January 04, 2019, 02:45 PM
(This post was last modified: January 04, 2019, 02:46 PM by ThE nArRaToR.)
This thread takes place on DECEMBER 31, 2018. Sorry it took so long; I’ve had pneumonia. If a pack manager wants to, for threadlog purposes, feel free to edit my post before archiving to set the correct date. According to my calculator, Drageda will receive a positive event of 6/6 severity, and a random predator. Control of all the things belongs to the pack managers, so feel free to ignore this if you don’t wanna participate. ^^ Your positive event is inspired by this news article which may be disturbing for some to read.
The tempest utters a litany of banshee screams, flinging wings of water against the cliffs and churning up the shoreline. It is a tantrum like no other, and her stormhounds peel back their lips and worry at the terrain, snapping up tree and bracken, moss and lichen. Icefang-ridden gusts are hurled at each small, forlorn figure that trespasses the coast, and with her serpentine hands she charms the sea into frothing tendrils of snaking currents. Her howling rises to a screaming roar as she reaches the apex of her fury, hurling bolts of lightning and gripping the stone with roiling snarls of thunder. It is only midday, but she blackens the sky with a clotted bruise of vantablack, blotting out the sun so that the only light is hers.
She tries to yank the redwood giants up by their roots but does not stop to measure her success or failure. Despite herself, she fills Drageda’s clandestine cove with a new wealth of fish and treasure from the sea, unintentionally aiding the very pests she hopes to eradicate — and as the torrential rains reach their heaviest downpour, she overfills the freshwater lake and turns the trickling of water into a steady stream. (It’s not a deluge by any means, though. I’m not trying to drown anybody; I’m just ineloquent.) This time, her generosity is even greater: three of the area’s largest bull elk end up knotted together by their antlers and cannot seem to thread their way through the Tangle or the cliffs, resulting in approximately three thousand pounds (or thirteen hundred sixty kilograms) of fresh meat.
In the cleft of space where the cliffs meet the Tangle, the winterstorm’s tantrum has flushed a surly wolverine from its sleeping place. It descends like a shadow into the territory, but whether or not it will make contact with the Drageda wolves is yet unknown.
posted by coelacanth.
Ephraim couldn't think of a single time in his entire life he'd been more conflicted.
This storm was reminiscent of the one that had separated him from his family, but it was even worse than that. A cold dagger of fear had taken up residence in his breast since its onset and he battled with his desire to flee until he could no longer hear the thunder or screeching gale. Had he been any younger, it was likely he would have taken off from Drageda's territory and become lost once more, undoing all his work and becoming natrona without intending too. He was nine months old, however, and old enough to master his fear, but only just. He wanted desperately to run but fought himself with every step not to.
And all the while he was reminding himself that, as Skayona, this storm was his responsibility. He needed to assess the damage done, determine the safest place for the pack to be, and read the weather to predict what would come next. He couldn't do any of those things with fear threatening to strangle him, so instead he skittered through the trees with his tail tucked between his legs, casting furtive glances around and startling whenever the wind rose in pitch. The trees groaned menacingly but held fast to the ground; they were too large and too ancient to be tossed about by the sea's tantrum. Ephraim hoped, anyway. Nevertheless, he crossed out the forest on his list of safe havens and headed for the lake with his hackles standing on end.
The trees had blocked the worst of the rain so that when he emerged from them, he was drenched immediately. It was difficult to see, impossible to smell, and he found the tangled corpses of three bulls quite by accident. They were floating grotesquely in the rapidly rising water, which the slender coywolf stepped back cautiously from. He jumped when thunder snarled again and tossed back his head in a panicky yip-yip of a howl, summoning his stronger and (hopefully) more fearless pack mates who might be able to save the free meal from sinking into the lake.
Meanwhile, a squat black shadow threaded through the forest, grumbling as it tracked the fresh scent toward the water.
This storm was reminiscent of the one that had separated him from his family, but it was even worse than that. A cold dagger of fear had taken up residence in his breast since its onset and he battled with his desire to flee until he could no longer hear the thunder or screeching gale. Had he been any younger, it was likely he would have taken off from Drageda's territory and become lost once more, undoing all his work and becoming natrona without intending too. He was nine months old, however, and old enough to master his fear, but only just. He wanted desperately to run but fought himself with every step not to.
And all the while he was reminding himself that, as Skayona, this storm was his responsibility. He needed to assess the damage done, determine the safest place for the pack to be, and read the weather to predict what would come next. He couldn't do any of those things with fear threatening to strangle him, so instead he skittered through the trees with his tail tucked between his legs, casting furtive glances around and startling whenever the wind rose in pitch. The trees groaned menacingly but held fast to the ground; they were too large and too ancient to be tossed about by the sea's tantrum. Ephraim hoped, anyway. Nevertheless, he crossed out the forest on his list of safe havens and headed for the lake with his hackles standing on end.
The trees had blocked the worst of the rain so that when he emerged from them, he was drenched immediately. It was difficult to see, impossible to smell, and he found the tangled corpses of three bulls quite by accident. They were floating grotesquely in the rapidly rising water, which the slender coywolf stepped back cautiously from. He jumped when thunder snarled again and tossed back his head in a panicky yip-yip of a howl, summoning his stronger and (hopefully) more fearless pack mates who might be able to save the free meal from sinking into the lake.
Meanwhile, a squat black shadow threaded through the forest, grumbling as it tracked the fresh scent toward the water.
I rolled for Silkie noticing the wolverine and doing a chomp.
The pale dragon’s ears flattened miserably against his skull as he tromped through the cold and the wet, his face and eyes stinging from the abuse of wildly whipping treelimbs and ferns. Thin gashes and punctures littered the left side of his face, courtesy of a thorny patch of underbrush that he’d been all but thrown into by the force of the stormwinds, runnels of rain diluting the pinpricks of blood and dyeing his left cheek a watery pink. He looked bedraggled and slightly worse for wear when he finally made his way to Ephraim, nearly bumping into the silvern female he did not know. Bourbon brown eyes sharpened with visceral defensiveness before recognition dawned within them — Aure’s scent was familiar, if only because she hung out with his brother from time to time. A gruff nod served as his greeting and a polite, “Excuse me,” as he paused, allowing her to lead the way to Ephraim.
“Hei,” he offered, voice pitched low in an attempt to sneak under the screaming winds. Shouting over them was impossible for the young wolf. The aspiring hompleia followed the spry little coywolf’s line of sight toward the grotesque sight that lay before them — but the combined weight of the three wolves present wasn’t nearly enough to throw back against the storm’s unwieldy gift. Silkie was certain that the pack’s feisripa would know best what to do, but he doubted @Artaax would hear him through the storm. Maybe if they could at least prop the bodies up against something, they could keep them from sinking and contaminating the water. Wasting so much free food would be a true tragedy. “Let’s try to…ah, prop them up,” he suggested quietly in the common tongue, speaking between two hefty gusts of wind.
Silkie’s nose was clogged with the scent of his own blood, so much that he missed the telltale stench of wolverine as he threaded his way gingerly through the brush. It was only when he paused to free a likely looking tree branch that he realized the three of them had a distinctly unwelcome visitor. The bough in question was actually a juvenile tree that’d been ripped up by the roots and would do well to aid the burly hunter’s cause, but when he threw his weight against it, he was struck by a flicker of movement in the shadows. Two beady, dark eyes and a nasty looking mouthful of fangs were briefly illuminated by a shock of lightning, and without much thought, Silkie dropped the tree and lunged. More concerned now for his own survival than Ephraim’s colossal find, the aspiring hunter latched onto the wolverine’s scruff and held on for dear life, trying desperately to keep from being filleted.
“Hei,” he offered, voice pitched low in an attempt to sneak under the screaming winds. Shouting over them was impossible for the young wolf. The aspiring hompleia followed the spry little coywolf’s line of sight toward the grotesque sight that lay before them — but the combined weight of the three wolves present wasn’t nearly enough to throw back against the storm’s unwieldy gift. Silkie was certain that the pack’s feisripa would know best what to do, but he doubted @Artaax would hear him through the storm. Maybe if they could at least prop the bodies up against something, they could keep them from sinking and contaminating the water. Wasting so much free food would be a true tragedy. “Let’s try to…ah, prop them up,” he suggested quietly in the common tongue, speaking between two hefty gusts of wind.
Silkie’s nose was clogged with the scent of his own blood, so much that he missed the telltale stench of wolverine as he threaded his way gingerly through the brush. It was only when he paused to free a likely looking tree branch that he realized the three of them had a distinctly unwelcome visitor. The bough in question was actually a juvenile tree that’d been ripped up by the roots and would do well to aid the burly hunter’s cause, but when he threw his weight against it, he was struck by a flicker of movement in the shadows. Two beady, dark eyes and a nasty looking mouthful of fangs were briefly illuminated by a shock of lightning, and without much thought, Silkie dropped the tree and lunged. More concerned now for his own survival than Ephraim’s colossal find, the aspiring hunter latched onto the wolverine’s scruff and held on for dear life, trying desperately to keep from being filleted.
January 20, 2019, 02:51 PM
Aure came and left again so quickly that Ephraim didn't really notice her. He was left with Silkie to help him solve his little dilemma. No one else arrived. He guessed that the winds were too strong for his voice to carry through them, and likely the remainder of the pack was huddled in Hougeda where it was dry and warm. Lucky them.
Like Silkie, Ephraim was loathe to let good food, especially this much of it, go to waste. Had it been only one buck, he might have been willing to pretend he never saw it in favour of drying off. The pack could easily secure a single buck for themselves without too much exertion. But three bucks? He would have to be insane to leave those to the elements and not at least try to harvest them. He watched them bobbing in the water, bumping against tangles of roots, with a vaguely sickened expression that only vanished when Silkie made his suggestion.
That was easier said than done, however. The storm had loosened the roots of many saplings and snapped off a variety of branches from the taller trees, but how were they going to reach the floating trio in order to prop them up? And what if the water kept rising? They had to get them somewhere where they weren't going to move even if the storm did rage on, and that was a task that was probably a little larger than two young wolves. Luckily he didn't have to think on it too much longer; a snarl and flash of white in his periphery told him Silkie had found something else to preoccupy them. When he turned toward the commotion it was to see a squat little brown-black thing assaulting his comrade.
With a surprised shout, Ephraim threw himself forward and tried to seize the unfamiliar creature around the back of the neck. He was met with a set of bear-like claws across his snout as the vicious little creature made a sound between a hiss and a bark and twisted around to focus on defending itself.
Like Silkie, Ephraim was loathe to let good food, especially this much of it, go to waste. Had it been only one buck, he might have been willing to pretend he never saw it in favour of drying off. The pack could easily secure a single buck for themselves without too much exertion. But three bucks? He would have to be insane to leave those to the elements and not at least try to harvest them. He watched them bobbing in the water, bumping against tangles of roots, with a vaguely sickened expression that only vanished when Silkie made his suggestion.
Yeah,Ephraim agreed,
good thinking, we can come back for them when it's dry again.
That was easier said than done, however. The storm had loosened the roots of many saplings and snapped off a variety of branches from the taller trees, but how were they going to reach the floating trio in order to prop them up? And what if the water kept rising? They had to get them somewhere where they weren't going to move even if the storm did rage on, and that was a task that was probably a little larger than two young wolves. Luckily he didn't have to think on it too much longer; a snarl and flash of white in his periphery told him Silkie had found something else to preoccupy them. When he turned toward the commotion it was to see a squat little brown-black thing assaulting his comrade.
With a surprised shout, Ephraim threw himself forward and tried to seize the unfamiliar creature around the back of the neck. He was met with a set of bear-like claws across his snout as the vicious little creature made a sound between a hiss and a bark and twisted around to focus on defending itself.
January 25, 2019, 06:57 AM
It appeared Aure was just passing through, and Silkie couldn’t say he minded. Talking to strangers wasn’t exactly his strong point. Plus, he was a little preoccupied. Bourbon brown eyes flashed gratefully toward Ephraim when the skayona leapt to his aid but creased in sympathetic concern when his agemate came away with a collection of bloody scratches. Clamping his teeth, Silkie shook the wolverine silly, dizzying himself in the process — and though he staggered, buffeted on all sides by the bearlike creature’s scythelike hind claws, he managed to keep his grip on its scruff. Hopefully Ephraim would be able to find an opening if Silkie could just keep his pack-brother from getting kicked in the teeth. Stomping like an unruly pony, Silkie tried to trap the powerful hindquarters between his ankles, cranking his neck back at a painful angle to hold the beast spread-eagle. It was a chancy move, and he wouldn’t be able to hold the position for long, but hopefully it’d give Ephraim a fighting chance.
January 30, 2019, 04:39 PM
He didn't know what the little monster they wrestled with was capable of, but Ephraim knew he wanted to put it down as quickly as possible. Not only was it interfering with their ability to brainstorm about the tangled bucks, but every second that ticked by out in the storm also caused his anxiety to mount. Add to that a pissed off ball of brown fur and claws that was attacking you and your packmate, and you had one wild-eyed Ephraim.
Thankfully, he didn't feel as helplessly lost and out of control as he did during their neighbours' invasion. Maybe it was because there were fewer targets on the field or maybe that experience really had strengthened his resolve enough to keep his head; either way, he recognized Silkie's efforts to bring the beast to heel for what they were.
It wasn't the wisest course of action, but Ephraim sent his snapping teeth toward the shrieking wolverine's gaping maw, aiming to clamp his jaws down over its own and get a good hold on it that way. At the last minute he changed his mind; it was struggling too hard and it was more likely he would be caught in the bear-like frenzy of the wolverine's attacks. He sidestepped and aimed to sink his teeth into the base of its skull instead, forcing its muzzle down and away from his throat and giving him a hold from which to pull against Silkie's teeth, that they might literally rip it apart.
Thankfully, he didn't feel as helplessly lost and out of control as he did during their neighbours' invasion. Maybe it was because there were fewer targets on the field or maybe that experience really had strengthened his resolve enough to keep his head; either way, he recognized Silkie's efforts to bring the beast to heel for what they were.
It wasn't the wisest course of action, but Ephraim sent his snapping teeth toward the shrieking wolverine's gaping maw, aiming to clamp his jaws down over its own and get a good hold on it that way. At the last minute he changed his mind; it was struggling too hard and it was more likely he would be caught in the bear-like frenzy of the wolverine's attacks. He sidestepped and aimed to sink his teeth into the base of its skull instead, forcing its muzzle down and away from his throat and giving him a hold from which to pull against Silkie's teeth, that they might literally rip it apart.
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