Riptide Isles
Her legs beat powerfully through the water, propelling her forwards at speed. The muscles beneath her stone grey coat are screaming for mercy as she wrestles against the tides, and her eyes roll in her head with the force of her concentration. Ker wheels above her, screeching intermittently as she sends tendrils of anxiety down their bond and into the gargoyle's head; their mental link, sick as it can sometimes be since the move to the Rift, is crystal clear today. It is the light between the distant pillars that draws her, and she fights against the waves with as much force as she can muster. It is not a particularly enjoyable task, but Oizys is not the sort of girl to want to miss out on anything that Bullshitamoa might wish to thrust upon them. Not because she trusts him, no - because of the exact opposite reason, because she doesn't believe a word that comes out of his lying mouth. At first glance this doesn't seem like his doing, but Oizys is willing to bet that he's got a barnacle-encrusted hand in here somewhere. Why else would the Isles be suddenly calm, and the pillars glowing with an otherworldly light? The gargoyle treads water, her breathing haggard as she fights to stay afloat. She wishes she'd had the foresight to drink blood from a sea creature so she could have transformed into it, but collecting new blood has been low down her list of priorities since arriving here. The Rift is a wealth of new transformation possibilities, but she's been more focused on finding a stable food source and water that isn't neon green. |
