This is the In-Character thead. The OOC thread is HERE. Exiled A large boulder plunged into the icy saltwater, the rope bound to it dragging thirty writhing and battered convicts in tow. Sheer panic alone would have caused many of them to have forgotten why screaming underwater leads to a swift death. Those lucky enough to hold their breath before submersion fought against the fast-moving water around them and their own instinct to breathe while working at the rope tied around their wrists. Tooth, nail, and determination to live were the keys to freedom. Among those who managed to free themselves of the ropes before the stone sunk too deep was one of the Fox Folk. A Vulpinkith. The moment her hands were freed, she tried reaching for another person to help them, but the weight of the stone had ripped them from her grasp. There was no way for her to aid the others, as much as she wanted to. There was no blade she had nor were her nails sharp enough to cut through the fibers in time. With a pang of regret knotted in her stomach and the need for air gnawing at her lungs, there was little more she could do than follow the bubbles up to the surface. With whatever strength she had left after being kept in the brig for what felt like weeks on end, she clawed at the water and kicked with all her might. The saline water stung her eyes, but she had to keep going. She had to survive. At long last, the fox woman's face broke the surface, allowing her just enough time to release stale air and take in a new breath in a gasp before being hammered by the waves. It wasn't enough to keep her down for long. With darkness surrounding her, she squinted as she looked around. The galleon responsible for her fate as well as the fate of those down below was already retreating at a speed that would be impossible for the Vulpinkith to catch. Her stomach sank as deep as the rock; there was no way for her to return home like this. Still, she wanted to live. She turned around, treading the water as she looked upon her only salvation at this point: Chandra Isle. Her heart plummeted to join her stomach. Her only chance to live was an island of undead, but what choice did she really have? Resigning herself to her exile, the woman fought the waves to reach the firelight dotting the shoreline. Surely, there had to be someone alive here. She didn't know of any undead that cared for fire, let alone had the sense to make it. After what felt like an hour of paddling and kicking through the relentless waves and looking far more like a drowned rat than a proud fox, the woman finally managed clambered upon the gritty sand of the shoreline. For several minutes, she just lay there upon her stomach, drenched and panting, to give her arms and legs some rest and to convince her mind that she was laying still. As much as she wanted to simply lay her head down to sleep, there would be no time. Gurgling growls and spine-chilling howls were coming from the trees off in the distance. Her heart pounded in her tapered ears: the undead were roaming about. The fox woman finally forced her body to cooperate and stand, though still wavered a little as she walked across the sand. Her paw-like feet left very confusing tracks behind, but that was not her concern. Her concern for now was the source of light. A line of braziers looked to be spaced out every few hundred yards. Nailed to the long shaft of these torches was a sign with the words, "GRIMSHORE CAMP" carved into them. Grimshore... such an appropriate name for this god forsaken island. It took her a moment to realize that the sign itself was an arrow, with a tapering end pointing toward the long line of other braziers heading eastward. There was little else to do but follow the lights and stay on her toes.