[7:55 PM] Lawls: A crack of lightning is seen in the distant as the woman hurried up to the large tower as the baby, due to the lightning, decided to cry.
"S-Sh... It's okay...."
The women in a hood placed her hands against the babies lips as the small brown haired baby grasped at the hooded womens hand. She tried to hold back a sob, It didn't work. Tears ran down her face as it matched the weather. A teardrop fell on her sons clothes as she held him in the bag. She tries to stop the tears by wiping her face on the ragged excuse for a hood as she hummed a simple tune
"Hm... Hmmm hmmm..."
This made the child laugh and smile up at his mother. As she placed a hand down to the boys lips.
"...I'm..."
The women cannot finish her words as she places the basket down slowly down to the door as she gets out a crumpled sheet of well made paper. Tears run down her face as she pulls the hood over her head as she knocks on the door loudly, the brown haired boy not stopping his cute smile from stopping. Instead can be heard chatter of who would be knocking at this hour of the night, the slightly above average height women looked down to her son
"...S-Sorry."
As she said this, her feet ran as hard as she could. As she ran away from the large tower, a women came out of the tower looking down to the baby with a surprised look.
A baby!?
The women quickly picked up the basket and before noticing the crumpled note which read
'Valentinus.'
[8:00 PM] Lawls: The brown haired male grumbled in his sleep, leaning into his wyvern. His dream being a haze when he wakes. Forgetting his past 'memories'
[8:01 PM] Lawls: ===END SELF RP===
[5:47 PM] Rompastomp: The forest is dying. Luscious greens and earthy browns adorn the scene, flora thriving with ease in this thick section of the Kurong, but even the sounds of insects are few and far between. A youthful wyvern, one of the Kurong's kind, perches in the fork of a shady tree, his eyes scanning the canopy eagerly.
Where are you, Mother? Over a day has passed, and still no sign of you. If you were not as strong as you are, I would have gone searching for you by now. I am afraid I can wait no longer. The worry is too much to bear.
The sound of a bird's wilting cry of dismay is his only answer. The wyvern grunts in anxiousness, spreading his wings wide. He throws his jaws wide, and shrieks aloud.
Mother! Where are you?
No answer. Even the bird stays silent, in fear of the primal power behind the wyvern's desperate cry.
...It is settled. The search begins.
With no further ado, the wyvern drops from the tree, throwing his wings open and catching the damp air beneath him, falling into a graceful glide. He dodges between trees with impressive speed for his size, his destination in mind.
Hold, Mother. I come.
...
...
...
Time passes. The wyvern flies high above the trees. He swoops low to the ground, searching the forest floor. No matter what he does, his mother's whereabouts are a mystery.
Where could she be...? I have searched everywhere, and no answer comes to me! I refuse to accept this! She must be somewhere... Could she have left the boundaries of the Kurong? Flown to the neighbouring villages?
[5:47 PM] Rompastomp: The wyvern stops himself in midair, his wings blowing a mighty gust towards the trees ahead, shaking the leaves and branches wildly. He banks right, towards the villages in question. As he makes his way through, the trees begin to thin out. They grow shorter and shorter, the leaves taking lighter and lighter shades of green, until he breaches the edge of the forest, and enters the clearing. What he fails to notice in time, unfortunately, is the grouping of leather-clad huntsmen passing beneath him. One of them, a colossal brute, skin bronzed and holding a menacing oaken hammer in both hands, cries in delight, pointing towards the flying beast.
"Ha! Look! It's our lucky day, men! Fire!"
Before the wyvern can react, the clouds above group together in a foreboding, thunderous heap. A sharp shriek pierces the ears of the huntsmen below, as a bolt of magical lightning slams into the startled beast. He crashes to the ground, crushing one of the slower hunters beneath his weight. The huntsmen waste no time in throwing a net over his head, pinning him down and dazing him with a quick blow to the skull with a mallet.
W-What is happening? Who are these humans? What is their plan?
A weak roar escapes the wyvern. He receives a sharp kick in the side of of the jaw for his efforts, as the giant-esque man crouches before him, staring the beast in the eye.
"Now, now. Settle down, lizard. You've already felled one of my best men, you don't want to give me another reason to crush your skull and be done with it."
A ratty, unclean young man, minsicule in comparison to this hulk of a man standing above the wyvern, interrupts.
"S-Sir, we should really move the wyvern. Wilks might still be alive under there..."
The brute raises a hand for silence, and the underling obeys.
"Kid, a wyvern just dropped on him from about fourty feet in the air. He's dead, no questions asked. Now, piss off and let me savour this moment."
The ratty man nods, trembling, and speaks no more.
[5:47 PM] Rompastomp: "Now, lizard. I don't know if you can understand me. The locals say you're intelligent enough, so I'm going to go out on a limb and tell you what's happening next. You stay nice and peaceful, and we're going to get along great. I'll take you to your new home, and I'll make an absolute fortune off selling the rarest wyvern in New Patria. After that, you'll never have to see me again. Kick up a stink, and, well, I guess I'll just have to teach you some discipline in advance. I'm sure those circus lads will appreciate it."
The wyvern glares up at him, and speaks in its own tongue, weak and weary.
Disgusting oaf. Is this truly what you humans are like? Perhaps the tales Mother told me of your savagery are true.
The brute laughs crudely, spittle landing on the captured wyvern's face.
"I don't have a fucking clue what you just said, but it sounded absolutely feisty. Well, I've got news for you, lizard..."
His arm is raised, and his finger points towards the village.
"The last one of you giant, fuzzy bastards we captured was just as fiery. A sword to the gut and a hammer to the skull fixed that up nicely. Unless you want to end up like her..."
A vicious, earsplitting screech escapes the wyvern, pure hatred in its tone.
Mother! That's... That's my mother! You savage bastard! I will tear you limb from limb and savour every last drop of your inbred blood! I will--
CRUNCH.
"Fucking hell... They get loud when they're pissed, huh?"
"...They sure do, Sir. ...A-Are you sure it's still alive?"
A dry chuckle from the brutish man.
"Hope so. I have a habit of breaking toys. Let's get it back to the town. I'm sure Mr. Randall will be pleased with this haul. Imagine the gold we'll make... Hell, we could even start our own circus with a beast this rare!"
"Let's just hope it doesn't end up dead like the last one..."
"Oh, shut it. You aren’t getting 1000 gold per catch to question my methods."
"U-Understood, Sir..."
[5:47 PM] Rompastomp: ==============================================
[11:42 PM] Rompastomp: "Come on, you useless gits! Get to work! Elstrom is still an hour away, and I don't have time to waste whipping you idiots into action!"
Deckhands scurry about in a terrified rush, keeping themselves as busy as possible to avoid the wrath of their captain. Said man is a stout, bald, tan-skinned man with a gaudy outfit of high class and a lengthy, orange beard that descends to his stomach.
His slaves refer to him as the Ringmaster, a furious little man with a temper befitting a branded bull, and comparable ferocity. Slamming a cat o' nine tails against the mast beside him with fury, his beady eyes scan the deck of the ship for any sign of fatigue or weakness.
One slave makes the unlucky mistake of stopping for breath, the mop in his hand completely ineffective against the wild sea-spray that results from the waves crashing into the ship's hull. Within seconds, he is screaming in agony as lash after lash leaves itself marked in his bare, sunburnt back, blood trickling from the fresh wound and mixing with the seawater pooling about his hands and knees. The Ringmaster standing above him roars in frustration.
"Time is money, you worthless lummox! Don't feel like mopping up the spray? Fine! You can mop up your own blood instead!"
With one final lash, the man collapses, fainted from the cruel punishment and lack of rest that all his fellow slaves have been forced to endure for this entire trip. A spark of true anger flashes in the Ringmaster's eye.
"Right, that's it. Scum! I need two of you brainless runts, now!"
Out of breath and near exhaustion themselves, two poor souls stumble to the Ringmaster's aid. Turning to them, the dwarf-like Ringmaster bellows his orders:
"This slug is fodder for the wyvern! I have no use for broken tools!"
[11:42 PM] Rompastomp: The slaves gulp. They know their orders are sickeningly immoral, but more importantly to them, they also know better than to question the Ringmaster's orders, lest they suffer a similar fate. With grunts of effort, they grab the fainted man by the arms and legs, lift him to their waist height, and carry him to the prow of the ship, just beside the foremost mast, in the shade of the sails.
No slaves dare step foot on this part of the deck. Most walk around it, and those who don't quickly learn the error of their ways. Laying beside the mast is a starved, desperate and fearful wyvern, covered in unhealthily brown fur and eyeing the slaves with a panicked gaze. The slaves stare back, not with pity, but with empathy. Wyvern or slave, both are nothing but means to an end in the Ringmaster's mind.
"...One. Two. Three..."
And with no further ado, the near-lifeless body is tossed weakly towards the wyvern. It lands with a meaty thud before the beast, who eyes it with suspicion. The slaves immediately return to their work, passing the Ringmaster with nothing more than a passing nod from the stout man. The captain's stare is focussed on the wyvern, observing its next actions.
"You wanted lunch, huh? That why you're so goddamn lazy, not putting on a show for the audience? Well, there it is. Eat up!"
The wyvern icily glares at him, with a look that could very nearly kill, before turning its attention to the slave laying at his feet. Said slave is slowly regaining his senses, groaning in pain and fatigue as he gathers his bearings. He shakes his head. He pushes himself to his knees. He looks around, and comes face to face with the wyvern.
The wyvern is hungry. Does he feel pity for these slaves? Yes, he does. He abhors the method to the Ringmaster's madness, and despises the man with all his soul. However, without a meal, he is sure to starve and die... and if the wyvern dies, his species dies with him.
So he makes the only choice he can.
[11:43 PM] Rompastomp: The dying screams of the man ring in the ears of all who witness the slave's tragic end, in the fangs of the wyvern. The Ringmaster watches on with glee, wringing his hands together in satisfaction.
"Good! Maybe I'll throw you some more slaves. See if that motivates the rest of them to pick up the p-"
"Sir! Sir! There's a-"
The incoming slave, frantically yelling at the captain with all the energy he can muster, is greeted with a prompt backhand from the stout Ringmaster, causing him to drop the crude telescope he clutches.
"What did I say to you scum earlier!? Speak when spoken to! Will I have to hang you from the mast, as a reminder?"
The quivering slave bows his head numerous times in apology. He fumbles the telescope in his panic, but manages to keep hold of it.
"S-sorry, captain, but it's urgent!"
"Oh, is that so? Worth wasting my time, is it? Well, out with it, and I'll string you up after I hear what you have to say!"
"Sir... There's a ship on the horizon, and it's not flying any flag! It's approaching us, rapidly!"
"What!? Give me that, you slug! Where are they?"
The captain snatches the telescope from the slave's hand, and upon receiving directions in the form of a shaking finger outstretched towards the horizon, he gazes through the telescope. What he sees matches the description the slave has given him perfectly, and the ship is approaching more rapidly than anticipated. Without warning, a ball of magefire comes screaming towards the ship. The trajectory looks completely off, and it goes at least twenty feet above the Ringmaster's head, causing him to bellow with laughter. Only when he turns around and spies the mainsail blazing furiously behind him, does he cease.
"Well, bugger me..."
Tossing the telescope aside, the Ringmaster begins to frantically bark orders to his men.
"Slugs! Wake up my men! Gather the weapons! Get that sail down and put it out! Be quick about it, or I'll gut you before these bastards can even board!"
[11:43 PM] Rompastomp: Minutes pass.
The Ringmaster stands as tall as he can manage, ahead of at least fifteen gruff, scarred, heavily armed men, all of whom bear a bloodthirsty expression and a sharp blade. Behind them, dozens of weak, hungry, pathetic slaves clutch at cheap polearms, looking just as fearful of the men before them as the nearing foes that they can hear between the Ringmaster's pauses for breath.
"Men, slugs, all of you! I have been informed that this sorry band of hijackers is, in fact, a notorious band of pirates native to the isles to the west! They believe we are an easy target, just another merchant ship on their way to Elstrom! Another pile of gold and jewels to pilfer, and another group of defenceless merchants to slay with ease! Is this the case, men?"
The armoured men shout in tandem.
"No, Sir!"
"Are we going to hand over our lives? Give up our prosperity, and throw away our hard work?"
"No, Sir!"
The Ringmaster draws his weapon from his belt. A heavy, jewel-studded hatchet, as deadly and cruel as its wielder, it glints in the afternoon sun. There is no doubt in the mind of his underlings that, by the end of the day, it will be coated in the blood of pirates and slaves alike.
"What do you say we kill them all, and take their ship for our own? Does that sound like a plan?"
"Yes, Sir!"
The pirate ship sidles up alongside their own, and man after man leaps the gap, crude axes and blades in hand. Upon the pirate ship, a row of mages summons a formidable wall of flames before both ships, leaving neither vessel with an escape route.
"Kill, or be killed, men! Now let's let them have it!"
The Ringmaster charges headlong towards the oncoming swarm of pirates, followed by his men, and a veritable army of slaves who serve as fodder. The ensuing battle is bloody, brutal and unforgiving, the pirates mowing down slave after slave with ease, but finding themselves stuck against the sheer power of the Ringmaster and his men.
[11:43 PM] Rompastomp: Whatever weapons aren't buried in the neck or chest of some unlucky man clatter to the ground as their wielders fall lifeless into a pool of blood. The Ringmaster screams with laughter as his hatchet cleaves pirate after pirate in two, like a hurricane in his ferocity and wild abandon, even the occasional slave falling victim to his vicious strikes.
The wyvern is panicking. He pulls as hard as his tired, malnourished body can against the chains that constrain him, but to no avail. Body after body piles up around him, balls of flame singing his fur as they shoot across his back, no doubt fired by a frantic mage with no target in mind.
The pirates seem to have noticed him, and they stay well clear of his jaws. None of them make any attempts to injure him, as they are unsure of the wyvern's allegiance. Chained or not, there is no reason for them to let him free, and his pleading gaze is met with brief glances between scuffles.
That is, until luck finally takes his side.
A ball of magefire, intense and deadly, barely misses his tail. Instead, it melts straight through the chains restricting his wings and feet, leaving the wyvern free to move. He collapses forward onto his chest, surprised by the sudden lack of restraint, before spreading his wings wide. With a cry of relief, he charges headlong towards the safe side of the ship, barrelling over anybody that stands in his way, and leaps off the deck into the open sea air, eager to escape and never return.
The Ringmaster bellows in fury. His rarest possession has just escaped, and he is losing the battle for the rest of his belongings. His slaves are dying en masse. His men are slowly dropping, one by one. His ship is burning, and the pirate's own is slowly drifting away, deeming the loss of life too significant to continue the hijacking.
That wyvern is mine. It's the key to my prosperity, my future. And if I have to cleave my way through all the pirates on this ship alone and swim after it, then so be it.
[11:43 PM] Rompastomp: =================
[11:06 PM] Lawls: Valentinus tossed and turned in his sleep, something was bothering him but he wasn't conscious enough to figure out what it was. He just laid there, on his wyvern dreaming up something fierce.
[2:16 AM] Lawls: "Who is coming at this hour dear?
The women, holding up the basket was speechless. She looked out to the rain and saw nobody, Just the rain pitterpattering onto the ground as she closed the door and headed back inside
"Uh... Nobody just uhm..."
Olivier didn't know how to explain this... A baby, just left at her door as she... No. This... This couldn't be a sign... Could it?
"A baby."
Adams closed his book with a magical thud he looked back with an eyebrow raised
"A... Baby?"
He got up and looked at the brown haired blue eyed baby, before shifting his attention to the quite rough but surprisingly ornate music box.
"Yes... Val- Valen...Tini-ess?"
The librarian and professor was never good with names ironically enough.
"Valentinus."
The headmaster sounded it out for her as he looked unimpressed, Like always.
"Take him down to the orphanage. They'll take care of him."
Adams picked up the ornate music box and began to hold his hand up, a shroud of purple mist comes up as he analyses the box. The baby reaches up and attempts to grasp the purple smoke like substance
"..."
The women looked down to the small innocent being, with a heavy heart
"What if... A person left this for me... You know how w-... I have been trying for a baby... Maybe... It was our guardian angel."
The professor realised how ludicrous she sounded as she looks and puts a finger down
"...Valentinus..."
Adam looked back with an unimpressed look on his face, the unimpressed look faltered and weathered away at the sight of her dreams coming true... He kept his harsh nature
"No we-"
The women interupted him
"He was left here for a reason Adam. If they wanted him to go to an orphanage, they would of dropped him at an orphanage..."
[2:16 AM] Lawls: Already connecting to the small child, the women kept her resolve strong as she looks towards the headmaster, The headmasters magic falls back to his hands and he inspects the music box while giving an answer
"...Fine. I cannot track anyone back to this music box, so... I guess they really wanted there tracks hidden."
...They wanted u-... Me to take him in... My guardian angel...
The women thought as she smiled and looked back at the baby
"Well... Give the music box a play."
The male nodded and span the music box, a familiar sound came out of the https://soundcloud.com/lawls-982910/nostalgia-of-a-kurong-rider
Valentinus reacts with a yawn as he smiles off to slumber. Reminded of the women who just hummed this tune just a few moment ago.
[2:17 AM] Lawls: The rider nudged against his mount as he continues to dream as trees drape over him. Hiding the newly rising sun
[2:17 AM] Lawls: ====
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