The Rokea Shiver of the Azores

The waters around the mid-Atlantic islands are not quiet, nor forgiving. The shiver of Rokea dwelling off the southern coast of São Miguel — where, in later ages, Ponta Delgada will rise — has grown infamous across Avalon’s seas. Their numbers are drawn primarily from smooth hammerheads, with their uncanny ability to sense the faintest ripple of prey or trespasser, but blue sharks and mako sharks also swim in their ranks, lending speed, ferocity, and a biting edge to the whole. Together, they form a war-band beneath the waves, a brotherhood of rage and hunger that has been tested by fire and blood.

Between 1530 and 1553, the sea has been made crimson more times than they can count. Encounters with Portuguese caravels and carracks, often carrying Sabbat Kindred and their ghoul sailors, have brought brutal conflict. The undead do not tire, nor fear the bite of the sea, but they are slow and clumsy in waters the Rokea know like the bones of their own fins. Even so, victory has come at a cost: nearly one-third of the shiver has been slain in these wars, their bodies torn, staked, or burned by sorceries brought across the waves. Their kin — harpoons, hooks, and nets have also culled mortal sharks bound by instinct and blood-ties to the Rokea.

This attrition has made the survivors exceptionally aggressive and territorial. Few ships dare linger near São Miguel’s southern coast without the protection of warding charms or sheer luck, for the shiver will strike first, dragging sailors screaming into the depths or capsizing smaller vessels entirely. The seas here have earned a reputation as cursed waters, where mists roll suddenly and shadows beneath the waves circle like blades of obsidian.

The Caern of the Azores

Hidden beneath the basalt cliffs and volcanic shores lies the Caern of the Azores, a rare nexus of sea and spirit. Its heart is a deep trench carved by fire long ago, filled with volcanic vents and cold upwellings that mix in a strange, potent balance. Here, the spirits of the sea gather — hammerhead totems, storm-wraiths, drowned sailor-ghosts, and ancient whale-mothers whose songs echo in the dreaming currents.

The Caern is a place of Renewal and Wrath. Renewal, because the volcanic waters cleanse, heal, and restore those who swim within; Wrath, because the spirits demand defense against all intruders, their rage echoing the fury of the shiver. The place is marked by a perpetual storm-eye above the waves: not always violent, but always unsettling, as if Gaia herself warns mortals away.

For the Rokea, this Caern is both fortress and shrine. Here they gather to mourn their dead, to swear vengeance, and to call upon the sea for strength in their endless struggle with the Kindred who infest the ships of Portugal and Spain. Though their numbers have thinned, the Caern binds them together, making every surviving warrior twice as fierce.

The Ballad of the Bloody Sea

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