Royal Road
SomethingOtherThanRain
Re: Dragonize (LitRPG) by Kuiper
Chapter 11: Experimenting
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I headed back in the direction of the plateau, since that seemed like the most logical place to begin experimenting with gravity and rocks. On my way back, I kept my eyes peeled for any tortoises. While "falling rocks" could be a threat to any living creatures, it seemed like tortoises would make the most natural targets, considering how slow-moving they were: there was no guarantee that I could ambush animals like ants or hyenas with falling rocks. An object dropped from a height of around 60 feet...call it 20 meters...would take around...let's see, about two seconds to hit the ground. I wasn't sure how much of a reaction window that actually gave the would-be victim, since they probably wouldn't notice the falling object right away, but even if they weren't trying to avoid the falling object, it was always hard to lead a moving target, and I didn't have enough rocks to get away with a low accuracy rate. Tortoises seemed hard to miss by comparison: if their slow movement weren't enough, they also presented larger targets. And if I really had problems with a tortoise moving too much, I could always kill it with my [noxious breath] to ensure a completely stationary target.
My focus was on getting back to the plateau, and not searching for more tortoises (that would probably be easier once I had reached a higher vantage point), but I easily spotted the one I had encountered earlier when trailing the ant -- the tortoise that seemed as oblivious to the ant as the ant had been to it -- and I did my best to capture its color in my mind's eye, taking special notice of the way that the color and shape of its shell contrasted against the ground around it. It blended in with its surroundings pretty well, even when I knew what I was looking for. Ultimately, studying the ground immediately surrounding the tortoise was what gave me the biggest hint for identifying more like it: the shape of its shadow was a dead giveaway, on account of its uniform dome shape. While it wasn't easy to make out the silhouette of the tortoise when simply observing it against the backdrop of its surroundings, the shadow it cast didn't blend in with anything, provided the shadow was cast onto a reasonably flat surface.
Still, the "look for the shadow" approach wasn't a fool-proof plan for tortoise-spotting. For one thing, the shadow would only be smooth in situations where the shadow was cast onto a reasonably flat surface. For another, it was a marker that would become less visible closer to midday, as shadows got closer toward noon. Still, there was plenty of time in the early morning and midday when I could take advantage of those shadows.
Reasonably assured that I could find more tortoises when the need arose, I turned my attention to the rocks. I scoured the surface of the plateau and rounded up the rocks I could find. I found 17 rocks that seemed large enough to do decent damage, varying from what I might describe as "large rock" to "boulder." Those would be saved for actual ammunition. Besides that, I had dozens more rocks that, while small, were probably heavy enough that they could be dropped off the edge of the plateau and hit the ground before reaching terminal velocity. Those would be my test subjects: probably not useful for cracking any shells, but definitely useful when it came to gathering data and practicing.
I gathered a small pile of the test rocks and spent some time experimenting with the smaller stones. The hardest part, I quickly realized, was finding a part of the plateau that was a sheer drop. While the sides of the plateau gave the impression of a "cliffside," the truth was that most of it was just a very steep slope. For maximum velocity (and maximum kinetic energy upon impact), I wanted to drop my rock directly onto the hapless victim below, rather than rolling down a steep hill that could introduce the unpredictable element of friction that could send the rock off course. Previously, when looking for the ideal pathway up and down the plateau for climbing purposes, I had been looking for the shallowest grade, but now I wanted the opposite, a part where the plateau's edge was actually an overhanging angle.
I slowly worked my way around the perimeter of the plateau. As I did so, I found myself struck by just how difficult it was to find that "sheer drop" spot. Many spots that seemed perfectly vertical turned out not to be, as time after time I pushed my rocks off the edge of the plateau, only for them to roll down or bounce off the side before hitting the ground and coming to a rest.
If there weren't any spots around the plateau that were truly a "sheer drop," I might have to resort to hurling stones off the edge, or sending them on their way with enough horizontal momentum to hit the ground without scraping against the side of the plateau on their way down. That prospect didn't excite me. The smaller stones that I was using as "test subjects" could be used as proxies for the larger rocks if all I cared about was the vertical drop, but once horizontal momentum entered the picture, I had to start thinking about the exact angle I was pushing the rock from, not to mention the fact that objects of different amounts of mass would require varying amounts of force to push. And then there was the fact that the source of the horizontal momentum would be me, and exerting a given amount of effort was not as precise as simply allowing an object to drop from a given marked position. In short, an approach that relied on throwing rocks, rather than dropping them, would ask a lot more from me in terms of aiming ability, and I knew that once I started dropping the larger rocks, my attempts would be limited by the amount of material I had on hand.
After what must have been more than an hour of systematically making my way around the plateau's perimeter, I still had yet to identify a "sweet spot" that would allow my to drop objects directly onto unsuspecting victims. I was far from giving up hope -- I had only covered about half of the plateau's perimeter, with plenty more area to test, and plenty more small rocks to test with, but it was hard to ignore the fact that my hunger meter had dropped to a mere 10% satiety, and I decided it was once again time to descend the plateau in search of food. When I'd had my "eureka" moment and gotten the idea to use falling rocks as a way to strike possible prey, I had fantasized about feasting on turtle meat before the end of the day, but it was clear that this "operation free-fall" would have to be a longer-term project.
Then again, maybe I wouldn't have to give up on turtle meat entirely, though admittedly what I'd be dining on would be closer to "scraps" than any sort of feast. I returned once again to the shell of the fallen turtle from yesterday, and for the third time today, took the liberty of ambushing several of the ants that had come to feed on its remains. I also took the liberty of using my [noxious breath] to actually defeat several of the ants and dine on their remains, since the day was starting to wear long, and I still had quite a bit of SP in reserve. Each day apparently brought me back up to full stamina, so I figured it was "use it or lose it," and the ants seemed like as good a target as any for using it. After a light dinner, I was down to [4/11 SP] and [26% satiety].
I was feeling pretty good about that. Today had been a good day, all things considered. I had discovered -- if not implemented -- the power of gravitational potential energy. Well, technically, power had a more specific meaning (equal to energy per unit time) -- but it seemed like an important breakthrough and a good basis for future projects. Outside of that mental leap forward, today would also be the first day that I would be going to bed with more food in my stomach than when the day had started. And perhaps best of all, this was the first day I had lived here that hadn't ended with me being pursued by hyenas, fleeing for my life, and sitting on top of the plateau with 0 SP and just waiting for the day to end. In fact, it seemed like this might be the first day were I would run out of time before I ran out of SP.
That raised an important question: what were the limits of my wakefulness? Could I stay out after dark? All of my exploration of the valley so far had been done by daylight, but maybe I could stay out after dark. Granted, on the previous two days I had fallen asleep shortly after sunset, but it was no wonder -- I had been in a state of physical exhaustion, if my [0 SP] had been any indication of my physical capability. Sleep obviously had its benefits: it was how I recovered HP and SP, and while I was asleep my metabolism burned calories significantly slower. But it seemed worthwhile spending time out after dark, if only for the sake of learning more about the world I inhabited.
Then again, night could hold greater dangers. For one thing, it would probably be harder for me to sense the approach of predators. And there was the chance that there might be nocturnal predators lurking about, creatures that I had managed to avoid only because they had been sleeping during the day. Of course, the flip side to that was that prey could be nocturnal, too: maybe after dark, some new vulnerable critters would come out to play, and I'd be the nocturnal predator, catching them unawares.
A nighttime expedition seemed like a good way to end what had otherwise been a fulfilling day, but I didn't want to wander too far away from the safety of the plateau, just in case something unexpected happen -- and I was fully aware that "something unexpected" could be something as seemingly trivial as having trouble climbing without being able to see. In fact, the lack of visibility, more than the presence of potential predators, seemed like the real danger of being out after dark. In my previous life, I had (more often than I cared to admit) made nocturnal journeys from my bed to the bathroom that ended with a badly stubbed toe, and that was with a body that I had over two decades of experience with, sometimes stubbing my toe in rooms where I had spent years living. In comparison, what hope did a 3-day-old baby dragon have? Well, maybe it was a matter of focus. A mindful baby dragon could potentially do better than an absent-minded and groggy human.
Bearing that in mind, I decided to test my climbing ability on the side of the plateau that I was most comfortable with, testing myself by closing my eyes and seeing whether I could make my way up solely by feel. It was easier than I had expected: a big part of scaling the side of the plateau involved searching for parts where my claws could get a good grip, and I already had no visibility over my hind claws, meaning that the only added challenge of working without vision was now having to do the same thing with my foreclaws, which I had sort of already been doing to a large extent anyway: finding clawholds by feel and touch was actually more naturally intuitive to my dragon body than trying to eyeball the rock to look for good patches. I supposed part of it was due to the plateau being mostly uniform in texture, unlike a rock climbing gym that I had visited in the city of Boulder back in my human days, where the "rock" was really just a flat surface with handholds and footholds spaced out at regular intervals.
Confident that lack of visibility wouldn't prevent me from scaling up to the perch that I now called "home," I hauled myself onto that perch to watch the sun set. I was struck by the natural beauty of the sunset, which draped the sky in intense hues ranging from coral pink to deep crimson to fiery gold. It reminded me of the sunsets I had experienced back during my days in Denver. The sunset's intense colors were due to a lack of particles in the air -- not just a lack of pollution, but a lack of water molecules due to the desert's natural lack of humidity. Drier air meant less water to get in the way, and purer colors.
I had once gone on a date where I had taken someone out to see a sunset not unlike this one, imagining that the scenic vista might serve as a nice romantic backdrop. During the date, I had taken it upon myself to provide an explanation of how humidity impacted the spectrum of light that was visible to grounded observers, which was followed by a comment from my date about how my overwrought explanation had ruined an otherwise picturesque scene. (Needless to say, that experience did not lead to a second date.) But even as my mind dwelled on the nature of visible light and the various factors that affected the hues that decorated the horizon, I didn't feel like my scientific understanding of what I was seeing diminished my appreciation of it, any more than a biologist's understanding of wildlife biology diminished their appreciation for animals, or an painter's understanding of pigments diminished their ability to appreciate others' art. If anything, I felt that understanding the world helped me to better appreciate it. The person who disassembled a music box to see how it worked often came away with a greater appreciation for the handiwork that went into assembling it.
Perhaps that was the gift that Athena had given to the denizens of this world: the notifications I received each day, as inorganic as they were, provided me a window into better understanding the world that I inhabited. That, of course, had practical applications, since it allowed me to precisely determine how much activity I could engage in each day, and how much food I needed to eat to avoid starvation. But on a certain level, seeing the mechanisms that drove this world also provided me with an ability to learn about the entity that had created it. What did the properties of this world reveal about the design priorities of its creator? I was excited to find out. For the past few days, that excitement had been buried under more pressing and urgent concerns, like "not starving to death," but I didn't want to lose sight of the fact that this was still a world full of mysteries to explore.
Some of those mysteries would be large in scope, like coming to a better understanding of what drove worldbuilders like Athena, and how I might "ascend" from this world to become a worldbuilder myself, since that was apparently on the table. Other mysteries were smaller in scope, like, "What mischief might a level 3 baby dragon get into after dark?" The twilight hour was drawing to a close and my eyes were adjusting to the darkness, so now seemed like the perfect time to answer this question.
Class: Baby Dragon
Level: 3
Progress toward next level: 32%
HP: 16/23
SP: 4/11
Satiety: 18%
Claws: level 1
Scales: level 1
Mouth: level 4
Wings: level 0
Traits: Carnivore, Kin sensitive
Abilities: Sprinting, Noxious Breath
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Royal Road
SomethingOtherThanRain
Re: Dragonize (LitRPG) by Kuiper
Chapter 12: Nightfall
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As night fell, I became more conscious of the stars and moon overhead. The moon was a crescent, though I had no way of knowing whether it was waning or waxing. Okay, I guess I could have known whether it was waning or waxing if I had been paying attention on previous nights, but my night had been preoccupied with other things. Something to pay attention to going forward. The fact that this world had a moon at all was notable: given that I was no longer on earth, the existence of a moon was, like many things, something I could not necessarily take for granted. That being said, it wasn't all that surprising that this world's creator had decided to include a natural satellite to go along with it. Not only were moons a fairly common feature of terrestrial planets, but there was so much mythology wrapped up in the moon that it was hard to picture a world that featured fantasy races without including a moon. After all, what were wolves supposed to howl at without a brightly-illuminated natural satellite overhead?
I didn't intend to do any howling, but I was grateful to the moon for providing some slight illumination, which made it possible for me to see even after night had fallen. In fact, my eyes seemed to be doing a pretty good job of making out shapes, despite the lack of sunlight. I was aware that many reptiles were nocturnal and possessed the ability to see at night, and it would be quite fortunate if this proved to be a feature of my biology. That said, it did seem like my visibility was greatly diminished -- not much of a surprise there.
After climbing down from the plateau, I decided to head back to the place near where the ants' lair seemed to be, the craggy area where the shape of the rocky ground served as a distinct reminder that "igneous rock" was just a fancy term for "dried lava." If the ants liked the ground there for having lots of nooks and crannies that were easy to hide in, chances are that they weren't the only ones. Maybe some nocturnal critters were also hidden amongst those folds of rock, waiting for sundown when they could come out to play.
As I arrived at the craggy part of the valley, I moved slowly, fully aware that my best shot at spotting potential prey with my limited vision would be by looking for movement. The challenge, I quickly realized, was that the craggy and uneven terrain was extra hard to navigate under the cover of night. Most of the time, it was easy to walk without constantly watching the ground in front of you to avoid tripping, but that wasn't something you could take for granted when the ground was so uneven and unpredictable. The more I considered the prospect of trying to chase prey, or even pounce on a creature that I had managed to catch unawares, the less confident I felt.
There was, I supposed, another issue: if my goal was to look for prey, did it really make sense to try and look for them so close to home? After all, if there were critters that could safely sleep here, and they could also safely find food among the cracks in the ground, it seemed unlikely that I would ever have any chance of catching them: by the time I spotted them, they would have probably moved from one crevice to the next. On the other hand, if the critter slept in the comfort of the nooks and crannies of these rocks but found that their preferred food source was located elsewhere, they'd have to travel -- and it was likely that they'd have to travel, since areas dense with igneous rock did not seem like the kind of place where one would easily find an herbivore's food source. Granted, what little plant life I'd seen in this valley had been sparse: the only bits of greenery I'd seen were small tufts of grass and shrubs that seemed to offer more in the way of sticks and twigs than leafy vegetation, but they'd been in the sandier parts of the valley. That would be an easier place to find prey -- or maybe I could intercept some on the way there.
I moved further from the craggy ground to the sandier ground, wishing that I had paid more attention during the day to where I had seen those small tufts of grass: they would be much harder to spot at night, since the main thing distinguishing them from the rough ground was their green color. Still, I must have been moving in the right direction, because I saw rapid movement in my peripheral vision. My head swiveled in the direction of the movement, planning to track whichever sprinting varmint had just caught my eye, but there was no movement -- until there it was, sudden and short, like the movement of a creature that wasn't walking or running, but jumping from point to point. The third time my eyes saw the leap, I managed to catch sight of the creature and, more importantly, where it landed. Rabbit.
I felt the corners of my mouth turning up in a grin. I wasn't sure whether it was the prospect of a new food source, or just the surprise of seeing a creature so mundane and familiar. When I pictured "nocturnal animals," rabbits certainly weren't the first thing that leapt to mind: the word "nocturnal" brought to mind creatures like owls and bats. Of course, I was aware that plenty of ground mammals were nocturnal: after all, those owls had to have mice to hunt, and as I thought about it, I could even recall times from my days in university when I had found myself walking on the campus quad after dark and spotted rabbits on the grass. It made even more sense for mammals to be nocturnal in a desert, since foraging for food by moonlight required considerably less energy than doing so under the blazing sun, and it wasn't as if the grass was going anywhere. It wouldn't be at all surprising if most of the valley's mammalian life was most active when the sun was hidden.
I crept up on the rabbit, trying to get within striking distance, but as I got nearer, its ears twitched, and it hopped away. I was surprised by how quickly it moved: not only was its movement abrupt, but even after the initial hop, it was covering ground pretty quickly, to the point where I questioned whether I'd be able to outrun the rabbit even while using my sprint ability. After putting some distance between us, the rabbit stopped and put its nose to the ground, and seemed to resume nibbling, having found some new tuft of grass to munch on.
Again, I approached the rabbit slowly, making sure to avoid any sudden movements, but yet again it hopped away before I could get within striking range. I wasn't sure whether it was reacting to my movement or some noise I was making, but it seemed that this rabbit was not going to let me sneak up on it. Apparently subduing this rabbit wasn't going to be as simple as making a strategic pounce. I debated for a moment whether it was worth attempting to chase the rabbit with my sprint before deciding that it was worth the stamina investment. This was part of why I had kept some SP in reserve, after all. Even if I wanted to save a couple points for a potential emergency, I had come out for the purpose of experimenting.
I got as close to the rabbit as I could before it started jumping away, and I sprinted after it. The rabbit changed course to the right, and I swerved right to chase it, but it took me a moment to adjust course, and by the time I had, the rabbit had already changed direction again. I did my best to keep up, but every time I thought I was catching up with the rabbit, it would change course, forcing me to take a moment to swerve before I could resume sprinting at full capacity.
Seeing that I was getting no closer to catching the rabbit, I stopped sprinting, staying motionless as the rabbit continued hopping away before finding another bit of grass to snack on.
I should have expected this. Catching a rabbit wasn't a matter of speed, but rather a matter of agility. I assumed that the rabbit had an abundance of fast-twitch muscle fibers, but I didn't need to know anything about animal biology or anatomy to understand the basic physics of the situation: larger objects (or creatures) had more inertia and took longer to change direction. The tiny rabbit had no problem with making quick, jerky, erratic motions that I couldn't hope to match or keep pace with. Even a baby dragon was massive compared to a rabbit.
I looked down at the grass that the rabbit had been making a meal out of earlier, and I picked at the grass in annoyance. Here were completely viable calories, growing directly out of the ground, and I couldn't eat them simply because I was a carnivore. To get any nutrition from these plants I needed an herbivore who could serve as a middle-man to metabolize those plants into meat, and understandably, there weren't any herbivores eagerly applying for that position. As I started wistfully at the grass in front of me, I sat back on my haunches, entering what had become my dragon-form "thinking pose" as I contemplated my place in the universe. Or, more specifically, what ecological niche I was supposed to be occupying. While I did have the ability to sprint, my body probably wasn't optimized for that type of predation. My body was pretty far from being "cheetah-like." Of course, there were some ways of pursuing prey other than chasing it down with pure speed: some predators traveled in packs and used the advantage of numbers to corner their prey. The hyenas seemed to be quite fond of that strategy, and come to think of it, so did humans who took down large beasts like mammoths through the power of teamwork. That didn't seem like a viable path for me, considering that I was without friends, and if my [kin sensitive] trait's description was to be believed, I was the only member of my species in the area.
It seemed that my dragon body wasn't built for pursuit. That left ambush predation as my hunting strategy of choice. I wasn't sure if I was a reptile, and I suspected I wasn't, based on the availability of the [hot breath] skill I had yet to master, but it did nonetheless seem as though my form had plenty in common with a crocodile or a viper, the type of creature to silently lie in wait until prey got within range and lowered its guard. Maybe I needed to work smarter, not harder. Of course, while ambush predation had the advantage of consuming less energy while passively lying in wait, it had the downside of being extremely boring. I wasn't sure I had the patience to just sit back and wait for prey to approach me. Plus, there was the question of how to attract prey. You couldn't just sit any old place and hope that some unsuspecting critter would walk right into your trap -- or, I guess you could, if you were a spider or something, but part of the reason that ambush predators like crocodiles stuck to the water was that water was inevitably where mammals had to go to drink, and the water served as both a lure and a place to hide in concealment. But how could I conceal myself -- and maybe more importantly, what kind of bait did I have to offer a rabbit?
As if answering my question, a rabbit -- this one larger than the previous one -- hopped toward me. It waited for a moment with ears canted, before hopping directly onto the tuft of grass in front of me and starting to nibble. Apparently, I had been so still and silent while lost in thought that this rabbit didn't register me as a threat. I wasn't sure what I looked like to this rabbit under the moonlight -- maybe the dark of night was the only camouflage I needed.
The rabbit was so close that I could have reached out and touched it -- so I did, with a quick swipe of my foreclaw. My claw immediately pierced the rabbit's side and it let out a cry.
[Cottontail rabbit defeated! 2% exp toward next level]
I sat in stunned silence for a moment. Mostly, I was just surprised by how little effort it had taken on my part to kill the rabbit. I wasn't sure what I had expected -- maybe I was hoping to injure its leg with my swipe, allowing me to easily chase it down, but apparently, my claw, even at level 1, was enough to instantly kill the rabbit. Is this what they called a "critical hit?" Or was the rabbit just naturally that fragile? It seemed plausible, given the paltry amount of exp it had given. After sitting a few more moments in stunned silence, I bit into the rabbit, and finished it in two bites. I grinned. There was something about the gamey texture of the rabbit that was delightfully familiar -- even in its uncooked form, there was no mistaking that this red meat was in a different class from the turtle meat and ant remains that I had eaten to this point. I had never been one to order my steaks bloody to the point of bordering on raw, but apparently, raw rabbit meat was something that my baby dragon biology found absolutely delightful. Not only that, but the rabbit, despite its modest size, was filling, bumping my satiety up to 29%.
Now this was good living. Why bother running myself ragged during the day when all the good stuff was out at night? Daytime might be a good time for cold-blooded reptiles to be out and about, but the hot-blooded rabbits waited until night to come out and play. And why wouldn't they? There were probably all kinds of mammals that stayed out of the sunlight, coming out when the valley was cooler and they could find food without the glare of the sun beating down on them. What other mammals might there be?
I scanned around me, looking for movement that might give a hint, and without even having to turn my head, I saw a dog-sized creature walking slowly. I watched it, moving slowly to get closer while attempting to make out its form in the moonlight. There was something about its four-legged silhouette and movement that seemed...familiar. Almost like I had seen it before.
And in my peripheral vision, I saw several other creatures of similar size, walking at a similar gait, almost as if they were circling toward me. Oh, I realized. These were indeed mammals, but they were of a sort I had encountered previously. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had gotten the idea to go out at night to hunt, and as I swiveled my head left, then right, I could see more of them approaching, once again interrupting my fun.
I was beginning to get really tired of dealing with these hyenas.
Class: Baby Dragon
Level: 3
Progress toward next level: 34%
HP: 16/23
SP: 3/11
Satiety: 29%
Claws: level 1
Scales: level 1
Mouth: level 4
Wings: level 0
Traits: Carnivore, Kin sensitive
Abilities: Sprinting, Noxious Breath
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Royal Road
SomethingOtherThanRain
Re: Dragonize (LitRPG) by Kuiper
Chapter 13: Midnight Run
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I was startled by how close the hyenas had managed to get without me noticing them, but such were the hazards of going out alone at night. They were still slowly circling me, not making any kind of direct pursuit.
I had hoped that they would have learned their lesson last time. Clearly, they knew that I had [noxious breath], and even if they didn't understand the mechanism, they knew that it wasn't pleasant to enter that poisonous gas cloud. Was their intention to simply wait me out? As I scanned around me, their ranks somehow seemed even more numerous than they had during the day. I counted more than a dozen in front of me -- and at least that many behind me. Cripes. Time to make my exit.
I started moving in the direction of the plateau as the hyenas continued strafing around me in a slowly tightening circle. I wondered why they didn't just pounce on me immediately: they certainly had the advantage of numbers. Maybe they were sure that they already had me dead to rights and what appeared to be unnecessary caution from them was just a matter of them trying to minimize the risk of any casualties on their side. For me, this fight was a binary matter of survival: either I walked away alive, or I didn't. But for the pack of hyenas, victory was a matter of degree: how many individual members of the pack would risk their lives in the effort to kill me? From their point of view, if they had the choice, it was probably best for them to avoid any unnecessary risks, continuing to press their advantage, gradually tightening the circle around me like a boa constrictor slowly crushing its prey to death. Eventually, the hyenas would be close enough that any defensive move on my part could be met with an immediate pounce and bite from half a dozen of them, and that would presumably be the safest time to strike.
That seemed to be the hunting strategy that these hyenas were adapted for, and it probably served them well, if their numbers were anything to judge by: you didn't grow a pack this large without mastering the art of survival, which included getting enough food. But there was a chance that their "constrictor" approach was, much like the turtle's shell, a tool that was adapted to thrive in a world without dragons capable of spewing [noxious breath]. I was their first introduction to a new species, and they'd spent only a few days sharing the valley with me and learning my ways. Even if these hyenas were capable of learning from the events of yesterday, they were probably still faithful to their old pack instincts, which might be more the product of generations of evolutionary selection effects than any deliberate decision-making. Or, well, maybe they were just designed that way from the start. Whatever the case, it would probably be wrong to assume that these hyenas were acting completely rationally. Even the most intelligent of creatures could still be slaves to instinct and habit, fully capable of repeating a losing strategy. So, maybe the [noxious breath] wasn't a trick that would only work once. I might be able to replicate my escape from the previous day.
Of course, the fact that it might work didn't mean that it would be easy or even guaranteed to work, especially considering that the hyenas were more numerous today, and I had quite a bit of distance to cover between here and the base of the plateau. I had [3 SP] remaining: I could use my [noxious breath] attack to break their ranks, sprint to reach the plateau ahead of them, and still have one point of stamina left to use [noxious breath] again to cover my upward retreat.
Here goes nothing, I thought as I opened my mouth and let the fumes billow forth.
The hyenas closest to me were the first to begin choking, and with that, the noose that had been tightening around me was suddenly a lot lighter. However, through the hazy green cloud, I could see that I still didn't have a clear path to the plateau: the hyenas' ranks were so thick that there were still a couple of them who were beyond the reach of my [noxious breath] and ready to intercept me. Time to do this the old fashioned way, I thought, recalling my first encounter with the hyenas, back when I had been just a level 1 baby dragon with no breath attacks to speak of. I began sprinting and, rather than swerving to avoid the hyenas, I ran directly into one of them, striking with my body at an angle that sent it flying to the side, colliding with another hyena. I heard the two hyenas cry -- one of them yelping in pain, while the other cry seemed more like one of surprise, as my momentum continued to propel me forward, away from the pack and toward the plateau.
My stamina reserves were too limited for me to sprint the entire distance there, but luckily by the time I stopped sprinting and resumed moving at a slower (but still urgent) pace, I had put enough distance between me and the hyenas that none of them were able to catch up to me before I reached the base of the plateau, though I arrived only seconds ahead of them. By the time the fastest runners had reached me, however, I had already used the last of my stamina to emit one last burst of [noxious breath], enveloping me in a protective cloud. I began climbing.
Most of the hyenas began backing away, but one particularly aggressive one ran into the cloud. I heard its labored rasping breath as its teeth sunk into my tail, and I saw my HP bar flash. I grimaced in pain as the hyena's jaws tightened their grip on my tail, each individual tooth putting more pressure which grew more and more intense, until several moments later when suddenly the pressure on my tail disappeared.
[Ravenous Hyena defeated! 55% experience toward next level]
My sighed in relief. I hadn't counted on one of the hyenas being reckless enough to try and "power through the pain" of my [noxious breath] attack. It was lucky that the hyena's hit points had run out before mine had -- its continuous bite had been enough to bring me down to 5 HP. Luckily, its death seemed more than enough to deter any of its packmates from attempting the same thing, and moments later, I had climbed safely out of reach.
As I continued my climb, I could hear the discontented growls of the hyenas below. It had been hard for me to get an exact headcount earlier, with the range of my vision somewhat limited with only moonlight to see by, but I had been fairly certain that the hyenas at night were even more numerous than they were during the day, and the volume of the growling and snarling below seemed to confirm it. Apparently, my intuitions about mammals being more active at night than during the day were correct. There were dozens of them out there. I wondered if any of the hyenas that had chased me at night were any of the same hyenas who I had encountered during the day. Did they sleep in shifts? Probably.
Regardless, it seemed that night was not an ideal time for a baby dragon to be out and about. I crawled back to the center of the plateau. While the sharp, pinching pain of the hyena's bite had subsided the moment that it released its grip on my tail, there was still a dull, throbbing pain in my tail. I tried looking over my shoulder to see if I was bleeding, and for a moment, my mind considered the morbid possibility of what bleeding might mean for my caloric situation. Clearly, losing blood depleted the body of resources; could I recover some calories I had lost by lapping up my own blood? The thought was there, but I didn't have the willpower to physically do anything except collapse on the plateau, exhausted. My stamina was completely depleted, my health was down to a painfully low [5/22 HP], I was an infant who had stayed up past bedtime, and as I shut my eyes, sleep overtook me.
Class: Baby Dragon
Level: 3
Progress toward next level: 89%
HP: 5/23
SP: 0/11
Satiety: 25%
Claws: level 1
Scales: level 1
Mouth: level 4
Wings: level 0
Traits: Carnivore, Kin sensitive
Abilities: Sprinting, Noxious Breath
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