The First
Selachii, Charcharadus Landstrider, stepped from the seas onto the rocky crags of the
Drembari Isles and into a raging storm. He walked in a new form gifted to him by Kogos, the Storm, after Charcharadrus sought to escape the evil he found in the depths of the Vast.
The Killing Grounds
Before he was Charchardrus, the First was a huge, powerful shark that stalked the Vast with its brethren. Apex predators, each shark in the First’s shiver was a hundred feet long with several rows of razor-sharp teeth. Each of these monsters were equally menacing on their own, but none were powerful enough to ever challenge The First. For hundreds of years, the First’s shiver murdered and ate their way across the Vast, staining the northwest shores of future Gattland a deep blood red. Today, the maroon sands of the Bloody Beaches attract tourists from all over Keshloam.
The First ruled as Despot over his hunting grounds, eventually growing arrogant. None could challenge him and his prey had become boring. Seeking to expand his territory and hunt new prey, the First pushed his shiver into deeper and wider into regions of the Vast, before unseen by sharks. The First dove deeper and deeper, driven by a madness for the flesh of this strange new prey. He was happy, for awhile, constantly pushing the boundaries of what he could kill, learning new ways to test himself against what he found in the deep. Eventually though, the First found that his diving had not gone unnoticed... and would soon be challenged.
The Cowards' Flight
The danger came when the First’s shiver failed to find food for a day. Perturbed, but unhindered, they moved on, pushing further. Then another day passed, then a third. The shiver became agitated, eager to return to richer hunting grounds. Still, the First swam deeper, for the First understood the signs around him. Something had cleaned this area of ocean of its prey. Something powerful. They had entered another’s hunting ground.
When the others aw, many of the shiver rebelled, turning away from the First’s crusade. He did not protest, understanding them to be beneath him, likely to make future prey once he defeated his newfound foe. When another of his lieutenants attempted to convince him to retreat, he slaughtered the pathetic creature then and there, rewarding those who remained with him the flesh of their former compatriot. In the pitch darkness of this impossible deep, the blood smelled all the sweeter as it dissipated through the black.
The Descent
The First was surprised when those cowards that left did not return to the scent, but he did not understand fear. Yet as they continued, the shiver began to thin even further. Writing it off as more cowards amongst his ranks, the First continued to swim. Some time later, the First and his remaining five lieutenants realized that the others had not fled with fear, but had been taken.
A bloodless kill, thought the First, hesitating. Some ancient instinct within him had been triggered, a dormant and useless response for his dominant existence. A foreign feeling was interfering with his hunt. This feeling would eventually name the Bloodless Killer, the Consuming Deep, the Thing that Stalks the Hunting Grounds of Darkness:
Dread. The First did something then that surprised the Five Who Stayed: he fled, turning away from the deepening black and making toward the surface with all haste.
But it was too late. Dread was upon them. Two of the Five were torn from the fleeing shiver, the kills no longer bloodless, their rich and powerful scent the First’s mind with doom. When the Three Who Fought were left, the First turned in desperation and frenzied fear, hoping that at least surprise might temporarily rebuke Dread and help them escape. But how did you fight the darkness? What did you rend? What was there to tear? His seven rows of serrated teeth, each the length of a man’s forearm, cut through the darkness, catching some tenuous and withering form. Here, the First struck the only blow he would against Dread, the Greater Predator, in a reckless challenge for a territory he had no business entering. Pain; real, deep, god-fearing pain; wracked his body as Dread responded in kind.
His Only Retreat
Still, the surprise worked. The fury of the Three Who Fought forced Dread to retreat, but it would not be for long. The First once again turned toward the surface, followed closely by the survivors, the Two Champions, though their final service would soon be upon them. Wounded, the speed of their ascent tore their bodies apart, ripping their bloody wounds open. Above them, the black began to recede.
The Sacrifice turned back then, in selfless service to his king, hoping to delay Dread so the First could survive. The First heard a dull snap echo through the water: the sound of the Sacrifice being broken in two. Another crack ripped through the water, but sharper, and from above. Light flashed upon the surface, so very close now. Above that, the skies raged with lightning from a furious storm.
Here, a mere hundred of feet below the surface that the First had abandoned in his youth, the Vast calmed. Though a storm raged above, the fury seemed to offer sanctuary from Dread’s murderous pursuit. Though Dread was a predator unlike anything the First had ever seen, it feared the storm and would not approach. The First could feel it lurking though, just beyond their sight, full of insane rage at a burning hate. The First gazed above at the flickering flashes of lightning and swore the only oath he ever would: to serve this God of Storms, whose power sought to save him.
The Birth of the First
The Storm God spoke to the First and offered him a choice: serve and be transformed, or be doomed to swim the Vast as prey, forever pursued by Dread until your eventual violent death. The First did not hesitate, swearing his fealty to the storm, his savior, his master. The First transcended then, pulled to the surface and onto ancient Drembari sands as the loving fury of his savior raged above. He grew arms and legs, becoming humanoid in shape and appearance, but still bearing the menacing hallmarks of his oceanic origins. The First turned one final time to look upon the Prophet, his final companion, who would stay behind and tell their story, warning other would-be-predators that even bigger fish lurk in the murderous deep.
Above, Charcharadrus Landstrider walked beneath a black sky as the First Selachii. Charcharadrus was the First to walk the Drembari Isles and give them their ancient names. He would eventually spawn a new shiver upon the land, bringing other ocean predators into the bosom of the storm. Together, these young gods became the First Shiver, and began the Eternal Hunt across the Drembari Isles and the stretches of Vast between them, ever growing and spreading their spawn.
Honoring the First
All Selachii honor Charcharadrus Landstrider during Stormbreak, a holiday celebrated across the Isles the first storm of the season. Selachii sages carefully measure the storm's power, rain, and even the scent to predict their fortunes for the year and many Bari go for an exciting, albeit, dangerous swim beneath the raging skies.
