So… Tell me something that a spirit of coastal rains might find valuable and/or interesting?
What would you offer it in order to placate and/or reward it?
What wouldn’t you offer it?
So… Tell me something that a spirit of coastal rains might find valuable and/or interesting?
So… Tell me something that a spirit of coastal rains might find valuable and/or interesting?
Exotic water from a far away land. It takes many years for the water cycle and the winds to get it the smallest bit of water from those lands.
A vacation. Some new and interesting cliffs to drench, or a wide-open plane to rush across in glee.
The torc it once gave to a mortal woman, who it loved when it was but a spirit of wind and wave. The woman loved the spirit, too, but duty and pragmatism caused her to marry another mortal and never returned to the coast where they met.
Heartbroken, the spirit of wind and wave wept upon the coastline, become a spirit of rains instead.
Twelve horses butchered and burnt in offering on the beach, just before a squall, the pungent smoke a delight to the spirit’s senses.
I might think to threaten it, with binding in a bottle, or a spell that would still the winds and keep it from its shores, or by shattering or drowning the very coasts it loves. But I don’t think rain spirits take well to threats.
The coast is sand, and sharp, rugged plants. A coastal rain spirit has probably never felt the gentle, pure pleasure of caressing a field of grass and clover. Or, if it has, it has probably brought death and ruin with it’s salty embrace.
If I could manage the logistics, a flat totem erected atop a stone thrust or long wooden pier, covered with finely sewn velvet grass which will stay forever pleasantly tactile. At least a quarter acre’s worth.
A left handed conch shell washed up on the shores of it’s coast.
Barrels of rum from the sunken ship of a famous pirate!
I wouldn’t offer it blood, water is water to a rain spirit; they care little for death. They prefer cycles to endings…
The highest stone, from the highest mountain, of the continent’s highest range, brought down and cast into it’s home waters.
I would offer it a single blessing, the ability to take mortal form whenever is isn’t raining.
The sky drinks vapor, swelling, gorging, until it is too full to sustain itself. Then it releases its energy, spewing forth all its gains in a quick, harsh release.
A model of temperance to stand in contrast to its gluttony-flashed passion-emptiness cycle. Stand upon a small, single person boat, too small to rightly be upon the sea, naked save a sting instrument, and repeat a single chord, slowly, regularly, untouched by your emotions or the ocean’s passions. A metronome, auditory meditation, a shared aspect of stability. Stand amidst the winds, waves, and thunder, and play her down from her moment of release. Play her to the height of her swelling, and play her to journey no further.
Teach her satisfaction.