Stavanger Bay city life, pocket camp

The wind and the rain are starting to pick up! The dice say that you get to have a positive event. This is for the Stormrift members, or anybody else who’s hanging out in the bay since it hasn’t officially been claimed yet.

The skies above the northeastern swath of the Sequoia Coast are overcast, but not immensely so. Unlike last year’s rain heavy summer tempest, this storm is quieter. More insidious. She’s already wreaked havoc in the Coconut Grove, but that was just a whisper of her true intent — a hint of what she’s truly capable of. She strikes like a viper, moving almost lazily between her attacks, and with the snaketrees still smouldering she turns her eye on Undersea, Stormrift, Rusalka, and Drageda. She pushes the sea further up their shores, each crash of the waves seeming to sketch the high tide line a little further inland.

This time, her weapon is her breath — a mixture of briny seawater and sweet rain, with an electric current. The rain hasn’t become torrential yet. The wind? She’s testing you, gripping and shaking the trees, cracking her nails on the foundation of stone. She flings the sand like a goddess throwing a colossal tantrum, and she tries to shake you and make you look at her. Look, damn you!

She wants the sea to swallow up the shore, but asking the ocean to do her bidding is like trying to herd cats. What it does instead is swamp the Bay with frantically flopping fish (and a significant amount of flotsam, ranging from pieces of driftwood to clots of seaweed to an overabundance of crustaceans). It’s messy and unkempt, but overall, it’s a positive thing. The danger is in the whiplike, snaking currents that lurk beneath the surface, ready to swallow up any wolf who gets too close to the water’s edge.

posted by coelacanth.

Moorhen had no way of knowing that she had not been born here, but on the cliffs of Donnelaith. To her, it didn't matter. Whatever call the bay had held for her had been killed the day she'd met her brother there. But his claim had disintegrated, now, to be replaced the the scent of strangers - and even that did not smell quite as solid as it should be.

For now, the wind raged and the waves crashed, and Moorhen could only wonder at the natural Cairn inability to tame the bay. She wondered if the new wolves would have better luck - not knowing that their common blood made it impossible. If she'd known that more Cairns had come, she would have shaken her head. She would have contemplated telling them that they did not have the constitution for their aims, that their blood made them naturally and irrevocably unable to hold on to the bay for any solid length of time.

But she did not know.

Moorhen snuffled around the borders for a moment before deciding that Thresher was not among them. So she left.

"oh, my..." dalia murmurs. 

the storm has settled down-- only mildly, the waves are still beating dangerously against the shore-- by the time she visits the shore. there are fish everywhere-- and then some. dalia wanted to eat first, knowing it was more important in the winter season, but part of her worried that all the treasures that had washed up upon the shore would disappear as quickly as they appeared. her heart raced-- oh! the sea glass and the shells and the debre that littered the shore were so plentiful! she felt like she were in some kind of dream.

first, however, she began to collect fish, dodging the racing waves and tossing the fish into a pile further up the beach-- where they were safe. and then, when the pile was big enough, she began to scan the shore for prizes, finding first a large tooth-- probably a sharks-- as well as a small pile of seaglass, holding them all carefully in her mouth, careful not to swallow them. she moved them further up the beach as well, placing them into a delicate little pile, her tail waving. the wind beat against her side, ruffling her fur and pressing the hairs along her cheek. but this was okay.

for a moment, her demons were forgotten.

"hot damn," velen swore softly, pausing to watch the freckled girl.
the waves were racing along the beachline, and with it they brought both bounty and danger. dalia was nimble, her small paws carrying her beyond reach of the former. a little ways off, velen saw she had seen to gathering for the caches, and smiled fondly. the young wolfess was al but dancing now, undoubtedly searching for bits of glittering flotsam brought by the unruly sea, and for a great, fierce moment, velen loved the heft and breadth of it as he had loved anything else, moreso, for it had given dalia a lightness he had not seen in her for some time.

The presence of another Cairn – for as fleeting as it was – did not even phase the titan. She had vanished before he had ever turned his mismatched gaze on her frame. This was likely for the best. If he had learned that his half-siblings still roamed the wilds without having returned to their intended home, he would have thought them an unruly and pathetic lot. Moorhen could run back to her sea folk. Ford would rebuild their empire as it had been intended. There was no shame in the fact that their paths would likely never cross. He would not have treated her any kinder than her own blood brother had.

Snow flecks danced through the air as the wind kicked against the sandy shores and bent the charred trees of the sentinels. Distantly, thunder boomed and echoed across the bay with a terrifying timbre that filled the warhound with a strange sense of delight. He stood as a statue on the beach, following the dangerous tug and pull of the waves as they were thrown against the bay. It was a demonstration of nature at its very finest, and though Ford had already been blessed by the storms, there was a savage desire to plunge beneath the swell and disappear forever.

Instead, the skeletal brute watched as Dalia danced along the sands and collected the fish that had washed ashore. She seemed adept in that moment – like she belonged there, and had belonged there her entire life. Ford's eyes fluttered against the wash of rain and snow that beat against his pale face. After waiting for long enough, the warhound moved from his gargoyle stance and raced the length of the shore in powerful strides. He drew himself close enough so that the water crashed against his limbs, threatening to topple him over. Yet, he did not fall.