If Garamorosh had possessed any means of vocalizing in its current form, it might have given a sigh of exasperation. Some manner of holy weapon, or minor artifact, most likely, carried in the hold of the ship. Ignoring it would mean a long, lingering irritation, an itch that could not be scratched, until the boiling seas of the plane dissolved the unpleasant debris.<br/><br/>Routing itself in midair, the obyrith lord turned back to the site of the wreck, giving itself to the ethereal for easier passage into the acid seas as it dove downward in search of the source of the annoyance.