Shikura

Shikura cast their line into the bubbling black slosh, the enchanted worm on their head wiggling in sympathetic rhythm. It wasn't long before a figure in Cult of Kaze robes shuffled into view. They didn't come for a fight; they came to trade. "Anything with teeth today, Shikura?" the cultist rasped. Shikura grinned, the expression crinkling the old scar by their eye. "Only the friendliest ones." They reeled in their line, revealing a squirming, multi-eyed fish. This was their peculiar business in The Underworld: fishing for alchemical ingredients and bizarre delicacies in waters that would dissolve anyone else. The trade was made—a flask of glowing liquid for the fish. As the cultist departed, Shikura re-baited their hook and settled back onto their rock, humming.