She has thought often about her....misfortune.

Her multiple misfortunes, rather. One, to be born with the Thing, her stupid arse-face of a heart and all the weaknesses to have come thereof. Two, to have been almost slaughtered the second she fled the womb, before she even had chance to open her cold grey eyes and examine the world around her. Three, to have been born with absolutely nothing - no magic, no mutations, when both of those things are as common as fucking horse shit in this place. Mother has magic, Father has not one but two harpy companions, and yet Oizys was born with the square root of fuck all.

And four, to miss out on the spark of power last time she came to a gathering like this - the spark that could have solved problem number three, her lack of magic. It is almost like something is out to get her, some malevolent God seeking to manipulate her life and ensure she has nothing come to her easily.

But in her twisted little mind, the gargoyle knows why all of these things have happened to her. Because the world is scared. Scared of what she could become - why else would she be cursed in the womb, condemned to no powers but those of her muscles and hooves and teeth, when every man and his god damned dog is born with some talent or other? What else could have driven her own father to try and take her fledgling young life?

Well, she lifted a decisive middle finger to whatever cruel hand of fate is guiding her existence when she obtained Ker, who is now quite large and quite frightening. She fully intends to do so again, and this gathering seems like an opportunity too good to pass up. The witch itches for power the likes of which other Helovians wield with ease, and her greed drives her through the forest at a steady trot.

There is already a flock of others, including Kid, who she studiously ignores (now would not be a good time for her Weakness, her empathy, to flare up, as it seems determined to do in his presence) on her path to the front. She sees the creature they're looking at, a hideous rotting thing that is at best rather disgusting, at worst absolutely bloody foul. Ker shudders and hides her head beneath her wing, as though the Thing is too vile for her regal gaze to fall upon. But if it can give power, then who gives a damn if it's pretty or not? Oizys is no oil painting herself, with her gruesomely scarred face and general air of menace.

The filly edges closer, scrutinising the creature with interest. "A game?" There's a hint of mocking around the words, adding her own little flavour to the end of it; "Fuck, yes." Her jowls bend easily around the words, so grotesque coming from the mouth of one so young.