Stavanger Bay with the salt on our skin

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.