Silvertip Mountain watch the oceans rising high

OOC: I just noticed Tartok would form riiiiight next to Neverwinter, so it gave me an idea (and inspiration) for Jinx to get all up in their biznaz about it. >_> Your characters and mine never seem to get along very well, lol, maybe it can be redeemed someday.

IC: Jinx had trekked many miles in the last week, crossing from her home in Neverwinter to the northern apex of the park and then all the way to the west. Now, her paws were carrying her to the forest's eastern edge, coming in somewhat north of Neverwinter; there was a mountain in the way, but she would travel some ways up it to bring back some scouting information for Styx and Katrina.

She would soon miss the constant motion, when she finally returned home. Travel had become well-worn into her bones and her paws since departing Shearwater Bay as had leading been well-worn into her demeanour from the first breath she had taken, and as had voodou been well-worn into her soul from the first whisper of the Loa against her silky lobes. She was a woman of many aspects, and her experiences were mounting swiftly; soon, she could almost be called worldly. That wasn't to say she had a lofty opinion of herself; a healthy amount of confidence, no more.

Balanced oddly between her shifting shoulder blades was a small piece of obsidian, for focus and logic, and affixed to it with dried sap were the precious bracken fern spores, arranged in a crude circle with one in the center as an iris, to confer invisibility. In this manner, Jinx was not only shielded from her enemies' eyes (not that she had any direct enemies here), but also sharper of focus than she would've otherwise been. It was more of an accessory; she had made it in Blackfoot Forest, believing it held greater power, having come from there.

When she reached the mountain she meant to climb, she was surprised to find evidence of scent marking. Her fur lifted in annoyance for two reasons: firstly, the mountain bordered Neverwinter Forest, and Styx and Katrina had been good to her, so she felt territorial for their sake; and secondly, because it was impeding her progress. Ordinarily, Jinx might've left it alone and found another way; however, upon tracing the "border" for a while, she was pleased to find the prominent scents were composed of only two wolves. It wasn't a pack at all, then, just a few ragtag stragglers who thought they alone could secure the mountain.

Well, she would prove them otherwise. She continued balancing the obsidian as she stepped over their fake boundaries, if only because it was important to her, and less for the invisibility it gave; after all, now she wanted to be found, so the magick surrounding her would be unwound and she would visible regardless. A haughty scoff passed her lips as she loped higher without regard for the pair of wolves who thought to claim the mountain; she thought it foolish to dare something as significant as a claim without the strength to back it up. Neverwinter's prominent five members — Styx, Katrina, Turquoise (especially Turquoise, being the largest), Rivet, and herself — could easily send both these wolves running; that was assuming no other pirate came, as there were many others as well, including Kerberos. She meant to deliver that message here, loud and clear, before blood need be shed.

How very wrong Jinx was to think that Tonravik would move for another well-established pack! She was not a kind wolf, a wolf that would bend to the desire of another. Neverwinter was in her way. In time, she would chase them from their home. Of course, that was not set in stone; but they were a bother to her already, and their grounds, she was sure, had good game upon it. She, Aguta, Taltos, Tuwawi, and any others that would come were more than a match for nearly anything brought to them. They were not invincible, but they were trained warriors. War was what they were meant for. Today, the whispers of it came to her doorstep. How very like her mothers origins! It boded perfectly well.

It was not for Tonravik to know who it was. Not yet. Intelligent eyes scanned the earth as a scent of another came near. Her eyes fell upon a wolf ascending, and she bristled—she had, by now, diligently marked her home alongside her companions. She watched as the being trailed, debated... but it found it worth it, in the end, to cross.

Her mother would kill Jinx. Make sure it was the last mistake she had ever made. Tonravik had other, darker ideas.

It would take her a short amount of time to arrive to Jinx. She picked her way carefully, at first, until she could see Jinx in her line of sight—

And then, she charges. That Jinx thought crossing her borders would end without the shedding of blood was incredibly foolish. First and foremost, they were wolves. It did not matter how well-established they were; the fact of the matter was, it was perfectly clear there was someone here. Times of peace had came and went; for perhaps Tonravik would have reasonably heard out the lean (but certainly not petite) Jinx had she waited. Now, she had earned herself an enemy. For Tonravik despised fools most of all. The Tartok woman did not think Jinx was here for peace at all. She imagined Jinx was here to steal, or for reconnaissance. Neither would happen. Expertly, Tonravik had placed markers below where she and hers stayed, hunted, to keep others well away. Evidently, that did not matter to the other.

Closer and closer she came. Her tail was lifted, her brown eyes narrowing slightly by means of protection. Ears thrust aggressively forward so that her intent could not be second-guessed. Her tail aligns itself with her spine, and her jaw parts only slightly in preparation to collect from Jinx the price of her trespass (blood, fur, skin), lowering as well to protect the throat. Tonravik would attempt to topple Jinx with the momentum gained from her descent, to quite literally bulldoze her. But if she noted a change in Jinx's actions, her initial attack might very well change so that it would be better suited for the moment. She was no snarling mess; she was silent, teeth revealed. While she did not plan on killing the woman before her, these were the weapons of the reaper. They hit their mark true more often than they did not, and killing trespassers was law. Tonravik would make it so, here, too. But first, first! To gain her own intelligence through means of blood and bruises.

A deadly hush fell over the mountain, as though the world bated its breath. She relished it, the danger and the rush of headhunting; long had she been denied it. This was not Neverwinter's way, but Jinx had forgotten all about Neverwinter's rules, and parley was far from her mind. She was mindful of the fact that outright attacking non-pack was not technically permitted, or at least strongly discouraged, but the details and inner workings of Styx's rules had fled her mind, to be replaced with something primal: instinct. There were no rules in the wild.

It did not take long for Jinx to be found; the black woman came flying out of nowhere, as if the mountain itself had birthed her from the depths of its rocky foundation. She was unsure where from, but Tonravik had materialized; what was important was she was here now. She was in a headlong charge, barreling down the mountain's decline with the fury of a fully grown tiger, and likely the deadliness of one as well. Jinx's gaze flicked up instantly, and a coy little smile flirted with the corners of her lips. Here was the arrogant fool who thought to try to claim land at the very edge of Neverwinter's own, and here was the arrogant fool she would put down.

(There was irony here, for the title of arrogant fool might better have been assigned to not the ferocious black wolf but to herself, but of course, where opinion was concerned there was bias of thought; Tonravik was necessarily arrogant and stupid, and Jinx was necessarily intelligent and entitled, and that was how it was according to her).

Even as the Tartok female — entirely unfamiliar to Jinx, which may well have been her detriment and her very biggest mistake, for it was dangerous to ever underestimate one of Siku's pupils — hurtled down the mountainside at her, Jinx faced her, unflinching, until a moment she deemed close enough: suddenly, she whirled away from her attacker's charge, and suddenly was bolting uphill, reversing the direction of their inevitable clash quite expertly. She would be surprised if Tonravik was even able to stop in time to figure out where she'd gone, and the thought that she might never figure it out was coloured in a victorious light. Jinx hadn't needed her to be close to tell that the other woman was much heavier and possessed more muscle than she, and throwing that much weight back to stop a headlong charge downhill was not an easy feat by any means.

In the meantime, Jinx continued to barrel up the mountainside, a haughty snigger bursting from her lips as she left Tonravik in her proverbial dust; she couldn't possibly have known that this female had been born on mountains and was therefore a hundredfold as sure-footed and swift on them as she, for she already believed she had outsmarted and outplayed the wannabe dominant female of this “pack”. How could she possibly lose her advantage? She would continue running uphill until she put sufficient distance between them, and then she would angle her course into a downhill hurtle the likes of which a rollercoaster would be jealous of, and she would use its momentum to carry her right back into Neverwinter's heart with a triumphant laugh and mockery on her tongue.

If this confuses you at all let me know, I am DERPZILLA. Most excited for this thread.

The other merely waited. She did not move toward her, but neither did she move away, and so as she lurched to attack, her fangs snapped closed—

But there was a resounding click that could be heard in her own eardrums, and no impact to be felt, and if there were any fur it was only a bare inch of a tuft that would not be felt and so would not be missed. She continued her descent, slowing her momentum, turning to look to the ascending pale being. She noted the object on her back, but there was little time to truly observe, to note what it was or what it might mean. Instead she studied, for an instant, the rear of Jinx. Weaknesses, old wounds, a limp she might not even know she had—

And when nothing was found, Tonravik diverted her course, knowing perfectly where to intercept her. The others confidence that she had escaped her wrath would be her undoing; the surefooted Tartok wolf could hardly wait to see the wretch fall from the heights she fathomed she had achieved. There was not too much exertion that needed doing here; she knew a well-worn path that would take her where she needed to go. Her nostrils drank in the smells as she skulked in the shadows, bounding upward...

She would not make the same mistake twice.

It was not long at all before they were parallel to one another. Tonravik kept to the trees that hid her and moved upward slightly, until she was waiting near a boulder. Only when Jinx was just there would Tonravik dash to her, silent in her assault again, consumed by her fury and her will to punish, to feel the other yield beneath her and cry mercy to the merciless. The pale female would crumble beneath the weight of the mountains she faced. Silvertip would be christened, at last, in blood. Tartok, born!

And when Jinx unwittingly came nearer, Tonravik bolted outward; Jinx and the side of her were exposed, and Tonravik had smartly kept close so that Jinx could (or, so she hoped) not avoid the whole of her this time. Her initial attack had been not so well thought out as this one. She had been too eager. Her mother would have chastised her. But this! Tonravik again keeps her eyes smartly narrowed. As she races toward Jinx, she lashes out at the earth with her forepaw to use the debris of Silvertip in her favor, hoping that this move would confuse and hinder the sight of the Neverwinter woman. This time, she moves the weight of herself to trip the others consistent step, fangs unveiled and jaws wide to attempt to grip and shove against the apex of the once-Mambo's shoulder and fore-chest so that the other might fall potentially victim to Silvertip itself. If she felt the other move backward, victim to her attack, Tonravik would release; but that was assuming there was any success to be had at all! Tonravik rolled her shoulders forward to protect her nape and neck, and her head was tucked to protect the lower portion of it. She did not know if she would succeed, but how she hoped to taste the other, and drink her defeat!

Laughter rang in the woman's ears as she outwitted even the mountain itself, for soon her destination would arrive, and there she would divert her course and hurtle headlong into Neverwinter's welcoming maw. The female far below, likely still standing in confusion and trembling at the awesome speed and capability of the wolf who had outsmarted her, would never forget the encounter they had had. Jinx, knowing this, would then be proud to return to her Captains and report to them what she had found: vagrants on the mountainside, numbering merely two, who were as slow-witted as their failed claim would make them seem.

However, she had miscalculated. When suddenly from the corner of her eye she caught the sudden materialisation of a black-cloaked figure, and from the trees burst the very wolf she had sought to outsmart, her heart hammered into confused nervousness; how? She had only a moment to consider it, for she was moving now, swinging her body so that Tonravik would catch only her hindlimb and be put at a disadvantage of distance, with all the power of Jinx's kicking feet placed at her front… But all of a sudden, her false surefootedness failed her, and her forepaw faltered on the landscape. The ground beneath slid under her foot, and carried her with it, so that she had skidded directly into the charging bull's path.

She felt the thud of bodies rock deep into her soul, and the graze of teeth against the side of her neck, but everything else she was numb to, for the force of the Tartok woman had forced her feet from the earth. She was sent backward into a roll, which quickly gained speed and would have sent Jinx into a free-fall to her death upon the foothills, had not some Divine Intervention — as she would forever regard it — placed directly in her path a solid spruce. Her flank smashed against it with the kind of breakneck speed that should have assured broken ribs, but somehow, miraculously did not. It would leave the nastiest bruise that she had ever endured, and her side would be tender for months, but somehow, by some miracle, she would not need to fear the consequences of broken bones. The impact did, however, force the air whooshing from her lungs and paralysed them, so that in fear she was left heaving for breath that would not come, incapable of rising and fleeing from the black death that surely was bearing down on her even now.

These terms, if she could think of them, would be considered utterly unfair by the Mambo, regardless of the fact she had begun them on her own unfair terms; to kill a wolf who was prone and could not hope to defend itself was the highest form of sin; but she could not have voiced it, not without air, nor without wits about her to think it.

Impact! It was sweet, but terribly brief; Tonravik released, and followed the creatures downfall to ensure that the girl would, in the end, die; her blood was sweet on her lips, but she truly did not tear into her as she had desired, did not rip off an ample amount of flesh. No, she was able to grab and use that grab to shove, and there was little blood to be gained at all, from that. Truth be told, Tonravik was not at all altogether sure that this was not her own blood. Perhaps it was a healthy mix. She had slammed into the other, so perhaps she had bruised her gums. In that moment, she was numb to it.

She heard the crash, and followed it to the source. Tonravik wasted no time at all; the girls flanks were heaving, and nothing was broken. That was truly miraculous, but stranger things had happened. She does not attack again, yet; she waits. She waits for the other to gather her bearings. To realize that her life was in the hands of Tonravik, now. She was close, very close; in an instant, she could be upon the other again, squeeze that vulnerable throat between teeth that hungered to break and ruin. She smells the herb that had been upon her (which meant nothing to her), but she also smells the pack she runs with. Name, she snarls, impatient now.

As she lay there wheezing pitiful breaths from her lungs, she became acutely aware of her folly: she had invited this rage by arrogantly dropping the veil of invisibility the Gods had weaved around her. As if to make this bitter defeat ever more sour, she also became aware that her obsidian was gone; an observant eye would have seen it tumble from the cavity between her shoulders when her foot betrayed her, and would see it bouncing and breaking upon the mountain's base even now, dangerously foreshadowing her own demise had Sos not swept out His great paw to save her.

Soon, the surefooted female from before descended on her, but withheld any savagery. That was fortunate; Jinx could stand her ground in combat when she gained her feet, but lain out like this, she was helpless as a babe. Tonravik wasted no time, however, in asserting her rights here, and presently pressed close -- close enough that Jinx could smell the rancid meat breath that coursed from her throat, likely the same scent of all others wolves' breath, but made worse by her circumstance. The word, a command as much as a question, was breathed against the cup of her ear and instantly ignited her pride, for she no longer gaped like a fish for air; it was drawn in deep gulps into grateful lungs, giving light to her fire once more.

"Kesuk," she hissed venomously, vexed that she had been bested by this fool. She need not stress about it; when Styx heard of what happened to her, what the savages housing themselves in his backyard had done, he would rise Neverwinter against them and dash them from existence. That was how it worked, after all, and there was no doubt it was the only outcome.