If she wasn't, I don't think I'd be able to use my magic at all.

[Gobbet holds up a hand and focuses her attention on her palm. A small cloud of sickly green mist swirls to life and pitches in time with the sound of the waves below them. A light breeze picks it up, dissipates it. She's pretty much running on fumes magic-wise, but the display serves a purpose. Confirmation that her totem could still reach her, even if just barely, way out here on this mystery island.]

Shamans get their magic from their totems. All they ask for in return is that we use their gifts to further their influence in the world. For Rat, that's basically meant surviving any way I can.

[It's a little more complicated than that, but that's the abbreviated version that Gobbet passes along when people ask.]