The docks feel... unpleasant. It's difficult enough to find his way down here in the first place, difficult in a way which Wrathion particularly dislikes. He can feel himself being dissuaded, unnaturally, and Wrathion is sensitive to unnatural thoughts -- to the sensation of his behaviour being altered. To external forces working on him.

Presumably, that is why it was so egregiously painful to get directions. To find the right path. Others, too, have had this compulsion. This urge to leave, to avoid this area, to not even think of it.

The aggressive, hot magic here is certainly not a reason to stay. Wrathion takes a careful step out onto the docks, feeling wood bend beneath his feet. He can smell rot here, mould, and what he suspects may be death -- or undeath. They plagued other ocean waters, why not here? His head spins, and he feels as if voices are whispering to him. That, too, is familiar. The mermaids, the undead as they crossed other oceans all seemed to want to lure them in. He'd really rather not, the water is likely no more pleasant than the already putrid docks.

A sensation of being watched has Wrathion turn, study Wangji as he looms behind him. Not, Wrathion thinks, unlike a ghost.

"Karsa was right, some dark magic has been woven here. I can sense it drawing on me."

Unpleasant, but considering everything else here unsurprising. A chill passes over him, and he glances back out over the water.

"It feels familiar."

The heat, the aggression, the sheer strength of it.