samhansby

[samhansby]

🌺 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝐵𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓈 🌺

[samhansby]

[Oc interaction]

(First time to try this blog, cus i think it would be fun interaction.)

Lara offers you chocolate cake.

(Draw your oc's reaction and reblog with this post)

[samhansby]

Act 2 - 3

Conversations Around a Campfire

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61868641/chapters/160028077

The night sky stretches far above the adventurers' warm orange campfire, and the moon casts a pale light, barely illumnating any solid surface it reaches.

Gwen is sprawled against a chopped trunk of oak, stretching out her arms and still catching her breath. Her white horse stands nearby, quietly chewing on what little grass grows between the cracks of the mesa. Sam sits cross-legged, still composed and with his sword resting against his knee. Arthur leans forward slightly, resting his arms on his legs, fixing his eyes on the flames, and Sandie is the last to sit down, leaving her pickaxe inside the alcove she has dug, sighing as she finally allows herself to relax.

For a long moment, no one speaks. The fire pops and crackles, and the flames become a luminous spectacle in their eyes, until Gwen breaks at last the silence with a groan, stretching dramatically her arms.

GWEN: ���I can’t believe we’re still alive after all that mess.”

SANDIE (Chuckling, nudging a stray rock with her boot): “You sound surprised.”

GWEN (Rolling her eyes): “Well, yeah! First, it’s the heat, then the mobs, then the damn sandstorm, and then everything all at once! I thought we were dead meat.”

ARTHUR (Smirking slightly): “I didn’t. I had faith in each and every one of you. After all, union makes strenght.”

GWEN (Glancing at him, raising a brow): “Pffft, okay, Hero.”

Arthur grins but says nothing. For a while, they simply sit in the fire’s warmth, absorbing the moment of peace. Then, Arthur’s gaze drifts toward the horizon—the way they came.

ARTHUR: “You know… this reminds me of home.”

SANDIE (Raising an eyebrow): “Home?”

Arthur nods, his expression momentarily distant.

ARTHUR (Looking at the fire, contemplative): “Back in Squid Coast, me and some colleagues used to make campfires like this one. We’d sit around them at night, just like now.”

SANDIE (Surprised): “Wait, Squid Coast? I thought you meant the island!”

Arthur chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

ARTHUR: “No, I mean that town from far away. We didn’t have many chances to do this for a long time because of the Arch-Illager.”

GWEN: “Yeah. You eventually kicked his butt. I remember you telling me that.”

ARTHUR: “I would not put it in that way… but it is true that we put an end to his schemes. And after that… nothing really happened. No Illager raids, no monsters during the day, no dangers… just nothing at all. 

Gwen and  Sandie narrow their eyes.

GWEN: “And the ruckus the fragments of the Orb of Dominance were making?”

SANDIE: “And the big-headed, super-overgrown Endermen that were showing off on the Overworld after that? Doesn’t all that sound interesting?”

Arthur shrugs.

ARTHUR: “I did not take part in any of that. I was taking a break after the Arch-Illager ordeal and trying to figure out what to do with my life after it was uprooted when he first attacked Squid Coast. Maybe some of those colleagues of mine handled those matters while I was doing so, or maybe someone else did. At face value, it sounded interesting, yes, but all of those matters were quickly resolved before I could act on them. That is why I said that ‘nothing really happened’. I meant it from my perspective.”

SANDIE: “So uh… what did you do? How did you end up on the island?”

ARTHUR: “I started to like taking journeys to far away lands and going out for adventure. It might sound selfish or even irresponsible coming from me, since I became the hero of the continent but… I never saw myself that way.”

SANDIE: “Eh?”

ARTHUR: “ I only became one because I made the right choice, was in the right place and in the right time. To put it briefly… I was lucky.”

SAM: “Then why did you set out to stop him?”

Arthur exhales and takes a breath before explaining his background.

ARTHUR: When the Arch-Illager attacked Squid Coast, most of  my friends were enslaved and taken away to various locations of the continent, so I took several treks to rescue them. I suppose it does sound heroic, but I just wanted to bring them back, I was acting more out of desperation than heroism. Once I managed to free them from the Arch-Illager’s thrall, we devised a long-term plan to sabotage him. We never intended to fight him directly, but to weaken him so that he may never lay harm to us or anyone else. None of us were really experts in combat, so we decided to play safe but, to our surprise, it worked out more effectively than we expected. We soon noticed that our actions had a much bigger impact than we originally thought. Every blow we struck to him exposed and weakened him significantly—his resources dwindled and his armies of undead and illagers were decimated. Eventually, we realized we could end it for good, so… we stormed his fortress. It was the riskiest move we had ever made, but by then, he was vulnerable. We pressed the advantage and… the rest is history”

SAM: “What happened after that?”

ARTHUR: “Our victory over the Arch-Illager inspired many other people to become heroes, just as I did. And that is precisely why I left. With so many people wanting to be the next hero of the continent, I was certain someone would eventually take the mantle that I unknowingly took first. I realized that the continent would still be defended even if I departed, so… that is what I did. I took a journey through the Nether, so that my exit point would take me… far away.”

Sandie and Gwen both look at him in disbelief.

SANDIE: “And you left your friends back there?”

ARTHUR: “We weren’t exactly friends. We were only a group of people with the same goals. After that, we went our separate ways, back to our previous lives... or at least, we tried. And as for the Nether part… it was an improvised course of action, and by then, I was confident enough to travel through it for an extended period of time. You and Sam do that on a daily basis, don’t you?”

SANDIE: “Yeah, but our routes are short! You basically ran an marathon!”

ARTHUR (Smirking faintly): “Maybe.”

The group lock their sights on Arthur as they 

SANDIE (Curious, turning to Gwen): “And what about you? What’s your story? I mean, you two know each other, but…”

Gwen tilts her head back, staring at the sky for a moment.

GWEN (Casual): “Not as fancy as Nether adventures, let alone heroic.” (She sighs, then shrugs.) “I grew up on the western island. I was just a farmer. A regular, boring one. I liked horses, I trained them, and that was about it.”

Arthur glances at her knowingly.

ARTHUR (Smirking): “I was also a farmer back on Squid Coast. Besides, you forgot some details.”

Gwen rolls her eyes.

GWEN: “Okay, fine. Eventually, I learned how to fight because, well, I had to. Then I met this idiot.” (She gestures toward Arthur.) “And somehow, we went from two idiots with swords to full-fledged commanders building an army.”

SANDIE: “An army?”

GWEN (Shrugging, grinning slightly): “Yeah. I mean, we had to, right? We have to guard the island, and if those sharks are any indication…”

ARTHUR: “It hasn’t been an easy fight, I must admit. Even if they played us for fools...”

Sandie leans back, stretching her arms behind her head. The conversation lulls, the warmth of the fire settling into their bones. Then, Arthur turns to Sandie and Sam.

ARTHUR: “What about you two?”

SANDIE: “(Smiling slightly) Oh, us? Well… we met each other by chance! I was just exploring while I just… found him! And we eventually got along and started to travel together to… wherever we wanted!”

Sandie gives a sheepish smile to Arthur and Gwen.

SANDIE: “But uh… well. If you want to know about my background… I was just a little girl from a little village who decided to explore the world, just like you, Arthur! Well, except from the part where the Arch-Illager ruined my life. And looking back… I think my life so far has been, like… perfect! Perfect parents, perfect youth, perfect everything! But yeah, I also got bored and decided to just see what’s out there. And that’s when I met Sam. He’s so cool and chill and put together… and that’s how we became besties! It was like an ‘opposite attracts’ case!”

Everyone listens to Sandie with visible enthusiasm, all except Sam, who remains as unreadable as usual.

SANDIE: “He already knows all of this because I told him from before… and because I’m, like… so talkative and extrovert that I don’t even shut up, even underwater! (Chuckles). But now that I think about it… (locks her eyes on Sam) I don’t think he ever told me anything about him.”

Everyone looks at Sam intensely.

GWEN: “Your turn, Sam.”

Sam exhales quietly, bringing his left hand up to cover his mouth while his right arm crosses over his chest, gripping his elbow in a pensive stance.

SAM: “How do I put this…”

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

The night sky stretches far above the Selachid Order’s frigid cyan campfire, and the moon casts a pale reflection upon the ocean waters, barely iluminating them.

The galleon looms over the docks, rocking its wooden hull with the few tides of the night, although barely visible across the small island in which the sharks reside. Inside, the Whale Shark and Captain of the Selachid Order -Damasco- remains occupied with his own affairs, secluded in one of the galleon’s quarters.

Near the shore, Boecio walks deeper into the sea. His massive frame slips progressively beneath the water until only the occasional ripple of waves hints at his presence. 

The other members of the Order find themselves huddled around it and speaking in hushed tones.

MARCELA (Arms crossed, watching the flames): "So… what do you think?~"

Álvaro leans against a crate, adjusting his golden eyewear slightly.

SANCHO (Casual, but skeptical): "About?"

Marcela scoffs, flicking a small piece of burning wood into the fire.

MARCELA: "The ‘negotiations’ at the western island. You saw how they acted. Rodrigo was stumbling over his words like the dumbass he is, and Ancor was making things up on the fly~."

Carlita, sitting with her knees tucked close to her chest, tilts her head slightly.

CARLITA (Softly): "M-maybew it’z twrue?"

Marcela lets out a dry chuckle, shaking her head.

MARCELA: "Oh, Carlita, you’re adorable~. (Muttering) Perhaps too much for your own good."

ÁLVARO (Flatly): "Anyhow, we cannot really prove it, but you could see it all over Rodrigo’s face… and sword. Especially his sword."

Sancho, who has remained silent until now, finally speaks. His tone is as calculating as ever.

SANCHO: "Hmm. Of course they are hiding something."

Marcela leans back slightly, a grimace plays on her mouth, revealing some of her teeth.

MARCELA: "And yet they have the audacity to ask for money! Even after we got that hunk of a ship! (Points at the galleon at the end of the dock)."

Álvaro nods, adjusting the wrench on his belt.

ÁLVARO: "That truly grinds my gears. It’s not like they’re starving anyway! They act like we’re some mercenary company, not a crew."

MARCELA (Chuckling): “Grind your gears. Funny choice of words, Handyman.~”

ÁLVARO: “Don’t start pressing people’s buttons, will you?”

MARCELA (Laughing): “Ah, hah, hah! First your gears and now your buttons? Why, it almost sounds like you’re saying it on purpose!”

SANCHO (Firm): “Marcela.”

MARCELA (Feigning innocence): “Hey, at least let me have some fun.”

SANCHO: “Not at the expense of others.”

Marcela sights and gives no answer to Sancho. Carlita’s emerald eyes flick between them with a slightly uneasy expression.

CARLITA (Muttering): "I down’t cawre aboud za money, zhough…"

Marcela raises an eyebrow, shifting her weight.

MARCELA (Smiling slightly): "Oh, Carlita... it’s not like you need money anyways! You’re too young to be asking for it, you know that?"

SANCHO: "Hmm. What about you?"

Marcela’s expression tightens for a fraction of a second. She exhales and leans forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand.

MARCELA: "Hah. You know where to hit, don’t you?”

Sancho doesn’t give any immediate answer. He locks his eyes into Marcela, narrowing them. 

MARCELA: “Alright, fine. I did need it. But only for a while. Back when I was a performer, they caught me pilfering a little extra from some patrons, and suddenly I had to get the hell out. The rest is history."

Álvaro’s gaze softens slightly, but he remains matter-of-fact.

ÁLVARO: "Not all of us ended up here out of desperation, though. Some of us chose this life."

MARCELA (Smirking): "Sancho and you."

ÁLVARO: "I joined because it felt like a huge opportunity. I had a strange fondness of tinkering with ships, and Damasco needed someone with my competences."

SANCHO: “Hmm. We knew each other way before the Order was formed. He recruited me because he needed a crew. That is how I became the first mate.” 

CARLITA: “And he rewcrwuited me becauwze I was a good medic!”

MARCELA: “Yes, mi amor~. (Puts her hands on Carlita’s cheeks and squeezes them gently) And because you’re also a good girl, aren’t you?~.”

Sancho and Álvaro can’t help but grin, seeing Marcela and Carlita’s interaction between them.

ÁLVARO: “And then… there 's Boecio and Lázaro.”

MARCELA: “Ugh… those weirdos. I don’t even know why he let them in. Maybe you do (Stares at Sancho), considering how close you and Damasco are to each other.”

Sancho sighs and proceeds to explain himself, but is abruptly cut off by Carlita.

CARLITA: "Oh, oh! Sawncho, Sawncho!"

SANCHO (Bamboozled): "Uh... yes, Carla?"

CARLITA: “Why dow youw cawll the Cawptain 'Dawmasco' if hiws name is Pewdro?”

SANCHO (Sighs and turns to Carlita): “Because... most of the people who have met him love his second name more than his first. Pedro is a common name among the shark civilization, while Damasco... not so much. Eventually it became an unwritten rule to call him like that. Damasco.”

CARLITA: “Oooooh... now zhat youw zay it... Dawmasco iz a cool name!”

SANCHO (Reluctant): “Yes... yes it is. (Remains silent for a moment) Now... where was I?"

ÁLVARO: “About him letting Boecio and Lázaro in.”

SANCHO: “Oh. Yes, thanks Álvaro. Now... he saw... potential in both of them. Boecio is, without doubt, the strongest member of the Order, but he is placed fourth because his pace hinders him significantly, compared to, let us say... Rodrigo. I must say, however, that he picked the right shark for the role he was intended to take in the Order. And as for Lázaro… well, Damasco noticed that he was a walking pile of secrets and sensitive information. He realized that he could listen to any private conversation without anyone noticing, which made him a perfect asset for espionage. But he cannot make it past the ninth place because of his erratic behavior, lack of discipline and deficient combat capabilities. All he excels at is stabbing objects and eavesdropping on people.”

MARCELA: “Ugh, sometimes I don’t know what criteria does he follow for picking people into this circus. Or even why he decided to pull this ranking system.”

CARLITA: “Buwt… youw’re like fawmily fowr me, you know?”

ALVARO (Turns to Carlita): “Now that she mentions it… I also see this group like that. A family.”

MARCELA: “Yeah, I’ve started to see it like that! That’s why I was wondering why we have a ranking system if we are.”

SANCHO: “Because... when Damasco established the Selachid Order, he wanted a fully fledged and well organized crew as soon as possible, hence the ranking system. But sometimes he acts, let us say... out of hurry, and neglects the members' needs, as if they are merely an extension of his will rather than people with their own objectives and aspirations. Besides, not everyone here views the Order as a family.”

MARCELA: “Like the meat grinder trio.”

SANCHO: “Indeed. And as for the recruitment 'criteria'... they tend to be arbitrary. If he saw that someone had solid potential, he recruited them in a heartbeat. It also applies to his ranking system—he says that is based on merits, but I know him well enough to conclude that those criteria are not exactly set in stone, meaning that he is suspectible to bend or even break his own rules if need be.”

MARCELA: “Right…”

Marcela remains silent for a while, processing all the information Sancho has laid bare before her and the other sharks.

MARCELA: “Anyway, it’s definitely better than my previous way of life, I'll give you that. But it would be better if the others had some manners.”

SANCHO (Narrows his eyes): “Do we not?”

MARCELA (Nervous): “Uh, I mean, yes! You do! Most of you do but… I mean…”

ÁLVARO: “You mean Lázaro.”

MARCELA: “Ugh… I’m such an open book. It’s like he said earlier, he’s constantly eavesdropping on people, but I think he’s doing it to me especially!”

SANCHO: “Hmm. You can tell me if he’s bothering you. If he doesn’t get the message through his skull…”

MARCELA: “Ah… no, it’s… it’s nothing. I guess… but I appreciate the thought.”

Marcela remains silent for a few seconds before she snaps out of the blue.

MARCELA: “Oh! That reminds me… I overheard your little conversation with Damasco.”

SANCHO (Snapping back to her): “What?”

Álvaro and Carlita starte him intensely.

ÁLVARO: “You talked? About what?”

Sancho doesn’t answer immediately. His brows knit together slightly, and his usually composed demeanor is suddenly tinged with reluctance.

SANCHO: “Hmm. You were not supposed to know about it.”

MARCELA: “Well, too bad, because I do.~”

He still remains silent, seemingly unable to process the fact that Marcela knows about his previous conversation with Damasco. Marcela’s playful demeanor suddenly changes to a stern demand for information.

MARCELA: “You know, Sancho… if we’re on the same boat, then the least you could do is tell us what this Sclera ordeal is all about. If you've told us so much about Damasco...”

CARLITA (Softly, pleading): “Pwetty pleaaaaase? Cawn you tewll us?” 

SANCHO: “Very well. It was indeed about our current mission. It has to do with what I said earlier, about him acting out of hurry.”

ÁLVARO: “Is that so?”

MARCELA: “Pray tell~.”

Sancho exhales quietly, crossing his arms in a pensive stance.

SANCHO: “How do I put this…”

[samhansby]

I've grown very fond of the Florans lately, thanks in no small part to the legacy Greenfinger. The sharp juxtaposition of an individual to the group really did it for me, it seems.

Unfortunately, this fond interest always comes with the side effect of really looking into the subject and finding all the things it could've been, but never was.

I just can't fully vibe with their canon theme. They're fascinating, they used to be even more fascinating in the old lore – but this just ain't it, chief. "Oh, we're deriving our fictional races from real-world cultures, let's imply that half of them tribal people are impulsive illiterate man-eaters." Sure, fam. Gotchu. I'm sure that's not exactly what you meant, but it still doesn't read too-too well. Not likey.

Anyway, I've been exploring other options. Here, have one. Hold it carefully, it's of great importance to me. It sits on these vicious vibrant plant people so well. The things they could've been.

[samhansby]

Encounter with the White Witch

Heira is from @madama-noctule /@heira-minecraft

A pale groove stretches in all directions, with tall, bare trees standing in tight clusters. Snow clumps cover the ground, creating a thick layer that muffles footsteps. The sky is overcast, a uniform sheet of gray above. There is no wind, only the sound of feet pressing into the snow.

Three figures walk along a barely visible path. One of them is clad in a pitch black robe, holding an equally black staff with an eye resting at the top, while the other two move with their arms folded, although the third stays slightly behind, with their head tilting with each glance toward the surroundings.

At some point during their walk, they stop. A lady stands in the clearing, dressed in white. Her arms are at their sides, and her gaze is fixed on the newcomers. Snow gathers on their shoulders, showing no sign of disturbance.

Silence settles between them as the figure in white raises a hand slightly, not in greeting, not in warning. Their voice carries no weight, no urgency, only words. 

WHITE LADY: "You are quite a colorful lot, aren’t you?"

The lady in black does not move nor respond immediately. Her grip on her staff remains unchanged, and her voice -an echoing void- resonates without a mouth from which it may come from.

BLACK LADY: "We were not expecting this forest to be inhabited. Who are you?"

WHITE LADY: "Oh, me? Well, you travelers may call me Heira. I... have lived in this forest for as long as I have memory. I ought to say... you are not the first ones. Some have addressed me as a witch, a traveler, a watcher, an owl… perhaps something more, if the story allows."

The group of travelers listen intently to the lady introduced as Heira. None of them interrupt her introduction. 

HEIRA: “I must say those are some creative monikers, don’t you agree?"

One of the other figures speaks up with a hoarse voice. It is a humanoid shark -a Greenland Shark- dressed in a withered purple jacket with golden details, and a loose sleeve.

GREENLAND SHARK: "Uh… yes, perhaps. But… what do you mean with ‘if the story allows'?"

Heira steps forward with slow and measured steps.

HEIRA: "A story of crossings and meetings. Of taken paths that now converge. You are travelers, are you not? You have sought, and now, you have found."

The Black Lady does not respond immediately, but the other lady, a hybrid of a manta ray and a shark does, albeit in a slow and low tone. She is the tallest of the group, dressed in a green, sleeveless robe, exhibiting a couple of white fins on each side of her arms. 

MANTA SHARK: “M-my apologies, but… I do not know w-where have you drawn that c-conclusion. None of us were actively seeking… seeking you… nor expected to… meet you. 

After those words, everyone looks at the Manta Shark intensely, waiting for her to finish her long, unending speaking time.

MANTA SHARK: “...but if… if we have truly ‘found’, if this meeting was truly meant to… to be as you claim… then what comes next?”

Heira shows a faint and distant smile etched on her face.

HEIRA: "That is for you to decide."

The Black Lady shifts her stance, her staff tilting ever so slightly forward. 

BLACK LADY: "What if we decide to leave?"

HEIRA: "Then you walk away, and the snow covers your tracks as if you were never here."

GREENLAND SHARK: "And if we stay?"

The White Lady’s gaze lingers on them.

HEIRA: "Then you listen, and I speak."

The trio of travelers exchange their gazes, deliberating their next move.

GREENLAND SHARK: “I say we let her say her piece. What’s to lose anyway? I’m sure it’d be a perfect way to wind down after working so much on the Acropolis.”

MANTA SHARK: “I… I don’t trust her. What if… she means harm?”

BLACK LADY: “It’s too early to assume the worst of her, Leocadia. For now, it’s best to do as ▆▆▆ says (turns to the Greenland Shark). We will listen to her and hope for the best.”

LEOCADIA: “Alright. If you say so… I trust you.” 

With that said, the Black Lady announces the group’s decision to Heira.

BLACK LADY: “Very well, Heira. We will stay for a while and listen to your story. I trust we will all have a serendipitous experience from it.”

HEIRA: “Oh, you most certainly will. You will not be disappointed. But before we get to that… tell me. Who are you?”

BLACK LADY: “Well… this here is ▆▆▆ (turns her head to the Greenland Shark), this is Leocadia (then to her), and as for me, my name is ▆▆▆. Pleasure to meet you, Heira.”

[samhansby]

Act 2 - 2

The Unfathomable Sand Ocean

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 former. 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 doing nothing, 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.

[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]

Can zombie swim?

This is literally based on an argument I had with my friend, lol. I thought zombies could swim, she said they couldn't... So we went to check. She ended up being right, but we didn't take into account that zombies turn into drowned when they get into water, who can definitely swim :'D

[samhansby]

silas update! his design didnt change much, i just got better at drawing :,)

his commonspeak name is silas, but his original piglin name translates roughly to shepherd, not just referring to his job as a farmer tending to his striders, but also the way he guides those traveling by his farms and provides aide and shelter!

[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]

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.

[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]

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]

Sancho

Race: Bull shark

Age: 43

Favorite thing: Álvaro's worksmanship

Least favorite thing: Being forced to use his arquebus

"Sancho is a pragmatic and no-nonsense bull shark who takes great pride in his arquebus - a meticulously crafted weapon of precision and lethality, courtesy of Álvaro's craftsmanship.

As Damasco's second mate, Sancho acts as the Selachid Order's steadying influence, working tirelessly to prevent its more unruly members from jeopardizing their missions.

As such, he is ranked as number #2 within the Order, carrying the title of The Peacemaker - a reflection of his role in maintaining order amidst the chaos."

[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]

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]

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.