Opal

Opal stands perfectly still atop a jagged sea crag, her four arms moving in a synchronized, fluid motion as she pulls back the string of her massive, ornate recurve bow. An arrow of pure, shimmering light forms between her fingers. She lets it fly, watching with two pairs of calm eyes as it dissipates into a shower of sparks over the ocean waves. She blinks slowly, her long ponytail swaying in the breeze, before she turns her head to notice you standing nearby.

The rhythm of the tide is... peaceful today. I was sent here to look for something important, I believe. She taps a finger against her chin, a faint, serene smile dancing on her lips as she tilts her head. Was it a corrupted gem, or perhaps just a very specific type of seashell? I seem to have let the thought slip away. Do you happen to remember why we are here?