will grant us power and currencies unlike any we’ve known. This is a great chance to solidify the Selachid Order’s influence."

The weight of his words settled over the room, but Rodrigo leaned forward with his jaw set.

RODRIGO: "Power is great and all, but when are we getting paid, Captain? That galleon’s not going to feed us, and I don’t see it spitting out coins either."

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, but the Whale Shark remains calm.

WHALE SHARK: "You speak of pay as if I do not recognize your efforts, but you must understand - this galleon was a necessary expense. Without it, we would not have the means to pursue the Sclera or maintain our operations. For now, our resources are stretched thin due to its purchase."

Marcela leaned back, crossing her legs and bringing one arm under her chin and sustaining it with another, drawin a sly smile.

MARCELA: "It’s not all bad, though~. The galleon is incredible. It feels like a floating mansion!"

ÁLVARO (Nodding): "Agreed. I’ve never worked on a ship this well-built. It’s an engineering marvel! However, you’re forgetting one detail, Rodrigo - it has two farms inside of it! Heck, it even has a Nether portal! It can feed you well enough and more! Have you not seen it entirely?"

RODRIGO: “We couldn’t, smartass! We were busy!”

CARLITA (Irritated): “Rowdrigo! Down’t cawll him that!”

Rodrigo cannot bring himself to retort Carlita’s words and is strongly persuaded to apologize to her and Álvaro.

RODRIGO: “Alright… sorry, Carla... and Álvaro.”

CARLITA: "The gawlleon is sow cowzy, too! We cawn even swleep on it!"

BOECIO: “Galleon is gooooood…”

Rodrigo groans and clenches his teeth, but his frustration softens under the group’s generally positive tone.

RODRIGO: "Okay, fine! I’m sorry! The galleon is amazing! Are you happy? (Turns to everyone who has complimented the galleon. After seeing that none of them have anything else to say, he turns to the Whale Shark) Now... you owe us, Captain. I’m not entirely convinced with the ‘power’ these banana relics can give to us."

The Whale Shark inclines his head slightly, his gaze steady.

WHALE SHARK: "And you shall be rewarded, Rodrigo. In time.”

Everyone keeps quiet, waiting for someone to speak up, be it the Captain or someone else. No one does, and thus, the former proceeds to give instructions to the members of the Selachid Order.

WHALE SHARK: “For now, everyone must focus on the task ahead. You will be sent in trios in order to retrieve the Sclera. Ancor, Rodrigo and Guzmán, you must travel to the southern desert, rendezvous with Lázaro, and retrieve the Sclera on the mausoleum. That will be your true payday."

RODRIGO: “Ah, so now we have to look for that freak? (Scoffs.) Alright, fine. We’ll do that.”

WHALE SHARK: “And as for… Sancho, Álvaro and Marcela… you will go to the jungle and retrieve the one of the temple. Álvaro will take the helm. Understood?”

SANCHO: “Hmm. Yes, Captain.”

Álvaro and Marcela nod in agreement.

WHALE SHARK: “And as for… Carla and Boecio… you will remain here to guard the area and the galleon. You may only use it so long as it stays here.”

BOECIO: “Ooooh… ooookaaaayy…”

WHALE SHARK: “That being said... does anybody else have anything to discuss?”

Everyone glances at each other, as if wondering if they do. It soon becomes clear that they do not.

WHALE SHARK: “Then this meeting is over. Make haste and retrieve the Sclera, only then will we finally take off and expand over the Overworld!”

The meeting concludes with the Whale Shark’s words hanging heavily in the air. As the crew began to disperse, Rodrigo shoots a glance at Ancor, who returns it with a reassuring wink. Despite the tension, the Selachid Order moves forward, with their sights set on the next step in their pursuit of the other relics.

Sancho is the last to leave, but as he proceeds to…

WHALE SHARK: “Sancho, a word, if you will.”

SANCHO:  “Yes, Damasco. What is it?”