Wheeling Gull Isle sapped of strength

Takes place in Rainsong Labyrinth at daybreak on JANUARY 1, 2019.

According to my calculator, Undersea rolled for a negative event of 1/6 severity, and a random prey animal. As previously discussed, I’ve chosen to increase the severity, resulting in minor destruction of terrain and the disappearance of many beloved seawolves. This read-only thread will showcase the aftermath of the storm and the roster of missing persons. ♥

(I have left it open to replies in case people want it in their threadlogs.)

Komodo and Stockholm had worked tirelessly to shepherd every seawolf they could find into the rocksteady sanctuary of Rainsong Labyrinth. The tempest could not reach them here without destroying the island itself — and, oh, she tried! Her stormhounds gnashed wildly through the conifers that populated Skybowl’s skirts, snapping the younger trees like toothpicks and razing the foliage of the Old Ones. Tallest of them all, the Mother Tree led the resistance, though she groaned painfully with each burst of wind — “…ohhh…nnnooo…nnnooo…” — and quaked with exquisite agony as her limbs were ripped mercilessly from her body. The creak-crack-snap! of her rime-limned boughs was echoed by the agonized howls and the bonelike splintering of her ancient brethren, but their funereal dirge was easily drowned out by the banshee screams of the winterstorm.

Huddled within the deepest chamber of the island’s clandestine heart, the seawolves sheltered. Stormsong echoed through the Labyrinth’s spectrolite halls, ricocheting painfully against the stone, making speech impossible. Fallen trees and shifted stones had barred several of Rainsong’s secret egresses, and Coelacanth guarded fiercely the bottleneck entrance that preceded the stonehollow. They had lost so many — Hemlock, Reed, and Droman; Fern and Mur; Rehan; Blossom; Rokig — and those who endured bore wounds of varying severity. Worst yet, though Thresher had been safely returned to them at last, her greatest champion was now missing in her stead.

posted by coelacanth.

After attending to the seawolves’ hurts, Coelacanth lay across the narrow passage of spectrolite that formed Stonehollow’s bottleneck entrance like a blue-eyed incarnation of Anubis. She was a steadfast shepherd, as fiercely protective as her domesticated mother, and when Grayling sought playfully to defy her and wriggle past, she commanded him with a stern glance and a swift, nearly imperceptible wrinkling of her muzzle. Her characteristically gentle countenance blazed with otherworldly intensity, eyes flashing a ghostly fool’s fire silver as she counted and recounted the members of her flock. She would allow none of them to leave.

There was no spoken pronouncement that preceded Seelie’s impromptu return to the Council — it simply happened. In many ways, her proclivity for leadership was something that’d snuck up on her, leaving both the sheepdog and her scribe utterly blindsided. When she’d first arrived in the Teekon Wilds with Amoxtli two and a half years ago, the prospect of pledging her loyalty to any pack — let alone leading one and starting a family! — hadn’t sparked even an inkling of allure. The very idea of having children had been abhorrent to Doe’s Shadow — especially after being saddled with three puppies she was hard-pressed and ill-prepared to care for in the bonechilling grip of fimbulvetr — but so many things had changed, and Seelie loved her now.

Now, Moorhen was a fine, strong wolf, worthy of the Cairn name. Now, Seelie couldn’t imagine a world without Grayling, Thresher, Sixgill, and Koi. Now, the wolf had a pack; the sheepdog had a flock; and she didn’t wonder or worry about her place in the world. Aralez, they called her. Allmother, she called herself. Maybe it was because so many of Undersea’s new recruits were guppies; maybe it was the swiftly approaching breeding season. Whatever it was, she embraced the change within herself — and vowed to guide the seawolves into the new year with renewed resolve.

Komodo had marked this as one of his greatest failures — of which, there were many — but this was the greatest. The wolves he had vowed to protect had gotten lost or become maimed; those who different, were afraid. Even experiencing the faintest sense of fear was something that Komodo had vowed never to let happen to the wolves under his care, whether they were a patient, a religious acolyte or one of his stormborn wolves. How could this have happened — again? Nevertheless, those who remained persisted amongst the depths of rocks and soil. Where some felt strength and purpose, he felt broken. Where some experienced renewal and cleansing, Komodo felt the weight of the world. In the darkness of the cave, with the storm raging just outside, the man huddled in the back of the cave and cried softly.

When he thought he was going to certainly die there in his hiding place, Titmouse had a vision—or a strong fanciful thought that overwhelmed him for a moment—where the sound of the howling wind and the feeling of the sluice battering the shore fell away; in its place was the calling voice of Maegi, pained and worried and wanting him, and in his fright he'd uncoiled himself and emerged to the elements eager to face her. To find her, to protect her. But when he stood there, wind battered and confused by the chaos, where he thought he'd seen a glimpse of white fur there was just ocean, cresting a band of weeds and rocks and coming for him. He felt gripped by a familiar fear at that point. The sense that the sea was here for him and him alone—arriving just to swallow Titmouse up and take him deep in to the darkness, where he was meant to be. He felt himself fill with a vigorous rage at the thought of it, and didn't notice as his lips peeled back and he grimaced at the sea as if to promise, not today!

When he found the rest of Undersea they were being led away from the shore and deeper in to the woods, and he was swift to intercept them. By the time the chaos had begun to die down Titmouse was warm and dry within the shelter that they shared, watching with that weary-eyed expression of a cocaine addict without their fix, staring at the entrance where Seelie's figure was perched. He hoped, deep down, that Maegi would come running in at the last moment and be met by her family—but he knew she wouldn't come, that she had gone ages ago. The hope persisted, the worry, and he would not sleep as he took up a similar position to the Aralez, guarding the entry from behind her like a hungry specter.

Driftwood was haunted and weary as well, but although his restless pacing kept faltering and his hindquarters showed a tendency to droop earthward, the booming echoes from nature's wrath outside their door kept interrupting any attempts of his to rest and recuperate. His scruffy brown fur was spiking out into something resembling a porcupine as it dried but Drift was too bone-weary to care.

What he did care about was the wolves whose forms his eyes restlessly roved about. There were so few of them, far too few of them gathered here, and heartsick Driftwood wondered if there was any possibility the others might have managed to find other shelter, elsewhere, perhaps even off the island itself. But Seelie laid there in the entryway guarding them all, and there was Mou right behind her... Driftwood tried to summon up gratitude that these guardians in particular were ensuring that no further harm might come to the seawolves who had made it here, at least (and Thresher was back amongst them, too, at the very least!), but between the storm and his recurrent insomnia in past weeks he was simply too damn exhausted to stir much of that feeling within his heart. His stumbling feet did happen to carry him in the direction of Komodo for a moment, however; Driftwood lifted his hollow, worried eyes and stared, not understanding. His concern for Komodo carried him a few venturesome steps closer, wanting to help, but Driftwood hesitated, uncertain if his help would be welcome and in the end he veered off back toward the entryway. In an increasing stupor he simply watched the others for a few minutes, ears twitching every now and then at a particularly booming report from the weather outside. Then Driftwood hauled his hipbones up off the rocky floor again and stuck his nose down at puppy-level, to try and help usher the rambunctious growing young ones away from the entrance and hopefully help keep them occupied long enough for the storm to die down and the world to return to its normal, more restful state. Hey Thresher. N'c'mon, Grayling, he half-mumbled, but his voice was swallowed up in the next roaring howl of thunder.

He'd had no idea, none whatsoever, that their beautiful little island could work itself into such a frothing temper. But like any temper tantrum, he told himself, it surely couldn't last forever... while outside the storm raged on, and on, and on, and left him wondering if perhaps that was only a lie he was telling himself after all.

I will be closing this up shortly!

Coelacanth rose to all fours, commanding the attention of her pack with a fierce “bark” — more gesture than vocalization. A glance was exchanged with Stockholm, and Seelie threw back her head and sang. At once, the Overseer and all four puppies joined in, their voices echoing and reverberating on the cavern walls. When they sang this way, they drowned out the wind — and Seelie drew strength from the rallying cry. Moorhen would come home, and all would be well. She knew it. She knew.