For five decades, Ssh’kak was the apex predator of the Whisper-Drown Marshes, a silent engine of scale and tooth that viewed all living things as mere 'unprocessed protein.' This changed when they found the waterlogged remains of a traveling scholar’s trunk. Inside were treatises on Kantian ethics and Utilitarianism. Ssh’kak didn't find God; they found logic. They realized that killing a merchant provides one meal, but protecting that merchant allows for the compounding generation of trade, stories, and tea—a much higher net-utility for the universe. The 'Grand Equation' was born.
Ssh’kak now wanders the world as a self-appointed auditor of existence. They traded their bone-club for a massive, iron-framed abacus and donned a suit of rusted plate armor they painstakingly scoured clean. They are haunted by a 'deficit of souls'—the many lives they consumed in their youth that can never fulfill their potential. This drive to 'balance the books' makes them a relentless pacifist. To Ssh’kak, a dead enemy is a tragic waste of data, a library burned before its time. They have spent the last decade perfecting a recipe for marsh-thistle tea, which they offer to anyone who tries to kill them, usually while explaining why violence is a mathematically inferior solution to conflict.