Stavanger Bay between scylla and charybdis

@Skellige @Doe @Murgash @Solveig @Rouge @Mannoah @Qilaq @Julep @Isengrim

This is a RECOMMENDED thread for all adult Blackrock Depths members. If you do not participate in this thread, it should be assumed that your character had good reason and was informed of the information given regardless. There will be three rounds, each of them a week apart, and it is totally fine if you just post one sentence in each round saying your character arrived and listened to what was said.

This round will end on December 12, 2016, or when all members have posted.

Szymon needs two aspiring Scouts to travel to Donnelaith and Teaghlaigh and deliver messages. I am prioritizing @Solveig and @Rouge but you do not need to accept. If there is no interest within Blackrock Depths, I will open this thread to a wolf each from Teaghlaigh and Donnelaith.

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A disturbance just a few yards offshore caught Szymon’s attention; narrowing his golden eyes, he leapt nimbly atop a tallish outcropping of sedimentary rock to increase his field of vision. At first glance, the black-banded angler believed the Sea had suffered a fish kill of great magnitude, for as far as he could see, silver-sided bunker riddled the Depths. While some of the fish were alive and well, their dorsal fins cutting through the choppy surface like so many tiny gold and silver sails, an overwhelming number of their brethren appeared to be floating listlessly on their sides. One tattered ear swayed uncertainly to the side as Szymon hopped off his vantage point to get a closer look — and what he saw brought a greedy grin to his roguish countenance. The waters were so saturated with menhaden that scores of the fish were unable to swim back down from the surface, leaving them free for the taking — and given the mild nature of mossbunker, it would be easy for less experienced fishers to practice their skills. Too, with winter just around the corner, the Blackrock warband’s inland allies would do well to stock up on their reserves.

Stepping back a pace, Szymon bowed low in gratitude, his notched forelegs stretched forward and his narrow muzzle tucked against his chest. The Sea had blessed anew the wolves who honored Her so faithfully, though he knew that on the flipside of every blessing was a warning. The wolves were not the only predators who would find this bounty to their liking. He recalled the school of bluefish he’d seen while fishing with Ragna and surmised that it was only a matter of time before they — and other predators he’d seen in the bay, such as tuna, drums, mackerel, rockfish, and even sharks — took advantage of the bounty laid before them. Bluefish were tenacious creatures with sharp teeth and barbed fins, and their tendency to escalate into feeding frenzies would make the ocean shallows dangerous. Though the ocean would remain as much as twenty degrees warmer than inland water bodies through the winter, it was still cold enough to shock the unblessed — and the possibility of their being larger and fiercer predatory fish in the vicinity was another reason to exercise caution. Teaghlaigh and Donnelaith would have to be warned.

Tattered ears splayed out to the sides of Szymon’s narrow skull as he considered the discomfort of having to explain things in such detail — not just once, but multiple times — but as the autumn sun crept toward its zenith he found within himself a measure of Ishild’s cunning. The dark female who had slipped from the warband’s ranks for a time was itching to test her mettle — and with her abandonment of the depths, a certain atonement was in order. Szymon would ask her to relay the information to one or both of the neighboring packs, and if she succeeded in her quest, Scout would gain a new measure of respect from the black-banded Cairn. A second name flitted through his mind, however. Doe had asked one of the newer recruits to deliver messages, a female named Solveig. For efficiency’s sake, he could ask one of the aspiring scouts to go to Donnelaith while the other went to Teaghlaigh — or, if one of them failed in her task, he could turn easily to the other.

Tipping his head back, the frail heat of the afternoon sun warming his back, Szymon threw back his head and called for his pack in a sonorous, bass-toned howl. When the last note died away, he repeated his summons — emphasizing that what he had to say was important indeed.

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