PART XIV - IDENTITY CRISIS
Trainer Rowani gently bumped Tazrok’s arm with her staff, waking him from his dozing. Around the Ogre, the other three baby Druids were each up to three forms each. Or had been when Tazrok had fallen asleep! Wallir had received his last one while Tazrok had been napping, giving him all four now. Tazrok had still received none.
The realization that he was the only one failing began to raise questions in Tazrok’s mind. What if he wasn’t really a Druid? What if the Scryers and Tree Lady had been wrong? What if Sluggo had been deceived and would soon realize its mistake, and then melted his brain as it tried to escape from his non-Druid head?
But … no … he had to be a Druid, right? He had healed Blue Pixie after all, and Druids were part Healer, and only Healers could Heal. And he had learned Healing Berry, which Kitty Lady said only Druids could do. Thus, logicalness said he must be a Druid. So the same logicalness said he must simply meditate harder, and hope harder for Ghost Gaia to visit him. Tazrok squeezed his eyes shut, but instead of calming his mind, he could only feel an ever-approaching sense of inadequacy.
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“Come with me,” Rowani finally said to Tazrok with a sigh, silently leading the Ogre away from the rest of the group and into the woods. They walked for a few minutes before coming to a huge rock that jutted upwards to look over the forest. The incline up the boulder wasn’t steep, although Rowani assumed her panther form to make it easier for her, and the two walked to the top. They sat, looking out over the canopy of trees stretching into the distance, their legs draped over the edge. The sun was high, slightly at their back, feeling warm and embracing.
“What do you think the problem is,” Rowani asked after a long minute of quiet.
“What mean?”
“One would expect you to have at least two or three of your forms by now. So why do you think it has not happened?”
Tazrok shrugged, not sure how to answer.
Rowani looked up at the huge Ogre, seeing a storm of confusion on his face. Master Healer Tasi had pulled her aside the previous evening, providing some background on what had happened with Tazrok in the bathhouse, as well as Ogre culture and how it might factor into training Tazrok, She was starting to see why Tasi made sure to provide that information and suggested the stern approach wasn’t going to work as well, at least not yet.
“Ghost Gaia won’t talk to me,” he finally said, crestfallen.
Putting aside the fact that this wasn’t really how it worked, Trainer Rowani pushed further, using the Ogre’s own metaphor. “Why do you think she wouldn’t want to talk to you?”
Tazrok shrugged again. “Am Ogre. Am … different.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Ogres cannot be Druids, say everyone.”
“You healed the Pixie yesterday, and your Symbiote has accepted you,” Rowani pointed out. “Both show you are a Druid, no matter what people say.”
Tazrok looked at his hands, remembering the healing magic coursing through them and into his tiny friend. He remembered her muscles and skin knitting back together under his direction. Then he remembered the blood. Pixyl’s blood. So much blood.
“Druid is special,” Tazrok finally said. “Am only Ogre.”
“Can an Ogre not be special?”
“We are Warrior people. Is all we are. We are slow in head, but strong in body. Druid deserve strong in both. Are three classes in one.”
The Pantherkin cocked her head, encouraging the Ogre to keep thinking it through.
Once again, Tazrok looked at his hands, again seeing Pixyl’s blood. He saw the fear in her eyes as she looked Death in the face. What if he had been too slow? What if her injuries had been too great? What if Kitty Lady hadn’t been there? He imagined holding tiny Pixyl’s dead body in his hands, and felt a tear roll down his cheek.
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Rowani suddenly saw it in the giant’s big eyes. “You are afraid, aren’t you?”
Tazrok instinctively started to object, but stopped. As a Warrior trained, he only had to defeat the enemy, or defend the weak. It was simple. It was what Ogres were built for. Strong! Fierce! Mighty! What if that’s all he really was, and he was only barely a Druid? What if his animal forms were the wrong ones? What if he couldn’t learn to heal better? What if so many other things were wrong or he couldn’t fulfill the tasks needed of him? If any of those things were so, then so many could die relying on him to use all these strange powers that he shouldn’t have anyway. Again, he saw Pixyl sitting on the ground, covered in blood with fear in her eyes, as he desperately tried to calm himself enough to help her.
“Yes, am afraid,” he finally said, using all of his courage to utter even that single word.
“Hmmph,” Rowani grunted. “That is good, then. I would be worried if you were not afraid.”
“Am Ogre. Should not fear anything.”
“When I was a cub growing up, my mother wanted me to be just like her,” Rowani said, starting a story. “She was a Scholar, as was my father. They taught me of books and art and music to prepare me for my future. When the day came that my class was revealed, my parents, indeed my whole family, were shocked to know I was … different. For me, I was plunged into a class like nothing I had been prepared for.”
Tazrok looked down at his Trainer, resonating with the story.
“So, I ignored it,” Rowani said with a shrug. “None in my family wanted me to be a Druid, and I was content not following that path. But one morning, I woke to find I had learned Mend Wound, and now I really couldn’t pretend I wasn’t different.”
“What happened?”
“I sought out another Master Druid, because I needed to learn what was really happening to me. She took me in, became my mentor, and showed me that my class was not a curse. In time I became who I am today. But I remember, the very first time she made me use Mend Wound on someone truly injured. I was so scared! It was a farmer who had been hurt by a bladed farming tool of some kind; huge gash across his stomach. There was so much blood ... so much … screaming.”
Tazrok wiped his huge hand across his already-dry eye as he listened to the story.
“I did it though,” Rowani finally added with a smile, patting Tazrok on his leg. “I completed the casting, and did a far, far worse job than you did yesterday. Unlike your Pixie friend, he ended up with a huge scar on his belly that he carries to this day.”
“How end up as Trainer?”
Rowani smiled. “In time, she taught me much. I returned to the village I grew up in and became a local healer. Didn’t like it, though, so I became an Adventurer for many years. A few years ago, I was Conscript Cursed, towards the beginning of the war, even though I am old by most opinions. I did some time on the line as a combatant, some more with the combat medical teams, and finally came here when asked by Xera to be the Trainer. It was only then that I received my Symbiote. Being an adventurer and then serving my Curse had already made me Gold Tier, and I quickly reached Platinum as I began my work here.”
Tazrok nodded, taking in the story.
“Your problem, Tazrok, isn’t your class,” the Catkin said, pointing to her own head, “but your mind. You must not just accept you are a Druid, whether you want to be or not. You must accept that being one doesn’t make you less of an Ogre, nor less of a Warrior. You also must believe you are worthy of it. You are lacking in confidence, just as I did when I found out I was a Druid, because you’ve never imagined you could be anything other than what you knew.”
Tazrok stared off over the forest below him, drinking in Rowani’s words.
“I have little doubt you are a great Warrior,” the Trainer continued. “And all that you have learned is valuable. After all, part of the Druid hybrid is Warrior. Now, though, you can be more. There is no need to be afraid.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, continuing to be warmed by the sun as they listened to the sounds of the world. Slowly, Tazrok digested all the words Rowani had shared, juggling them in his mind as he tried to make sense of it all. He was three classes in one, he understood that. But had he truly accepted it? His thoughts drifted to Callie Gnome, all that she had been through, and how she seemed simply to accept the world around her. What had she said? That she might end up a bad Ranger, but she was going to do the best she could, and he would be the bestest Druid he could be, even if he wasn't good at it? Is that all he needed to do? Just not fear these changes and do his best? Could he do that?
“I understand,” Tazrok finally said. He held out his hand, palm up.
HEALING BERRY
He formed the power he had unlocked that morning, and in his hand appeared a pale light, quickly replaced by a small piece of red fruit. Immediately, though, the berry lost its shape, collapsing into a gooey, sticky liquid that slipped through his fingers, falling to the ground far below.
“That was …” Rowani began to say.
“... really bad,” Tazrok finished with a grunt of laughter. “Really, really bad.”
“I was going to say, ‘a noble attempt’,” Rowani said laughing as well. “But you’re right, that was absolutely terrible.”
Tazrok laughed again, flicking the remaining goo off his hand to the forest below. “But, will get better,” he said, turning to his trainer.
Rowani wasn’t sure if he meant the spell, or if Tazrok was referring to himself, but she put her hand on his arm and said quietly, “You will.”
Together, they rose, Beastkin and Ogre, teacher and student, mentor and newling, and in silence began their walk back to the meditation grove.