CHPT 257: Into his Mind and Under the Bridge.....

After the events that transpired in the deserted lands and canyons of nowhere he knew, Claude and his pack carried Ursula onward.

His nose led them closer and closer to the scent of water while his mind followed the oddly strong pull of nature.

By sunrise, he'd found his destination. Another forest. A forest full of strength and life to such a degree that he could've sworn the multi-colored plants and verdant tree tops were glowing in an almost ethereal manner in every direction.

It wasn't just him that took notice of the life brimming forest. Even Frosty, Gil and the Phantom Wolves had to take a moment to breathe it all in.

But, with the finding of the beautiful lush forest behind the jutting canyons that split them off from the rest of the world, came a sense of relative relaxation. A bad thing to feel after running and slaying wild goat-men all night since all that was left; was to sleep.

Despite knowing where he was headed, he still fought against the numbing pull of one being incredibly tired.

"What are her chances of survival?"

Claude's voice rang out from within the cold walls of the vine-riddled pseudo-cave/den they all slept within.

"[.....Well, her injuries are grave-- particularly in regards to the wound in the far side of her chest. The HellBreeder's tail mostly tore muscle...but it's a big hit. She's healing, but I can't say for sure how well. That is why it is paramount that you continue to feed her the blood of animals. She needs calories, proteins and vitamins. Her body needs it all. They increase your chances, that is all you need to worry about. The Gift will take care of the rest.]" Arne replied.

Claude sighed after a few seconds of silence while he tried to wrap his head around how they'd progress from their current situation. How they'd get back, how he'd help her deal with what she'd become...if they'd even be able to return. It all left him with a splitting headache.

Sleep suddenly didn't sound so outrageous. Maybe it did, but it was slowly becoming harder and harder to fight until he inevitably lost.

***

The shift from the real world to the world he entered when his eyes fluttered to a close was becoming smoother and smoother. Maybe transferring from the real to the Astral was like working a muscle and in time he'd be able to seamlessly flow from one to the other.

The idea sounded nice, but he wasn't there yet. Closer, but not yet.

An indicator of this came in the feeling of cold droplets that fell on his snout and fur in the dozens before inevitably melting in the presence of his overwhelming body-heat.

His eyes snapped open, glowing through the night like green torches looking directly at the scarce tufts of clouds above. Snowflakes fell from them in an endless white shower.

"Winter has made it's way to the Astral Realm...." He thought with a growing sense of discomfort before trying to get up.

Trying. A fitting word since failure often came with trying. Failure came with trying to get up.

The abrupt realization forced him to come to terms with the fact that his claws scooped up handfuls of the frozen ground beneath him in an attempt to at least move something while his legs dragged and pushed against the force keeping him pinned to the floor.

Fenrir didn't seem interested in making an entrance this time. Great.

".....Is there any way you can turn this dominance shit off?" Claude growled as he groggily rolled over and put everything into pushing himself up off the cold dead grass.

"....GeT sTRrrOnGeR. ThEN yOu Won'T hAvE To WorRyyy.."

Claude's head snapped to where the Wolf's voice came from and he found his giant legs blending in with the trees in the distance like fur covered pillars.

".....Working on it." He replied.

Fenrir made a short howl sound of something akin to happiness and incoming violence, "YES!....YoU ARrre woRkinG oN It!...rrrr....anD TonIghT! YouR WoRkLoAd WiLl bE qUitE HeaVY....YoU PusHeD the StOne Up tHe MoUnnnTain....yOu KnoW WhAT AwAitsssss yOuuuu nOWwww.....heheheh."

Claude didn't have to think too hard to know what Fenrir was referring to, he'd been thinking about on his own quite often.

"Yea.....I'm ready to begin."

Fenrir snarled and Claude was immediately fed the image of a giant sabertoothed wolf with eyes like the sun grinning from ear to ear, "...GoOD. TrAvErSe tHe MouNtAin aNd FaCe It'S WAlKersss...."

In a flash, he was gone. And Claude could get up without feeling like the weight of the entire world sat calmly on his shoulders.

Once on his feet, he stretched his long limbed Lupine body and shook, relieving his fur of the many snowflakes and dead grass while he steeled himself for what lied ahead.

"More power....more power to protect the pack is right on the other side of defeating them....Let's get to work." He thought before dropping to all fours and beginning to scale the moutain.

***

From where he originally stood, the mountain looked like an old impenetrable stone base, cloaked in snow and sharp fang-like rocks. Not much changed as he made his way up.

His claws drew sparks that shone like small explosions in the dark as his scraped and ripped at the mountainous terrain with each climb. He often slipped and stumbled under the wet slabs of flat ground. And when he wasn't slipping, he was banging his knees and elbows against the uneven walls and hills relentlessly. He was sure that even the most agile of feline species would struggle to traverse the stone spike of struggle he currently occupied.

Even so, his focus remained, made stronger by his will to grow. His knowledge of monsters once cultivated within the comforts of his Father's cabin didn't fail him often. And it wouldn't know. He knew a few things about the illustrious Trolls of the world, hopefully his knowledge of them could be used to his own benefit....

"Trolls...Trolls. What do I know?" He asked himself before mounting a solitary rock and leaping onto a higher level up the mountain.

"Trolls....beings originating from the mountains in the north that-- like most monsters, enjoy the taste of human flesh. They also seem to have the gift of speech-- all languages and dialects, which helps them with their games and thievery. So odd considering they have about the same IQ as a pebble...." Claude's memory fired off thoughts and factoids of the Trolls as he continued to climb.

Another level climbed...

"Despite their origins being in the mountains, in time they spread. And with their uniquely advanced magics and ability to cast enchantments, they have evolved and adapted to living in many areas. What was once a simple breed..or grouping of beings in the mountains spread. In time, Heroes and traveling humans came face to face with...hm..what are they called? Oh yea, variations. Forest Trolls.....River Trolls.....Fire Trolls...Dark Trolls...and the original, Stone Trolls. I think that's what i'll find here..." He spoke to himself while he continued onward.

***

After over an hour of running and climbing the cold stone mountain, he'd made it to where he knew he had to be. He knew so for a few reasons.

One, it was the first clearing on the mountain he'd found. Just forty foot across slab of flat stone floor with the rest of the growing mountain functioning as walls that bordered the naturally occurring ring.

Two, smells. For the first time, he'd located the strongest scent of decayed flesh that he'd smelled since he faced the Undead Giants.

And the final solidifying factor. Half eaten stones and visibly chewed-on tree limbs.

Sure, Troll's ate humans and animals like any other beast. But they also ate objects that had no real nutritional value-- at least for humans. For them it seemed that eating their very habitat kept them and their magic strong. Claude remembered his Father telling him about it along with them having stomach acids so strong that their literal breaths were..caustic.

Claude stared at the slab for a long stretch of seconds, listening to the Monster moving in the distance. It's footsteps sounded like boulders being thrown around in a slow and aimless tempo.

It was somewhere behind the rock in the clearing ahead of him. Unsuspecting and what seemed to be unprepared.

There was no point to ruin such an opportunity, so, Claude climbed again.

In a matter of seconds, he was a level above the battle ring, soundlessly traversing the area to stalk the Troll like an over-sized Mountain Lion.

He let the repeated sounds lead him to it's location, and in a span of soundless seconds, he'd found it.

To see one in real life was an experience he could never have had anything close to back when his eyes scanned over the pages of books instead of the bodies of beasts.

The very sight of it invoked revulsion in a way not many could. Not like the creepy itch one got from seeing insects, or the leg-numbing fear one felt when they witnessed a large furry natural predator. The feeling Claude got when he peered down at the seated Troll was a simple yet powerful one. Utter disgust.

As he watched it from above, the Troll moved back and forth from eating on a stone bench and preparing for battle at a table, allowing it's features to be revealed under the Moon and snowfall.

It was tall. At around nine feet hunched over if you ignored the many spikes of black stone that jutted from it's backside like mountainous natural armor. The stones erupted from it's back, arms and climbed up to it's hulking traps before disappearing behind a shaggy mane of long black hair. Hair was the assumed term to use, but it didn't look much like hair...or fur. A more accurate description would be black moss that sat on it's head like hair.

The "hair" of the Troll ran down it's neck and over it's bulbous shoulders, only ever split by it's curled and pointy gray skinned ears and the emergence of one of the ugliest faces he'd ever seen, wrapped in tough skin that resembled the surface of a rock.

The proportions of it's features were off, large and sitting awkwardly on it's face much like it's body fit in the stone room it occupied.

What he originally thought was a snout, was actually a humongous wart-littered nose that stuck from the Monster's face like a mountain. Below it's comically large nose, the creatures under-bitten jaw fought in a losing battle to stand out further than the nose, spewing out sharp yellow teeth that were cracked and dulled by what had to be an endless diet of rocks and trees.

Just as the thought occurred in his mind, the Troll popped a rock into it's mouth and began chewing it as if it were candy while it laughed and placed a poorly made stone club onto it's stone bench.

After a few seconds, he found himself leaning in with interest as small spirals of grey and blue smoke spilled from the jaws of the Monster in-between each loud chew.

"The hell?" He thought as the Troll lifted up it's club with fingers as wide as his head.

SPTOO!

Out of nowhere, the Troll spit the chewed and almost liquid remains of the stone on the flat of it's club, revealing a sheet of stone that wrapped the weapon with a glowing blue sigil in it's center.

Soon after, the warming buzz of magic washed over his fur and left him to realize one thing, "Trolls....spit runes??"

Runes. Not exact but the best way to describe the glowing design on it's club. He hadn't seen every Rune of course, but the one on the club looked strongly different in font, style and form. He didn't know what it was exactly. But he knew it didn't increase his chance of winning the fight.

As if to confirm his thought, the Troll began jumping and laughing, causing a small earthquake to take place on the mountain before it abruptly stopped and smashed the club against its bench.

CRACKKKK!

The weapon smashed through the table and hit the ground below, causing a torrent of spiked rocks to explode from the ground like a stone tidal wave.

Claude fought off a snarl, "Enchanted clubs.....fucking perfect."

He needed a plan, and only one came to him that utilized his ambushing position and assumed superior speed.

"That weapon's useless if you can't see...." He growled before sinking deeper into the darkness around them.