315 CHPT 315: Things have Changed...

Trying to return back to the domain of slumber after having a Adolescent Magical-Dinosaur tooth thrown at you out of the blue was about as possible as Claude converting himself to a vegetarian pacifist was.

So, his day had begun a little earlier than usual this time around. He didn't mind, he enjoyed the quiet dark of early mornings. The absence of the weight that fell over life itself as the regularities of each day waged on. The lack of growing scents of blood and rot that accompanied the hours following a successful hunt under the sun. It was like the ultimate beginning. It was calming.

Calming. A word he longed to feel like a man in a desert longed for crystal clear waters.

The chaotically swirling ball of anxiety that bashed against the walls in the pit of his stomach had grown. Maybe because of the coming so close to his greatest failure, maybe because the cause of his greatest failure was possibly being chased by massive Dinosaur with an ancient aura that froze his blood solid.

Maybe for other reasons. Other-- much more different-- yet dire, reasons...

Either way, he had the cure to his symptoms, the antidote to his metal poison, the righting of his internal wrong.

It was a simple prescription that didn't need a Doctor, Witch-Doctor, Medicine Man, Mage or Healer's approval.

One he prescribed to himself every morning of every day without fail...

***

Thursday Early Morning, December 13th, 2240.....

"....So you've seen.... one before?" Claude asked, continuing his conversation with Arne in between his set of slow and methodical Archer's Pull-Ups.

The rest of the pack tore into a Buck carcass below with gluttonous hunger and territorial growls. He wasn't as hungry this morning. The space in his stomach was filled a nonphysical weight that both plagued and satiated him.

"[Yes, members of the Primal animalian subdivision are much more common in New Gloria-- but I still slayed my fair share of them in Arthuria. One of which being the Protartyrannus they're viscous bastards....even from birth. I lost a few packmates to them.]"

"I'm sorry for your loss, Arne...you sound like you enjoyed your people."

"[Indeed I did. If I was a better man it would've lasted longer.....]"

A moment of silence lay between them. As Claude continued his Pull-Ups feeling the burn in his back muscles and arms with every pull and slide across the branch, he found his mind repeatedly returning to Isaac's room in the midst of the sadness he felt for Arne.

The place was amazing. If they weren't forced to go there because of a Demon that stalked them, he would've enjoyed it more.

Enjoyed the company of people he fought beside regularly. Enjoyed Isaac's beautiful artistic depictions of the Heroes and Primal Creatures he had an interest in that matched Claude's.

He wondered if Isaac ever saw the Protartyrannus when he roamed through the Plain's in the Sunlands with his father. To witness such a raw and horrifyingly exciting sight of the Sunlands Wild's was probably an out of body experience. And at the apex of creatures living in that experience, the Protartyrannus stood alone.

A creature once known as the Tyrannosaurus Rex-- even in it's years spent as a Earthen Tier creature, it was one of the strongest. The King of the Tyrant Lizards. Early artistic depictions and fossils spoke of it's ungodly appearance-- an appearance only made worse upon it's rebirth. Twisted by Magic and hybridization to emerge from the Tangents carrying Orcish Primal-Riders that assisted in it's urge to dominate the wild.

The creature's embraced their existence in all their newly made-- yet ancient, glory as the Protartyrannus' of the New World. King of the Primals.

And now, one roamed the wilds of the Vada District in search of prey...prey that Claude just stole from it.

"Fuck..." He grunted while dropping from the branch and letting the familiar motion of Push-Ups carry him through his set.

"[What?]"

"I'm such an idiot sometimes.....I should've known. Dammit! I smelled the rot on the Gnoll, and they were running madly-- running from something. That's probably why the urge to procreate was so strong within them...they needed protection."

"[Go on....]"

"Do you know anything about their Hatchlings?"

"[The Protartyrannus?]" Arne questioned while the sounds of Claude's sweat dripping onto the grass echoed after his words.

"Yes."

"[No. We only ever encountered one, and it was an adult....an adult female if I remember correctly. But I do remember people saying their young are quite dangerous as well.]"

"That's putting it lightly....." Claude started, "Hatchlings is such a deceptive name. At that stage of growth-- they're already as big as Horses with dietary habits similar to Dire Rats. They eat everything.....garbage, wood, rotten corpses, coal, shit. It soaks into their saliva and gums-- giving them an infectious bite. At that stage, they don't even hunt like their adult counterparts. They're faster....more agile, but less devastating. So they bite....I can't remember off the top of my head, but their bite infects and incapacitates pretty quick. All they need to do is bite something once, and stalk it. It'll fall eventually. That's why the Gnoll's were running. Their leader was hurt...and death was probably only miles behind...."

Claude closed his eyes and let the memory of the Alpha's scents paint a clearer picture for him. "The scent of rot was old...as was the blood. A scent following behind the musk of human fear, urine and clean metals."

"[They hit the humans after...]"

Claude finished his final Push-Up, pressing with enough explosive force to launch himself upright in one fluid motion.

He approached a fallen log and heaved it up over his shoulders to begin a set of squats.

"I think so. They were probably still on the search to procreate.....that's all Gnoll's think about anyway. On the way, they ran into the Hatchling...being that the Alpha Gnoll was technically half PitWolf, it's natural instinct was to intimidate...."

"[Which didn't go to well for the sorry sods....obviously.]"

"Yea. Their leader got fucked up, so they fled. They must've been near a city or village....called by the enticing smells and promise of food. So, hyped up on adrenaline and the urge to preserve themselves...."

"[They unleashed hell on a nearby City. Villages rarely have Weapon or Armor-Smiths. I'm sure that traumatized a few hundred people...]"

"Definitely..." Claude agreed before rising from a squat and moving into lunges through the woodland, "I wish the one's who lost people knew..."

"[Come again?]"

"I wish they knew I carved out it's insides and fed it's face to the birds...they'd probably feel better. At least in knowing the fact that they were dead."

"[You're sounding like Maris, Claude. Don't ever tell someone that in hopes that they'll feel better. Just....don't.]"

Claude froze mid-lunge, "You're probably right, I'll tell them I ate it's face instead."

"[....Was that a joke, coolface?]"

He resumed his lunges through the woodlands, "Yea, thought I'd try something new."

"[Today really must be different...]" Arne mumbled in joking disbelief.

They continued talking and discussing the threats beyond the forest as his morning workout came to a close.

***

A couple hours passed in a flash. Arne and Claude's conversation faded as he fell into sync with his daily routine and his own thoughts became the dominant voice in the forest.

He stood in his usual spot to train in the art of Wood-Weaving. The single person clearing in the forest. It was so snug and inclusive in the woodlands that it felt almost like a room. His training room in the forest.

The smell of Gnoll blood still tinged the air like an unseen mist. The Druidic Blindfold covering his eyes blocked his plain vision, but if he focused hard enough on what he smelled, he could see a perfect replay of the match that took place only hours before. He could see their scents rolling through the grass, stomping through the forest across from him, even their blood that soaked into the soil beneath his feet like the rain of war.

With a shake, he pushed away the memory and began spinning his Dual- Spears, warming his shoulder's and wrists. Slowly climbing in speed and positions shifts until the two short-spears became twinning fan-like blurs.

Over time, blades of grass flew around him in the form of a natural green aura as the blade of his spears cleaved through the grass like a primitive lawnmower.

He stopped once the speeds reached their apex, holding the spears in front of him in a tight grip.

"I think I'm getting better...."

"[Now what?]"

Claude didn't bother answering and instead welcomed the warm green glow of his Nature Magic spew from his right hand and dance along the metallic length of his spear.

From his Natural Vision, his world of blacks and greens was a little brighter than normal. The broken half of his Short-Spears...the one that's blade was made up of twisted nature and vine. He could see it...

It was disconnected from life-- it was supposed to be dead, no longer willfully manipulated. And yet, he could see the faint glow coursing through the vein-like twist of the wooden blade that spiraled off the spears metal handle.

"..The hell?" He thought before stuffing the thought into the back of his mind as something to ask Rollan later.

Wood-Weaving required a clear mind. He couldn't do it effectively while questioning the basis of his Elemental power....much less while trying to add a second dose of complexity to the combat style.

He refocused, let the feel of Nature come back to him and his blade. He wanted his Spears to be an extension of his limbs. So, he needed to be able to Wood-Weave with them to get closer to that goal....and to increase his familiarity with the Druidic Arts.

With no more time to waste, he spun, giving his back to the end of the clearing that he was headed to.

In a single swift movement, he back-stepped while bringing his spears to his chest.

FWSH!

A spike of wood rose from the ground, following the movement of his arms.

Before coming to a stop, he spun to face the end of the forest in the distance again and began the art of Wood-Weaving.

He started out rocky, only forcing out stabs and lunges. But, overtime he could feel himself loosening. As if the power-- fighting style, was a muscle that needed warming up. He began spinning the spears, swinging and slicing in reverse grip, sliding beneath the wooden spike as it slithered out ahead of him and flipping over it after sending it ahead of him.

The dance carried him across the field with the climb in speed and comfort as the wooden tendril traced and interlocked with his movements.

The end of the clearing met him soon after, coming as a surprise from getting lost in the art. He stood facing the tree-line, bathed in the shadows while his shoulders rose and fell. The spears he held in his hands felt nearly weightless.

"SQUAWK!" The not-Raven cried out before landing on his shoulder.

"Not bad, huh?" He said to the dark avian mystery.

Another nearly ear-splitting squawk in agreement escaped the birds drilling--hook like beak.

Despite his previous success, he still felt uncomfortable...angsty..jumpy. The knot in his stomach hadn't left....in fact it felt larger. As if he'd eaten a kettlebell and it now rested in the bottom of his abdomen.

"Where's Frosty and the others?" He thought, turning in preparation to call out to his brother while instinctively grabbing for their mental Link.

His words never came to term. Not for any outwardly horrible reason. In fact, without context it was a great reason.

Frosty was excited beyond reason. His half of the link glowed and sparked with emotional power as if it were a thread of raw sunlight. But, within the brilliant lightshow, he felt confusion.....wariness...even a little fear.

CRNCH!

In the woodland beside him the sounds of collective movement rose as if they were always there and he just wasn't paying attention.

WOOSH

The winds worked their way through the forest surrounding him as the faced the sounds, carrying an array of natural scents with it.

His blood froze instantly. His skin ignited in itching flames. His mouth went dry as a desert. His ears rung as if he was at the epicenter of a devastating explosion.

The smells.....

Those god damned smells....

Honey and Flowers.....

When her voice came out, he almost didn't recognize it.....so different, yet familiar. Smooth and powerful-- now touched with a tinge of ferocity and age. He could hear it as clear as day, the difference-- the change and similarity. Even in it's hushed and fearful whisper. He'd probably hear it in the middle of a warzone...

"....C-Claude?......where..where are we?"