307 CHPT 307: New Scents, New Training....
Wednesday Morning, December 12th, 2240. Two days since the introduction of the Druidic Arts and Rollan's Wood-Weaving Combat Style. The Hibernating Berserker is no longer hibernating, and more so in a state of slumber. She is moving more than ever.....
The small dome of a clearing within the forest had become Claude's home. Ever since he'd begun his training in Wood-Weaving, he hadn't left.
Not for long at least. The only times he returned to Rollan's home were to secure the area and check on/bring food to Ursula. To see her so active was beautifully horrifying. She tossed and turned-- moved into more comfortable positions...she even muttered silently to herself. She was sleeping-- the deep chrysalis-like hold of the change from female Human to Magically Monstrous Lupine was no more. It was like she was simply sleeping off the madness that had taken place beforehand...the thought that he could make a sound and wake her was enough to make him mentally combust. He didn't want to risk it. He wasn't ready.
But then again, he was running on borrowed time. Two days ago she could've awakened any minute...
He kept that realization firmly at the back of his mind as Rollan oversaw his training in the Druidic Arts combat style. In the beginning it was the hardest lesson yet. But it was also beautiful. To watch your energy pour into the soil of the wild and be grown in your image....it was art in it's purest and wildest form. And the intricate beauty of it all only rose as he worked at both growing nature and making it follow his movements.
Nature mimics the Natural. Such a simple yet powerful set of words. He'd only recently heard them but he'd engaged in the practice since the beginning.
The night when he failed in saving a Village. The village Ilka had seen as a second home of sorts. She needed a Hero...he failed. And he witnessed his fail when the HellBred Arachnoid baited him into entering the final cabin. The final cabin where the mutilated bodies of men, women and children spilled from webbed sacs all around him like a murky red lightshow of gore amidst a sea of darkness.
He saw it all and something in his mind snapped a million times over in the span of a mere few seconds.
What followed was the Arachnoid's destruction, and the wild's revenge.
He remembered the way he snapped his fist shut at his oppressors-- instinctively invisioning himself having the size and power to squish them like the bugs they were in his wolven grasp.
On that night, nature mimicked the only natural in the area.
The sudden burst of trees twisted, squished and consumed the monsters whole.
He'd done it before. He'd done it often. You could say it was his go to when his mind was overcome by raw intensity and the urge to see red. In fact, he'd done that very thing on the last Full Moon.
Nature mimics the Natural.
He'd done it again in a place far from where he currently was. In the Astral Realm. During his time spent pushing boulders up mountains and failing for hours on end.
With the slam of his palms he was able to bring together a safety net of roots and vines that stopped the stoney personification of adversity from running him over and forcing him to restart once again.
The process of Nature copying ones movements was...well, natural. The trouble comes when one takes this and tries to blend it with highspeed combat....
***
Speaking of highspeed combat...
The grass within the clearing held deep groves and gaping holes like an underground serpent continually rising from beneath and rippling its way across the grassy ground above before returning below in violent fashion. Evidence of Wood-Weaving. Failed Wood-Weaving.
Claude stood behind the evidence. Blindfold over his eyes, hair hanging like a million strands of shadows ending at his chest while his tired muscles stretched his skin and the ripped remains of what were once described by many as pants.
He was tired already. But training was only just beginning.
"....Go again. Don't start weaving right away, hm? It's still.....uhhh...much too much. Try ending a sequence with a woven punch. Take it slow, Monsieur." Rollan announced from the woodlands surrounding him like some unseen god of the forest.
Claude inhaled hard and dropped into a fighting stance, no attempt to reply as he felt his muscles tense and sweat drip.
A handful of seconds past. Time to clear his mind, to take in the sight of the natural world and prepare to rebuild it in his image.
Once that was done, he was off, sending out a brutal front kick to the imaginary foe that stood in his path. He kept up his linear progression, executing punches, kicks, elbows and knees while also sprinkling in a few evades when it felt necessary.
A place of comfort welcomed him after the first series of combos. A flow state. He was ready.
After unleashing a spinning back-kick to end another combo, the second his foot hit the ground he tensed his muscles and exploded into the air.
FWOOSH!
The front-flip came to him naturally, spinning his dark world in varying shades of blacks and greens before he abruptly landed, slamming his feet into the solid earth while his right hand glowed as he reached out for the shimmering vein-like spread of the roots beneath the ground.
Time felt like it slowed as he watched a group of the roots slowly begin to connect and bind at his touch.
Without a moments more of hesitation, he twisted and sent an uppercut aimed at the clouds.
FWSHH!!
A thick spike of wood exploded from the ground, shadowing his movement.
He stopped-- thinking the set was over.
"NO! Keep going!" Rollan snapped urgently.
He had to fight to hold onto the clarity. The connection-- and split of manipulating Nature and one's own body. But once he had it back, he moved.
In a fluid motion, he dropped his fist to reset his stance and leapt, sending a jumping punch at another imaginary foe. The wooden spike followed, taking a hard turn and divebombing low to follow the direction of his fist.
SHNK!
It sunk into the ground in a flash and slithered beneath the earth before rising once again to follow as he danced across the field.
It was nowhere near what Rollan did once before. But it was new for him. He could only Wood-Weave with one hand-- he couldn't manipulate or morph the shape of his spike. But, he was doing it.
For the first time, he was successfully Wood-Weaving a combo.
Punches, elbows, jabs, hooks, uppercuts. He did it all, feeling the hold and follow of nature as it added a deadly second dose of force to each attack.
In a matter of seconds, he was coming up on the edge of the clearing. Rollan followed his ascent, muttering to himself and reminding Claude to stay focused.
More punches, more kicks. He was almost to the end.
"Come on....Come on!" He growled with each attack, feeling the woosh of wind at his right as the spike followed.
He was closer.
Ten feet.....six....five.
One more move.
FWO--
"AH!"
In the midst of performing a low elbow strike, he was so wrapped up in staying clear in mind and pulling off the attack that he didn't see the broken wooden spike beneath him and tripped.
He hit the ground painlessly. And with his connection severed, the snaking spike of wood went inert in a flash.
The scent of wet grass, cold air and his own sweat seeped into his nose with every second that passed while he laid face-down in the grass.
[+ 1 Stamina]
"[Ahhh yes. A reward for failure, how fittingly ironic.]" Arne commented.
Claude ignored his words as he pushed himself off the ground and snatched off his blindfold.
"Why the hell is this so damn hard!?" He snarled before punching off a portion of the wooden spike hard enough to send it into the surrounding woodland.
"You will do it again." Rollan said, stepping out of the forest to watch him in the clearing. A smile parted his lips and upon further inspection Claude realized he wasn't looking at him.
".....I know I'll do it again. I didn't plan to do anything else on my own for the rest of the day."
Rollan shook his head, "No."
"What?"
"Not on your own, Monsieur."
Before he could further expand on his words, Claude noticed it.
It came by breeze. The cold winds hit his skin in a flash and an array of new scents followed. Scents of wet fur, blood, rot...and Dog-- but something about it was off.
Following his discovery of the scents, Frosty exploded to his feet, nose to the floor as he trotted up the field following the scent urgently.
It didn't take long for the thicker white-tipped hairs along his back to rise to sharp points while his ears flattened against his massive snarling skull.
He was deeply alarmed-- enraged. Led by an anger that was planted deep within his DNA. Cultivated through evolution and hybridization to respond whenever the sent hit his nose.
Whenever they were near.
"[Gnolls....]"
"They're coming, Monsieur.." Rollan said.
"Yep....and they're not HellBred. They're new to this area, possibly just looking to clear the forest or pursuing the scent of Wolf...." Claude responded to them both.
He felt a territorial rage rising within him in response to the end of his statement.
"[You think they're here to breed?]"
Claude turned his head, letting his ears face the forest beyond to catch their approach. The sound was faint...a small clutter of footsteps. Naturally it was meant to deceive any new Beast Tamer with a trained sense of smell. One smells a nearby pack of Canids-- they may think there isn't too many based on the pound of footsteps. You may prepare for a small group of maybe three or four shockingly large Wolves and end up finding yourself running from eight humanoid monsters. That's where they get you. Gnoll's don't run on all fours.
He could tell from what he heard there wasn't many. Not a good sign. It's a Gnoll's natural instinct to grow a pack until they could practically participate in a war. Even Aeron-- the psychotic WereWolf pursuing evolution through cross-breeding Gnolls with WereWolves, had more at his grasp than what Claude could hear approaching. They were really low on numbers.
That's what they were pursuing. Similarly to Claude in a weird way. They were pursuing growth.
"[But the furball is....male.]"
"I know..." Claude started with discomfort, "But Ashe, Noct and Cali aren't.....they could be desperate-- drawn to the wolf-like smell of them. But I don't know. Something's off."
"[What is it?]"
"The smells are off.....weird in a way. I don't know-- but I don't like it."
Before Arne could continue questioning him, Rollan was at his back as if he simply appeared there.
Claude turned to face him, finding the dark-skinned Druid holding his Spear out to him with an excited smile on his drunken face.
"Prepare yourself, beast of beasts. This is your first shot at hands on training, no? See what you can do with your Wood-Weaving in real combat. Your training has just been taken up a notch!" He said before heading back into the woodlands with a faint green glow lining his hands.
"I shall watch from the trees.....they will never see me....only you, beast of beasts."
