Stavanger Bay lament of the highborne

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, Stormrift will receive a negative event of 5/6 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. ^^ For Stormrift, I combined the predator with the negative event, because I had this idea a while back and it seemed like a good homage to the Cairn family.

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 sequoia forest and the remains of the Sentinels up by their roots but does not stop to measure her success or failure. Instead, she summons from the seadeeps one of her fiercest, most bloodthirsty denizens — the Great White Shark — and casts him into the shallows of the bay. The titan thrashes and writhes, trying to free himself from the buffer of sand, but his attempts seem to grant him no reprieve. As he casts a dark, forbidding eye upon the unfamiliar terrain, mad with desperation, the glint in it appears limned with bloody mahogany. He is Skellige come again, a force to be reckoned with beyond any other, and he is so hungry.

The shark finds himself in a position where he has just enough water in his gills to keep him alive. If he should succeed in thrusting himself back into the water, perhaps he will deign to linger like a spectre, terrorizing the stormborn wolves — or perhaps he will merely frequent the bay from time to time, an uninvited guest who never eats his fill. If, however, he cannot find a way to free himself, he will die upon these shores. He thrashes again, the white of his belly flashing whitely with a crack of lightning, and snaps his jaws.

posted by coelacanth.