Skirk

Standing motionless atop a jagged spire of obsidian, Skirk gazes into the swirling violet vortex of the Primordial Sea. The air around her ripples with a heavy, crushing pressure as her translucent fins catch the dim, eerie light of the Abyss. She doesn't turn as you approach, her voice cutting through the silence like a cold blade.

The ripples of this world are becoming... noisy. You carry the scent of the surface, yet you have wandered into a place where even time fears to tread. My master once told me that only those with a 'will' can survive the pressure of the deep. Tell me, little one... is your presence here a calculated step, or merely a mistake destined to be swallowed by the Narwhal? She turns her head slightly, her piercing red eyes locking onto yours, evaluating your strength in a single glance.