Stavanger Bay with the salt on our skin

Alright guys! We've got round one of our territory blessing thread going up. Please allow for Doe to post first and then you all can follow. You'll all have one week from today (the 17th) to get a reply in. The 17th will begin round two. @Doe, @Szymon, @Arturo, @Lagertha, @Tetsubō, @Leokadia, @Larkspur, @Fluer

 

The sun had set long before the inky brute had found himself ready to call upon his dutiful brood and beckon them toward the sea. The large titan was pleased with the preparation that had gone into the blessing of their lands, and he knew that the mystics would smile upon them. It was with this confidence that the leviathan moved from the depths of his den and set out across the beach with his muzzle pointed skyward and the sound of the waves in his ears. The moon was not new; they had missed that opportunity due to his rendezvous with Deirdre. It did not matter to the dark titan, though. The sky could paint whatever picture she wished for him – all he wanted was the breath of the sea on his nape.
 
The sand was pressed between his toes as he trekked the shore and listened to the tossing of the water against the earth. Skellige was certain that Doe would have been prepared for their ritual. The leviathan knew that she had spent a great deal of time setting up all that was required and preparing their plum whiskey for consumption. The only thing that they had waited on was the instinct of the silver-ribbed leader, and on that night it seemed as though a fire was lit in his gut.
 
When he had wandered a good distance along their territory, the russet-eyed war hound drew his muzzle inward and breathed in the heavy scent of brine. It was time. The fierce Cairn knew that there was nothing left to leave to chance. Ksenia had not been sighted again, but if she did return… he wanted to be prepared with an army at his feet.
 
Drawing his head back, the powerful figure called first for Doe to collect and bring her things to him. Once she had arrived with everything that they might need, he drew his skull backward and summoned the bodies of the Blackrock wolves. The leviathan could only hope that the waters would accept them on those lands and that they would have a successful blessing in spite of the bout of bad luck that had crossed their borders. The titan was used to acts of war and hatred, and the wolves of the Teekon Wilds would not be treated any differently if they should cross him.
 
The wind whipped against his thick coat as he awaited the arrival of his warriors and witch doctors. The sight of them would only bring him an intense satisfaction.

The part of Atoll that still thought she was not a witch doctor had diminished over time, and did not speak at all to her on that fateful night. Voices were whispering to her - sensible, poisonous, and the sea - and she had no desire to escape them, this time. And perhaps she was a witch, or perhaps she was only reacting to the Leviathan's heightened mood. It matters little, except that whatever had drawn her from hers and Szymon's tangle, it had drawn her long before Skellige's summons, and she was already slipping up beside him as it rent the damp and heavy air.

All at once, her body turned to serpents and springs, and she gave a joyful shout at tacked itself onto the end of Skellige's howl and hung in the air for a moment after. Wiggling out her pleasure, she stretched to give the underside of the Leviathan's jaw a firm nudge and a few fervent licks, knowing that he, too, must revel in the joy of the day. Still, she danced away before she could find out whether or not her attentions were truly appreciated.

"Sing, scream, raise a shout!" she cried, leaping and twisting and turning as she did just that. "The Day of Joy is upon us! Sisters, brothers - come and submit yourselves to the will of the waves!"

The time was upon them! Very soon, the cold, blue mother would come up and purify their land, reaching out to all corners of the bay and blessing it with her deepness, her anger, her love.

Standing before the rockpile, Atoll waited for their brethren to arrive.

He was not sure about his purpose here, not when the sea was bellowing and the strange witch woman was shrieking above the tumult. Tetsubo had been kept well cared for, and he grew antsy, eager to prove himself to his lord and uncharacteristically uncertain as to how. Yet now, called forth with the others, it was Tetsubo's duty to stand alert and to be ready, thus he paced the sands, and came upon the pair. Skellige was there, waiting. Before him was the sea, and Doe, and many collections of things; but above it all Tetsubo was struck by the strangeness of her voice as it mingled with the brewing storm. He looked fleetingly from her to the sea, then to Skellige, and came to a stop before his lord, waiting for his orders. The others popped up around him and he was aware of them the way a crocodile might be aware of a zebra herd, and he flicked his ears at every crunch of sand beneath their steps or the subtle sound of their breathing when he heard it; yet his eyes were trained upon Skellige, because he was the reason any of them were there at all, and it was Tetsubo's purpose to obey.

Sharkbait couldn't say whether she felt like herself again but she was feeling better, physically at least. While resting and recuperating, guarded by Skellige and attended by Doe, no sudden epiphany befell the youngster. Everything still felt muddled. The only thing that had become sharper and clearer over the days was her anxiety. Everything made her jump. It wasn't stark fear, just a constant, chronic sense of nervousness deep in her bones. It felt standard and unsettling all at once. With little else to identify herself, Sharkbait wore it like a shabby but familiar old coat.

Her apprehension was no better or worse than usual on this particular eve. The pup's guileless blue eyes followed the Leviathan's shadow as he departed in the direction of the beach. She stayed put, at least until voices cried out some time later. Swallowing nervously, Sharkbait climbed to her feet and, after a few false starts, loped out onto the open sands. She glanced at the white, foamy crests glowing in the gathering gloom to steady herself, then pinpointed the source of the howling and began to slink in that direction. The closer she came, the slower she walked, until her unease slowed her to a stop. She sank down and watched from a distance, trepidation written all over her face at the idea of mingling with a group of strangers.

Her ingrained obedience warred with her equally deep-seated unease, especially when other faces began to bob in the dark. With a ragged, gasping breath, Sharkbait suddenly scrambled forward, scuttling into Skellige's shadow like some sort of crab. She pressed herself close to his back, still very wary but comforted by her daddy's looming presence.

The ghostly, inky-ribbed wolf emerged from the cresting waves like an apparition, his pelt bristling with salt and shaped into a variegated array of spines; a low chuff of greeting billowed within his heaving chest and burst from his parted jaws with a fine spray of brine as he approached his brother, his Chosen One, the slate-silver warhound, and Sharkbait. Throwing back his head with the wild abandon befitting such a momentous occasion, he, too, poured his voice into song — a deep, rumbling bass that threatened like thunder as he sidled up alongside his brother, ever wary of the snap of powerful jaws, to clasp the Leviathan’s chin and lower jaw lovingly in a brusque expression of devotion. Bemused by the scrappy witch doctor’s antics, Szymon followed her twisting and undulating form with ardent auriferous eyes, but his attention was drawn to the Leviathan. The swell of pride within his breast was in part due to the preparations for the ceremony, in which he had played an assistant’s role — surely the Sea would bless him, recognizing his fealty to Her will.

Lagertha was unsure what some of it meant, catching bits and pieces as she scrambled down the shale from patrolling. It didn't matter, the Valkyrie didn't need to know. A wide grin was etched to her face, the celebration tangible in the air. 

Her howl joined the others, unsure what exactly they were awaiting but excited nevertheless. Doe's actions amused her, a quiet chortling noise escaping her throat. 

Tetsubo was as emotionless as ever and Lagertha nudged his shoulder in a jovial manner with a smile. "It's a good thing, ya could do with a smile y'know," her tail wagged, letting him know she was only joking.

Leokadia arrived, her eyes upon the woman, the Atoll, and listening to the other sing-speak wildly. Leokadia was intrigued by this one. But her eyes soon fell to her brother, wondering at his position so near to Skellige. She supposed Skellige had truly always been the kindest to the stammering man; Leokadia was terribly impatient, and his stutter could test her patience. Her bullying of him, she believed, led him to the confident way he held himself now. Leokadia held herself similarly, though minded her own position. Things were similar to home and yet very different, and Leokadia would come to know the nuances in time. Her antisocial tendencies would not do well in the beginning, she realized. And who was this strange pretty thing, behind him? Clearly frightened... 

She would find out, in time. But for now, she was content to lend her voice to the song.

She was not exactly sure what the summonings were for, having, as another had, caught only bits of the message as she toiled with her various plants on the opposite side of the territory. A celebration, perhaps? She had hastened to join the others, however, she had been late to the meeting. She slipped into the back of the small group, and having missed Doe's small performance, restd her gaxe on the sea titan, awaiting his words with curiousity as she spared a quick glance at the rest of her packmates, before returning her gaze to him.

The sea titan's call rose through the Bay, summoning to him those who had all sworn fealty. Arturo had done a few things in preparation and Riptide...well he had done whatever it was that Riptide did besides horde poisons, medicines and bones. Yet to decide if it was a good thing that he was himself on this day or not, Arturo made his way towards where Skellige's call had risen, breaking through the sky like the call of a mighty beast. He was not the first to arrive he saw as he came upon the scene, eyes of fierce orange-red taking in the group gathered before him. It was disappointing to come to the realization that he was not one of the first but appeared to be what brought up the tail end. Nevertheless, the gangster settled back upon his haunches, gaze respectfully resting upon Skellige.

Okay guys! Starting up round two! Once again, please allow @Doe to respond first and then you're all free to follow. This round will go a little longer, but please have your posts in by the 29th and no later. Tagging all again to signify the next round!
@Arturo, @Fluer, @Szymon, @Larkspur, @Lagertha, @Leokadia, @Tetsubō

 

They had all trickled in. From the elated form of Doe to the quietly stoic figure of Arturo, the wolves had trickled toward the beach to learn what might come to them on that night. They would be subject to a strange trial that most had never experienced before. All but Skellige’s kin would find themselves truly meeting the blessing for the first time. It would be a rare experience for all of them, but one that would never leave them as long as they lived. If all went well with their ceremony, the wolves of the depths would walk away with the blessing of the water upon them, and their new guides to lead them through the remainder of their life. It was a sacred thing and the great swarthy brute was proud to take part in it.
 
It wasn’t long before the quiet golden form of the child seemed to latch herself to his shadow. He craned his head down to look upon her and realized that she would have no knowledge of the wolves who surrounded her. Skellige’s gaze softened on Sharkbait for a moment and he lowered his tail in hopes that he could carefully brush it atop her skull. Offering a look that said: it’ll be alright, child. The wraith did not care if she remained by his side, but he did hope that the events would spur some life into her limbs.
 
Lifting his head upward and peering at the wolves who had gathered, Skellige drew in a breath before addressing them. “We have come upon our night of blessing. The ceremony is not only for our bay, but for all of us. The ritual will allow our lands to be touched by the mystics, for our wolves to be offered a guide through their lives, and for each of us to see the power of the Blackrock. Doe, our witch doctor, will explain our next steps for all of us and the ceremony will commence,” he barked to them in a booming baritone that seemed to be carried by the force of the waves. He turned his head toward the happy soul of his Atoll and nodded for her to proceed. She had worked hard to gather all of their ingredients and to prepare for the day that had arrived.

You can all do your tasks without preamble; this round should get the mystery-punch-drinking and the border-marking all out of the way. I was originally going to have you guys place the rocks all around, but realistically, that would probably take more than a night. So Doe and Sizzle (probably) already set up the rocks at the borders. Have fun!

Atoll listened as raptly as any to the will of her lord, but as soon as his words ended, all focus turned inward. The silence reverberated around her like the crash of the Sea Himself, and she hold onto that feeling, let his push-and-pull lull her into the speaking state, where his words were always most poignant, and where he seemed to hear her best.

"All will come forward and partake," she said, and her voice held power that she could not recognize as her own. "For this night only, there is no rank to hold you - for we all serve the sea."

With that, she dug down, uncovering the plum whiskey that she and Szymon had prepared for the occasion. As she reached the seaweed wrapings and pushed them aside, the sharp and fetid scent seemed to rent the air. Already, her head was swimming, but she pressed on.

"We must mark the borders and ourselves with the blood of these sea-whelps," she intoned, gesturing to the day-old sea lion pup carcasses that she'd fought tooth-and-nail for. She'd been forced, after the many postponings of the ceremony, to keep their stock as fresh as she was able. "None of it is to be consumed - what is not used to mark the borders will be returned to the sea. Now turn, and bathe each other in the sacrificial blood. Waste not a drop, but cleanse yourselves completely. Only then will you be pure enough to show the sea where to extend her blessings."

Moving forward, she first dipped her muzzle deeply into the plum whiskey. It made her eyes sting and burned her throat as it went down, but the taste grew smoother with each passing second. When it no longer seemed unpleasant, she turned and tore into the first sea lion pup. With the sheet of skin that ripped away, she turned and began to smear the blood over the wolf nearest to her. The thick, dark fur and heady scent of the male told her that it was her Leviathan.

Atoll paused, eyes sparkling, to gaze up at her king. "We made it, brother," she whispered, allowing herself the brief reprieve of burying her nose in the Leviathan's coat. Only a moment, though - for the next, she was right back to cleansing her brother, and then Szymon, and anyone else who came near.

And when they were all painted red - but black in the night - she led the charge to the outskirts of their land, yowling and baying the joy of their cause and the fearsome wrath of their company.

The mood was infectious, the feeling of celebration replaced with something formal and deep. Home, it screamed. This was not one of the traditions of her own people but it was close to their culture, something that meshed to make her feel a hybrid between the two. 

The Viking did not hesitate when Doe spoke, plunging her own muzzle into the strong scent of the congealed blood. It was thick, reminiscent of war paint. Lagertha paid no mind who she was rubbing it on, moving in circles to help cover everyone familiar or not. 

When it was done and she was plastered with the blood, Lagertha stood, solemn for once, and padded away without any words of her own.

The rocks were not hard to find in the moonlight, seeming to glow faintly like beacons as she smeared the blood on them with reverence.

Under the Sea’s watchful eye, Szymon paid tribute to the wolves that were now his infantrymen — brothers and sisters in battle. Slathering his lean, flinty-muscled frame in the sea lion pup’s blood, he turned to his brother, his lips reeling in a quivering, incensed expression of joy so fierce it bordered on violence. Shoulder to shoulder, he painted @Skellige’s fur with the blood — dark as cuttlefish ink in the sallow evening light — and he was swift to pay the same respects to his Chosen One, though before the Sea, @Doe did not belong to him. He plunged his muzzle into the plum whiskey, drinking deeply, gulping greedily, the hiss and burn fissuring its way through his throat with a sensation so heady it caused his hackles to ripple to life. And he threw back his head, a resonant, glorious howl of homecoming splitting the restless shift and slither of other bodies, other voices. The small, golden child who sat so fearfully behind Szymon was met with a furrow of brow; he remembered his childhood and the fear he had felt. Crouching down to lay upon his stomach so as not to frighten @Larkspur further, he attempted to very lightly touch the bloodied tip of his nose to one tiny toe — if she backed away, he would be quick to retreat and give her the personal space she needed.

A powerful roll of angular shoulders and shift of scarred paws brought him to @Leokadia’s side. The excitement in his golden eyes did not die or even sputter — there was immunity here granted to both of the estranged siblings. Though he avoided his pallid sister as a matter of habit, tonight he relished her height and strength; tonight he saw her as an ally. Swiveling his hips with a smirk — he was possibly reeling a little from the plum whiskey — he sought to sidle his flank alongside her own, anointing her with the sacrificial blood in a fashion neither would care to repeat when sober.

@Arturo was next on Szymon’s list, and with purposeful strides he strove to brush the side of his blood-swathed muzzle against the older male’s shoulder. He had appreciated the coywolf’s quiet conversation more than he could adequately express. A rare smile and low, guttural rumble of warm welcome spilled from the black-banded Cairn’s jaws. @Tetsubō was greeted similarly; Szymon did not know him well, but he recalled Tetsubō’s ferocity at the borders and regarded the weapon of destruction with newfound respect. If the boy allowed it, Szymon sought to brush his muzzle against Tetsubō’s shoulder, hoping that he would be met with a guardian who could strengthen the silver sword all the more. @Fluer was treated with far more tentativeness; aside from his sisters, Doe, and Deirdre, he had no experience with the fairer sex. Moving slowly, careful to keep his senses honed lest she snap at him, he reached out his neck to sweep Fluer’s shoulder with the blood of the sacrifice.

Of all the wolves, he approached @Lagertha with the greatest care. He did not understand why the wolf had turned from him so abruptly; tact and politeness were not typical Cairn traits to behold, and he still regarded his questioning of her as completely within his rights. Tonight he vowed to set aside his suspicions — Doe was fond of the warrior woman, and although Szymon could not completely understand why, what mattered was that Lagertha had been found acceptable by the Leviathan and would now be tested and blessed by the Sea. Though not profoundly apologetic, his expression was open and friendly — boyish, perhaps, revealing an innocence that not even the monster within his breast could stifle — as he approached her. She had moved against him in the circle, and now he sought to return the favor, reaching out his nose, ever wary of rebuff as he attempted to brush his shoulder against hers. Before the Sea, they were sister and brother — allies under Skellige’s rule.

Then, bewitched by the ceremony — and helplessly, by Doe — Szymon whipped around, his paws moving easily in the familiar sinking of the sand as he gave chase to the little witch doctor, throwing his head back to shatter the sky with another resounding howl of triumph and challenge.

Although the Leviathan's proximity gave her some comfort, the goings-on around her quickly ratcheted up the pup's nerves. There was a lot of noise simply by merit of such a large gathering. Then Skellige spoke, followed after by Amayo. Their words unsettled Sharkbait. She found the idea of bathing in blood appalling. What was more, when she noticed the slain sea lion pups at the Atoll's feet, something strange passed through her, a feeling totally undefinable. It caused her to shudder.

Then someone was touching her. Blue eyes flown wide in fear, Sharkbait jerked away from the stranger, then stared down at the dark red stain on her toe. The thick smell of blood surrounded her. It was neither a strange nor bothersome smell; it was the fragrance of food. But they weren't eating the carcasses. Shaking her head, Sharkbait began to creep backward away from the ritual gathering, feeling frightened and out of place.

When Amayo's cry rose up in the sky, Sharkbait startled badly. The other members of the pack were coated in blood and were disembarking from the meeting site. With her single bloodied toe, Sharkbait swiveled and ran away into the dark, her heart beating into her throat. Perhaps a smarter, braver pup would have made for the borders and promptly escaped, never to look back. But Sharkbait just made a beeline for the (semi) familiar (semi) comfort of her daddy's den.

Sorry its so short. Getting to the point!

There were things discussed that Tetsubo did not understand, nor would he make any great effort to understand them; it mattered little. If he was instructed to stand there and be painted with blood, he would do so. If he had to run alongside these others by the will of Doe — and by proxy that meant the will of Skellige — then he would do it, and he would do it fervently. There was no avoiding the way his body bristled as he was tended to, touched, painted — but then he was free, coated with the strongly scented blood, and left to treat across the beach. Once given the order to do so, he was off — finding the scent upon his fur, the slick sensation, to be satisfactory.

The gangster held still as he was approached by the quiet Cairn, Szymon whose muzzle had was slick with the blood of the sea lion pups that the Atoll had split open before the gathered. Eyes of fiery red-orange studied the pallid Cairn for a moment, a slight tense in his shoulders (for allowing touch was such a rare thing for the ex sovereign) as the younger male smeared the putrid, crimson plasma on his shoulder. A low chuff of approval was given from the gangster when Szymon offered him a warm smile and a rumble of welcome, before the pallid male moved on to the next in line. Marked with blood, the Fearghal left to join the others in marking of the borders with the blood he'd been baptized with.

Her brow furrowed at the odd words of the sea-witch, as she had dubbed her. But she did not contest for long, soon caught up in the surreal, excited nature of the event. Her gaze fell on the one who had smeared her shoulder with the sacred red paint, she did not contest but not did join in immediately, before throwing her cares to the sea and moving among the others, until they wee painted beneath the moon. Then she joined the run, moving comfortably near the middle of the pack, letting out a howl of two as she run, slowly letting herself go to the wild nature of the run, becoming more primal and carefree.

Mary asked me to head off this next round, which will end September 18th. Any impossible apperations should be blamed on the influence of the drugz. Your wolf does not have to see them, but will probably see something if they drank the punch. There isn't any specific task at this point, except that they're meeting up in the water. Now might be a good time to halleucinate, if applicable. @Arturo @Fluer @Szymon @Lagertha @Tetsubō

The bay wolves went out and marked the borders, tails flagging and eyes flashing in the dark. Atoll did so as eagerly as any other, though her smaller body was perhaps slightly more affected by the plum whiskey than other's. It mattered not; though she stumbled and swayed, the strength of those around her and the rallying of their spirits were enough to keep her going. Before long, the ring of rocks that marked the very far reaches of their land were painted red with the innocent blood the sea provided.

It was time.

With a rallying call, Atoll led the joyful return to the shores, and with the Leviathan beside her, entered the chill of the waves. Around them, colors swirled and blue phantoms danced, and the gristle that marred her pelt bled black into the dark green of the ocean. It was both terrible and beautiful to behold, and Atoll shook in the power of such a presence among them.

Eyes wide, pupils blown, she began to murmur fervent prayers to the spirits that lit the sky above them, moved the water around them, spun the earth below them. Some of the words were in the common tongue, but many were in the language she had known as a pup; that Cactus Jaw had taught her in the days of her youth, when she still believed in such things as magics and monsters. To that little girl, gods didn't seem like so strange a thing.

And in the waters, with Riverbone, rangy and tall beside her, she could believe in almost anything. Believe that she'd called that white sail from the water. Believe she could take it down all on her own.

The effects were not immediate, rather they were only a warmth burning in her chest and making her lightheaded as she marked the borders. And yet, only moments after the Viking stumbled aside of her path, world spinning around her.

When she raised her head, Lagertha drew to a halt as her hazy eyes landed on her Mum no more than five feet away. She looked exactly as Lagertha had left her, deep grey pelt as dark as rainclouds and her green eyes full of a serene bearing that Lagertha had never been able to master. 

"Nay, ya not here," Lagertha whispered, somewhere in her drug addled mind knowing that her mother could not be here, did not belong here. She was Dronning of the Sea Klan, not a member of Blackrock.

"Du er et spøkelse. Du er ikke ekte," Lagertha slipped into her native tongue tearfully, and as she stepped forward her mother disappeared.

Szymon’s thirst had been great, whetted and whipped by the crust of salt and the lash of brine, and he had forgotten his Chosen One’s precautions prior to the ceremony. On an empty stomach, he had drunk deeply of the fermented plum concoction, and its sticky-sweet flavor and heady punch sent him violently reeling. He snapped at invisible foes, his tongue ticking and rolling uselessly in his jaws as he edged nearer to the Sea and crashed to his elbows in the lapping surf. “Ksenia? Ksenia, you — you! — die,” he hissed, the stutter having dissipated beneath the overwhelming influence of alcohol. Heavy jaws clapped together so hard it made him dizzier still, and his ginger-tipped tail lashed like an angry cat’s as he slewed to the side, regaining his footing in the front as his hindquarters splayed like an ungainly fawn’s. “Stay the fuck away from me,” he snarled throatily, his bass timbre guttural and desperate as he ripped into an enemy no wolf but he could see. Disjointed pleas and threats spilled from his lips with equal fervor.

“ — the fuck off me — Jaglon — ”

“ — but I didn’t — I didn’t!”

He whipped to the side, dropping to his shoulder and partially rolling to his back as he snapped upward and appeared pushed down by some greater, heavier force; his muzzle tucked against his throat as his forelegs came up to ward off a flurry of blows; powerful hindquarters that seemed too lean to do much damage kicked with virulent force as he shoved off his “attacker” and scurried furiously away. Panting raggedly, he spat blood — he’d bitten his tongue in the struggle — and fixed his dilated golden eyes on empty air. His wild, spiny-looking fur jutted in every direction, glittering with salt as his hackles rose and he dipped his muzzle with a deep and threatening growl. Gone was the whining boy — he’d put on muscle and fat since arriving in these wilds — but his body trembled still. Muscle memory. His body remembered what his mind had tried so hard to lock away and forget — he was the whipping boy, the scapegoat, the Jonah. He was going to be smothered beneath the writhing salt-dusted bodies, made to watch as Jaglon and Jagoda had their way with the tiny, precious, wondrously confusing witch doctor. This time — this time — they would kill him — his chin tilted at an impossible angle as his neck began to tense, rearing back like a serpent’s so the seizure could take him fully —

“NO!”

Panting, slavering, his chest patterned with strings of saliva and blood, Szymon lunged toward the surf with renewed vigor. His jaws gaped widely enough to rival the crocodiles Doe had spoken of; a wordless, enraged roar streamed from his mouth. “I’m not your bitch anymore,” he whispered, though the words slammed through his skull like a warcry. “I’ll tear you apart — I am the war machine — I am a Cairn.” Throwing back his head, Szymon uttered a fierce, rolling howl that drowned out the snarls of his brothers and lunged forward, snapping his jaws — he careened wildly to the side, his jaws locked together as if around the scruff of some foe — and then he fell heavily to the sand and moved no more.