CHPT 365: Ruminations, Resolve...

Wednesday December 24th, 2240.

Since Claude's wildly eventful Saturday night and Sunday morning, the days blew by in a blur as if time was hurrying to pull him away from the enraging memories of what his birthdays now meant. He continued to stuff it down, but combat pulled everything out of him as if all his shrouded traumas were metal beads and all the Skeletons, Kobolds, Lizardmen and Ghouls were one giant magnet. They pulled it all to the surface and he gave in every time until he could practically feel the discomfort in the rest of his pack by the end of their first Infested Area only hours ago.

But, he would get better, he had to because Ursula's first full moon was only days away. He would endure for her and himself. Just as he promised the unnamed the graves of the Night Runners back in SkyHaven.

Speaking of cities, he'd found his Library upon their return to posing as Heroes for power. A little wooden box of a building on the far south end of FeliAlu City hidden beneath the shadows of the High-Walks that snaked through the labyrinth of a city topped by all manner of fearless folk who used the Old World train line as a walkway.

But. That was all he found. FeliAlu City was centered around Heroes. Production and consumption. Their strong-suit wasn't information because realistically, that wasn't where they'd find profit. That wasn't what people came for. Claude and Ursula learned that the second they stepped inside the small building. It wasn't even as big as the Library back at the University of the Phoenix.

He found nothing on the form of Divine Tampering he was planning to engage in. Certain things were similar, but nothing was what he needed....as if nobody had tried it before. That left him with little else to do but take a risk.

A risk he'd taken with baby steps. They were well within the night of Wednesday, and Frosty was back with Rollan. Sleeping, only waking to gobble down monstrous amounts of food to sustain the heavy change he was undergoing and embrace his change meant to work congruently with his natively known Orcs. Beings who also consumed ungodly amounts of food.

As a PitWolf in the wild, he would only wake to hunt with his pack, but that would cause the rate of Evolution to slow. Going from three days to five....or even a week in it's first phase. None of them could afford his absence for so long. So, he stayed circled in an abundance of animal carcasses secured in the base of an oak tree that had become his den. The way many PitWolves evolved when under the command of Orc Tribes. And when he'd awaken to voraciously consume flesh and bone-- much like his Tangent-Born Orcish counterparts, Claude had and would be there, giving him a piece of Fenrir's fur. A piece of a gods very being.

Piece by piece. Day by day. And everyday, he'd give the PitWolf a larger serving, building his tolerance to the foreign power. Hoping that their wolven connection would blend the power of both to make something effective. The same way men and women could acclimate themselves to holding Thor's Hammer, or Brigid's Lock of Fire-- something he'd only recently read about.

Although, it was still very different from what he was doing. After all, he was doing what the psychotic genius turned WereWolf, Aeron was working towards.

Absolute evolution.

Claude only hoped they differed in enough ways for him to find success instead of a broken neck.