Everard Pruitt's Training Grounds

(Strength, 185/150)

Everard had been wandering through the forest for quite some time. So long, in fact, that he'd travelled right through the city and out into the swamp. He stared down at his claws and wondered if he was still what he used to be, or if he had regressed, and become clumsy and untrained. Only one way to find out. He realized, staring at a bleeding heart tree grove beside him. Stepping over towards it, he readied himself, spreading his base. He let out pointed exhales with each punch. Even if breathing wasn't necessary, the action came instinctually, like a memory of sorts.

The motion hurt more than he'd remembered. He stared down at his soft flesh, seeing the traces of blue blood along his knuckles. A realization ran through him. He was completely untrained. Again. he added mentally, even if he wasn't quite sure when he'd been trained before. He didn't need to know why that statement was correct to know that it was. He wouldn't stand for this. He'd have to bring himself back up to where he was, this time by himself.



(Defense, 162/150)

He'd have to become more resilient, of course. That had been made quite obvious. He back up at the tree, sucked in his breath, and pummeled it some more. Every punch hurt, every impact had affect. Everard stood back and tried to stop breathing. How far had he fallen, that this was so difficult for him? It was utterly disgraceful. Had you been stronger, you could have fought them. Had you been stronger, you could have protected her. Instead, you were cast out. His vulkiln nuzzled into him with a worried sort of sound. Everard's eyes opened slowly, and as he did, any trace of a memory faded again, leaving nothing but a bitter sort of taste in his mouth. He breathed in, and with renewed vigor, set to pummeling the tree again. He didn't know why, but something inside him recognized every punch as a part of his penance, one step closer to righting wrongs, and paying his dues at last.



(Accuracy, 151/150)

Everard looked up at the fruits on the tree. They were rather high up. He could climb the tree to reach them, of course, but staring beside him at a cluster of glow grapes, he got a better idea. He pulled a pawful off of the vine, squinted up at the branches, pulled his throwing arm back, and hurled the glow grape forwards. It fell short by quite a bit. He blinked once, shook his head, and tried again. The same thing happened. What was going on? He tried again and again, finding different sorts of arm positions, trying to find a position that would let him throw as far as he needed to, and slowly re-calibrating for his current strength, coming closer to the fruit each time. One particularly close throw sailed just over it. That throw was followed by several near-misses, until finally, finally, Everard smacked the fruit down.



(Endurance, 157/150)

He turned it over in his claws, studying his prize with a satisfied look, before popping it in his mouth, shell and all. The whole thing was a pretty bad idea. He bit down on it, sending all of that juice running down his thoat in a rush of liquid and energy. It was a truly dizzying amout. His head spun, he began to twitch and jitter. It was too much, especially all at once like that. He grabbed at his head, curling his claws around his horns. Even his ears were twitching. He fell to the ground, a mess of erratic energy. He breathed in and out, faster and faster, maybe just to be doing something. He spat out bits of shell, and finally, finally, managed to stand up. Slowly, the energy settled, more concentrated and controlled. He breathed in slower and slower, head slowly steadying, and he managed at last to stop doing so entirely.



(Movement, 193/150)

I can use this. Everard realized with a start. He rushed around the tree in circles, spinning and spinning and spinning, exhaustingly fast, but his legs didn't tire. A grin spread across his face. I just need to direct the energy, and I can harness it for my own purpose. He widened his circles, until he was rushing around the entire grove, eyes wide, grin spreading. He stared up at a tree and leapt at its lowest limb, attempting to clamber up onto it. He fell at first, but kept at it until he finally sat there. He didn't rest there. He didn't even stop to steady himself. He just kept going, rushing up limb after limb. They started to thin out, and his position became more and more precarious, and yet he didn't stop, not until one of them cracked beneath his weight and he tumbled down, only barely managing to catch himself on an overhead limb. At that point, he began to ease himself down, still a bit too fast, but at least not in quite as precarious of a position, until he reached the ground at last.



(Agility, 159/150)

Everard rushed to the ground, and something sparked up in him. He rushed down headfirst, tucked in and rolled over his shoulder, and stood up again. It was a familar motion, and if he had been in a state of mind to stop and think, maybe he would have wondered why. However Everard was still caught up in that frantic rush of energy, and was very much not. He repeated the motion. It came clumsily at first, then more and more polished, until he was moving forwards in smooth, practiced motions. The energy was slowly starting to fade from him, and the rolls started to become sloppier again, as his movements became more and more akin to stumbles, but beyond all that frantic energy was a stubborn sort of determination, a need to become what he used to be. He persisted relentlessly, past the grove, and further on, almost stumbling into the swampy water on more occasions than one.

(Health, 154/150)
He didn't stop until he physically collapsed. His vulkiln rushed over, nuzzling into him. He looked up at its worried face and patted it gently. And yet still, he fought to try and stand again. The vulkiln fought him, pushing down against his side.
"I mustn't stop now.. I.." Everard drifted off, unsure of what he was even going to say. His thoughts were muddled and tired. He was completely drained. At last, he stopped pushing against his vulkiln.
"No, you are correct. I mustn't press on... I'm not use to anyone if I can't even stand up." The vulkiln lifted up, hovering beside the exhausted purple dino. Everard's eyes drifted closed. All the tension slowly seeped out of his body. Training could continue later. He still needed to take care of himself. The ghost of an axiom flitted briefly through his mind, then faded down to nothing, and at last, Everard fell asleep.