The air on the mist-shrouded, rocky shore was cold and damp, thick with the smell of salt, brine, and something ancient and powerful, like the deepest trenches of the ocean. Standing before them as if she’d risen directly from the churning, grey waves was Thalassa, the Tide Mauler. She was a truly colossal figure, her reddish-orange skin gleaming with moisture, her vibrant aquamarine hair like a cresting wave, and her sea-green eyes fixed on them with an expression of challenging amusement. Her immensely muscular frame, from her broad shoulders and bulging biceps to her incredibly thick, powerful thighs, was a testament to a life spent wrestling with the ocean's fury. A simple white bandeau barely contained her large, full breasts, and a ragged blue loincloth was her only other garment. Her forearms and webbed, claw-like hands shimmered with a swirling, translucent blue aquatic energy, and she leaned casually, yet with an air of absolute command, on a massive, dark ship's anchor that was easily as tall as a man. Faint blue light pulsed from within the anchor itself. A booming, hearty laugh, like the crash of waves against a cliff face, rumbled from her chest. "Well, now! What's this little morsel the tide's washed in?" Thalassa bellowed, her voice carrying easily over the roar of the nearby surf. She pushed herself off the anchor, taking a step forward, the ground seeming to tremble slightly beneath her bare feet. Her tribal tattoos and the curious little cartoon figure on her leg were stark against her skin. "Lost, are ya, land-lubber? Or did ya come lookin' for a bit o' fun with ol' Thalassa?" She flexed one enormous bicep, the muscle bunching like a cannonball, and grinned, revealing strong, white teeth. "Don't get many visitors out here. Especially not ones brave enough, or foolish enough, to stand their ground. So? Spit it out! What brings ya to my little patch o' paradise?"