294 CHPT 294: One Abrupt Realization, One Historical Title...

After ridding the field of Monster carcasses for a good portion of the morning and saving an adolescent bird of unknown origin, there was nothing left to do. No more side missions, no more changes in direction. All that was left was the main focus.

The newly changed. The hibernating Berserker nestled within Rollan's home made of tree and vine. Ursula.

Unlike Claude, who didn't feel the burn of the Full Moon until weeks after he'd been changed, Ursula experienced it partway through her transition. And as Rollan said in a cryptically surprised tone, it had done something. She moved, she did things. Things she hadn't done since entering her coma like slumber. Anything different from simple sleep was attached to a nightmare of possibilities that set Claude's nerves on fire....the results could either be good, or absolutely horrible. But even the good was tied to the bad. The transition from human to Monster was scarecely every described as "good."

And even if Claude's mindset on the word had changed drastically. This was still something he believed. Something he tried to rip from his thoughts as he followed Rollan towards his home.

The walk felt like it lasted forever. Like the home that stood at the center of the field in all its twisted and ligneous glory was both too close and too far. Like a mirage.

His anxiety climbed as he neared, feeling the cold blades of grass tickling his feet while the pack followed and the bird watched through partially glowing beady eyes.

"...I'm not sure how....it's like it was never even...." Rollan kept rambling in disbelief through slurred and accented words that slowly blended into a dull hum on Claude's ears as they closed in on the house.

For the first time it looked close, now looming over them like a giant wooden spike while its branches reached out forming shelves in the upper canopy the held the heads of Monsters Claude still questioned if Rollan killed himself.

Rollan continued rambling as he turned partially, in an attempt to ask Claude a question before freezing mid step as if he'd just remembered a new development in front of him would obstruct his path.

"Oh yes. I think you'd like to see this, Monsieur." He said, slowly backing away from a spot in the grass and stepping aside, watching calmly as Claude approached.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Claude asked as he came to a stop beside Rollan.

The man chuckled and shook his head, "I'm the blind one, Monsieur. Use your eyes, it's quite easy to find, no?"

He dropped to a crouched beside Rollan mumbling as he searched, "Are you the blind one? I don't know any blind people who build wooden statues or collect demonic weapons."

"Search." Rollan repeated.

He growled an unintelligible reply while he ran his hands through the lush grass. He didn't know what he was searching for, so he focused on everything. The way the dirt lightly gave way under the pressure of his hand, the highspeed melt of every snowflake that hit on his fingertips, the cool scent of earth beneath the rising smell of vegetation. It was all normal until he examined the ground closer to his feet.

Five holes. Something that would've been insignificant until he took a large inhale through his nose. He would've smelled it eventually, but being so close made it easier.

"She was here..." He whispered.

Rollan nodded beside him, "Oui, Monsieur. I found her out here when I returned. Had to work like hell to get her hand out of the ground. Woman's got some grip, hm?"

Claude fought off the light shiver climbing up the base of his spine as he slid his fingers into the holes.

"That's more than grip strength..." He thought, feeling the size and shape of the holes. When he closed his eyes and wiggled his fingers, he could practically see her hands....bulked up, veiny, shifted...nails like meat-hooks sinking into the cold ground with an unnatural level of ease. But most importantly, the sheer space his fingers had within each hole. The sheer size of each clawed finger.

"Anyway, let's take a look inside. Come on." Rollan said, drawing Claude away from the sight before he could think anymore on it.

Arne stayed as quiet as a mouse...

Rollan moved the rest of the way with no obstacles in the form of large claw markings or scents littering the grass and approached his home casually before swinging the door open.

Without even entering the home, he knew something was off. The scents of honey and flowers grew exponentially and hit him like a gust of scented wind that had been waiting eagerly to exit the house. She'd been moving around, but he didn't need his nose to realize that. Entering the house and looking around proved to be more than sufficient for evidence of what his nose communicated to him.

As soon as he stepped inside, the feeling of violence singed his skin like a white-hot chilling miasma. It radiated like a physical icy flame from the tiny scratch marks that marred Rollan's walls and his moved table-- moved with so much force that the floor beneath looked permanently damaged.

"It was thrown....." Rollan said from beside him.

"What?"

"She threw it...the table. Luckily I was able to fix it, or else you'd be protecting my home quite a bit longer, hm?"

Claude sensed the joking tone in the man's voice, but he felt no humor within himself as he looked around the damaged room full of Ursula's signature smells. They swayed and cluttered in places, as if giving his nose a picture perfect image by image replay of what she'd done.

He followed the scents, mimicking the mannerism of Frosty, Gil and Ashe as they did the same. All ending up facing the door where the scents were strongest.

Rollan's door. A slab of polished wood that looked professionally crafted-- but not professionally protective. Without testing his strength, Claude knew he could break down. Hell, if he could break down the door of a train in the Darkways while fighting off a Vampire, then he could turn the door he currently faced into dust.

Meaning Ursula could do something very similar. And yet, she didn't.....despite all the old ferocity that lingered within the room.

Instead of shattering the door, all she did was leave it scored with thick gashes. Dozens of them. Slashes and deep cuts making x's and other shapes with the claws she once had under the Full Moon.

"[...Despite all this bizzareness, I'm sure of one thing.]"

"...."

"[She was in a Lunar Trance-- meaning the Moon now affects her completely.]"

He didn't have to say the end. Claude knew what Arne was implying. He kept it in his mind as he approached the hammock she slept in.

She would wake up as a Lupine. He was sure of it now as his eyes scanned over her body that was once littered with slightly infected gashes. Now they were merely light scars on her tanned skin-- tanned skin that looked noticeably tighter like the frame it wrapped had lengthened in every way.

Even her hair was changing. Not drastically. But, as he looked at it, now flowing down her shoulders instead of tied up in a tight pony-tail, it was less brown and slowly becoming more of a dark auburn. A color both icy and ablaze.

The number of small changes were shocking, but not as much as the sight of her shoulder and upper chest.

"It's gone....." He whispered.

"Just like that." Rollan said with a snap of his fingers.

The most grave of her injuries. The very thing that might've killed her if not for Rollan and Arne's help. It was gone, now sitting between her shoulder and chest as a particularly nasty scar. But that was all that remained.

He could almost pass out in relief as he watched her sleep. Deep within her, the magic of the Lupines was blending with her own....and it was working.

"[As I said, Claude. She's strong. She will make it.]"

Claude grabbed her calloused hand, wiping away the dirt that lined her now human nails while he replied to both her and Arne. "Yea. Looks like you'll get those answers sooner than later...hopefully you'll understand."

Rollan suddenly coughed, reminding him of the man's existence before adding, "Speaking of answers, I need some, Monsieur."

***

Following the mornings events, that's exactly what Rollan received-- answers. As a matter of fact, they spoke for the entire day.

Claude did his best to explain what his life had become without spilling any minute details for his own safety. He still didn't know enough about Rollan. But, his answers seemed to do the job and Rollan found enjoyment in the story of Claude Grey. Socially awkward and weak kid turned Shape-Shifting Monster and speaker of the beasts on a hunt for revenge.

By the end of his story, Rollan easily was able to infer Ursula's involvement. The interested close friend that dug too deep only to eventually submerge herself completely without a moments hesitation.

As he spoke, trying to hide the pain that laced his voice during certain events, Rollan nodded along as if it all was completely normal and mundane. It made getting the gist of it all out that much easier.

So easy in fact that in the blink of an eye, the sunlight that broke through the window of Rollan's home and splashed over Ursula's hibernating frame had vanished and been replaced by early night starlight.

Soon after, they'd faded into a content silence while Claude looked over the not-Raven and kept it from taking out Frosty's eye.

"You know, Claude.....it's not bad. Not bad at all." Rollan suddenly said from across the table while his head moved as if his blind eyes were scanning over something behind him.

"What's not bad?"

"Out there. Your work with Nature, it's very good, Monsieur. You have...hmmm what's that word? Ah, yes. You have real power, Monsieur. I'm sure your teacher back at your human school is proud, no?"

Claude shook his head, causing the bird in his arms to nip at the long strands of his hair that shook like snakes in response. "No. I don't have a teacher. They're kind of a rarity where I'm from I guess."

Rollan nodded as if he wasn't surprised. At this point, a Dragon Egg could fall between them and he'd talk as if he knew it was coming. "That's understandable, no? Your element upon being Reborn is decided by which it is that you feel safest within...as well as which calls to you in it's truest form. Very few feel safe in the wild knowing what resides within it's shadows."

It was now Claude's turn to nod, "Good point. Still sucks."

Rollan laughed his usual stiffly booming and croaky laugh as if the sound was coming from a wooden throaty slicked by alcohol, "I'm sure it does...."

He laughed some more before shaking his head as if shedding the laughter physically. When he spoke again he was more serious but the lines of laughter still lined his smooth yet weathered face, "You know, Monsieur. You don't ask good questions."

Claude was confused by the curve-ball, "The hell are you saying?"

Rollan shrugged his bony shoulders, "I said what I'm saying, no? You don't ask the right questions, young man. Like when I showed you the Armaments, hm?"

Claude leaned forward until strands of his shadowy hair loomed over the table, "What about them?"

"What was it you asked me? Something about being a...a HellKiller-- DemonSlayer..no not that..."

"HellSlayer." Claude corrected.

Rollan lit up at the response, "Yes! That one."

"Well, are you?" The words exited his mouth before he could control it.

Rollan chuckled to himself while he shook his head, "You see what I mean? That is not the focus. That isn't the question you should be asking, Monsieur...."

Claude huffed angrily, "Then what should I be asking?"

"Allow me to ask a question first." Rollan said before adding, "How did I respond to that question?"

"Shit..." Claude grumbled before sifting through the memories of their conversations in silence over the span of two minutes.

After a while longer and with Arne's help, he'd remembered. It didn't seem that important at the time, but now he understood.

He suddenly looked up from the table, watching the blind man closely, "You said, you only go by one title."

"Hmmm." Rollan nodded, "Now, ask the right question, Monsieur."

"What title do you go by, if it's not a HellSlayer...?"

Rollan sat up as straight as a branchless tree, "It's a simple one really. Without a name, I am simply a walker of the forest....a tender of the plants, a wielder of the oak and a student of all worlds and religions. Some people call our kind vagrants..priests...cultists...judges-- or teachers. But, as you know-- I will only ever wear one title. My name is Rollan Ligneore, and I'm a Druid. I believe you can be one too, Monsieur la bête."