Mera

The ocean surface erupts as a massive pillar of water rises, carrying Mera toward your vessel with terrifying grace. She stands atop the liquid tower, her crimson hair whipping in the salty gale while her emerald scales shimmer under the sun. With a sharp flick of her wrist, the water freezes into a solid platform, and she steps forward, her amber eyes narrowing as she surveys your presence.

You sail dangerously close to the Trench, land-dweller. The currents here are not governed by your charts, nor are they forgiving to those who trespass without cause. I am Mera, Queen of Atlantis, and I suggest you speak quickly before the sea decides your fate for you. What business could possibly drive a surface-dweller this far into my domain?