It was a dark and stormy night in a small village. With it being the middle of the night and the rain pouring down it was pitch black outside and no one could see a thing, nor could a sound be heard. It was the perfect night for a man who was running down the street, holding a crying child in his hand.
Though it was so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face the man had his face covered in a hood that was a part of the tan cloak that he wore on his body. The little baby, though wrapped in a bit of the cloak, was soaked and freezing to the bone. But the whiles of discomfort did nothing to stop the man and take shelter.
He made his way to the largest building of the little village and laid the infant down. He could hear a fire crackling on the inside and someone moving sound. Though he did grimace at hearing the man hum very off-key to some folk song. But he raised his hand and pounded on the door with three loud knocks.
Thud? Thud! Thud!
“Who is it?” A voice, tired and raspy sounding, asked having heard the knocking, though barely thanks to the raging storm outside, and hearing no answer went to check on it. Only after opening the door, he heard the sound of an infant crying. Looking down he saw a baby, no older than a year old. But the thing was just lying there on his doorstep wrapped in a piece of cloth.
Seeing the crying child the old man instantly lifted the baby up, flinching at how cold the poor thing felt. It felt like he was holding a lump of ice! But instead of taking the baby in right away the man stepped in the rain and tried looking around for someone, anyone really, who could have left the child.
“Hello?” The old geezer called out. But even he couldn’t hear his own voice in the downpour. He stared out into the dark for another moment before taking the baby inside.
Getting the infant changed into some dry clothes and preparing a bottle for the boy the man laid the baby on his own bed. Making sure he was wrapped up in a swaddle so the baby, which turned out to be a boy, wouldn’t roll off the bed the man sighed as he looked at the fire. He had just been looking at some tomes and scrolls before getting ready to go to bed, but now he had to think about how he was going to handle this situation.
Grabbing the cloth the boy was wrapped in he heard a slight crackling sound, which made him unwrap the cloth to find a piece of paper that had been tucked into the cloth. Probably to try and protect it from the rain, but even then the paper was soaked. But the old man unfolded the paper, and just as expected, the ink was washed away from the rain. It looked like it was a letter of explanation. But the only thing legible was the top part.
This is my son, M----ic
But the name was too damaged to make out more than the M, I, and C.
“Oh boy this just keeps getting better and better.” The old man sighed as he refolded the paper and sat it on his table.
______
On the complete opposite coin of when the story first start, years later the same boy who was found outside the door step of the old mans house was now a young man, 15 years old. Dressed in a white tunic, with brown pants and leather boots, he sat on a wall with a flute in his hand. His dark black hair combed up into spikes, kept up by a golden circlet with a green gem on it.
It had been fifteen years since that stormy night, and a storm that bad had never haunted the village again. The storm tore down houses and barns, killed live stock, and other wild things. But they never had to deal with that again.
As for the boy, whos was named Merric, he was raised by the old man, whom he referred to as Gramps, and grew up in the village. Which it was a quiet peaceful farm town, the rich soil made it so the plants grew extremely well, and they didnt have to worry about poisonous plants or weeds to boot. But Merric wasn’t trained to do farm work as he was a mage. Gramps could sense his magical power even when he was just a baby, and tried to train him in magic, figuring the boy had the be imbued with one of the six shrines. But nothing ever came from the training. But one day while he was playing around and blowing into a flute something weird happened. Now the boy wasn’t trying to do magic, just goofing off as little kids do. But when he did that the trees in the village seemed to react as he hit a sour nite, and their branches and leaves flew up.
Which seeing this surprised his Gramps, as that meant Merric was a music-craft mage. He could control nature with different music instruments. Different instruments did different things, he made this move around with his flute, made plants grow with violin, made the roots of the plants shake the earth with a drum. Which he was able to pick up thise three different instruments with ease. So this meant he was a music prodige as well as a music-craft mage, two things that obviously went hand and hand.
As Merric played his flute the tree he sat under moved its branch down and grabbed a fresh aom the tree. Holding it up to make sure there werent any worm holes in it. He took a bite, the juice of the inside exploding all over his face, making a crisp crunching sound as he bit into it. It was, as usual; juicy, tastey, and just perfect.
But as he ate the apple, taking a small break from his flute, he looked out to the wide empty plain. Sitting on the wall that surrounded the village he had a clear view of what was going on. Which normally would have been nothing. But today, taking another bite of his apple, he squinted as out in the distance he could see a group of people approaching the village. It was a large group and they were all dressed way too nice to just be vagabonds, or travelers. Heck they were even carrying flags with them!
Jumping down off the wall Merric rushed into the village and told his Gramps about it. Which he immediately jumped up and in a matter of minutes the entire town was outside of the houses, waiting for the group to get to the village.
Though it was so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face the man had his face covered in a hood that was a part of the tan cloak that he wore on his body. The little baby, though wrapped in a bit of the cloak, was soaked and freezing to the bone. But the whiles of discomfort did nothing to stop the man and take shelter.
He made his way to the largest building of the little village and laid the infant down. He could hear a fire crackling on the inside and someone moving sound. Though he did grimace at hearing the man hum very off-key to some folk song. But he raised his hand and pounded on the door with three loud knocks.
Thud? Thud! Thud!
“Who is it?” A voice, tired and raspy sounding, asked having heard the knocking, though barely thanks to the raging storm outside, and hearing no answer went to check on it. Only after opening the door, he heard the sound of an infant crying. Looking down he saw a baby, no older than a year old. But the thing was just lying there on his doorstep wrapped in a piece of cloth.
Seeing the crying child the old man instantly lifted the baby up, flinching at how cold the poor thing felt. It felt like he was holding a lump of ice! But instead of taking the baby in right away the man stepped in the rain and tried looking around for someone, anyone really, who could have left the child.
“Hello?” The old geezer called out. But even he couldn’t hear his own voice in the downpour. He stared out into the dark for another moment before taking the baby inside.
Getting the infant changed into some dry clothes and preparing a bottle for the boy the man laid the baby on his own bed. Making sure he was wrapped up in a swaddle so the baby, which turned out to be a boy, wouldn’t roll off the bed the man sighed as he looked at the fire. He had just been looking at some tomes and scrolls before getting ready to go to bed, but now he had to think about how he was going to handle this situation.
Grabbing the cloth the boy was wrapped in he heard a slight crackling sound, which made him unwrap the cloth to find a piece of paper that had been tucked into the cloth. Probably to try and protect it from the rain, but even then the paper was soaked. But the old man unfolded the paper, and just as expected, the ink was washed away from the rain. It looked like it was a letter of explanation. But the only thing legible was the top part.
This is my son, M----ic
But the name was too damaged to make out more than the M, I, and C.
“Oh boy this just keeps getting better and better.” The old man sighed as he refolded the paper and sat it on his table.
______
On the complete opposite coin of when the story first start, years later the same boy who was found outside the door step of the old mans house was now a young man, 15 years old. Dressed in a white tunic, with brown pants and leather boots, he sat on a wall with a flute in his hand. His dark black hair combed up into spikes, kept up by a golden circlet with a green gem on it.
It had been fifteen years since that stormy night, and a storm that bad had never haunted the village again. The storm tore down houses and barns, killed live stock, and other wild things. But they never had to deal with that again.
As for the boy, whos was named Merric, he was raised by the old man, whom he referred to as Gramps, and grew up in the village. Which it was a quiet peaceful farm town, the rich soil made it so the plants grew extremely well, and they didnt have to worry about poisonous plants or weeds to boot. But Merric wasn’t trained to do farm work as he was a mage. Gramps could sense his magical power even when he was just a baby, and tried to train him in magic, figuring the boy had the be imbued with one of the six shrines. But nothing ever came from the training. But one day while he was playing around and blowing into a flute something weird happened. Now the boy wasn’t trying to do magic, just goofing off as little kids do. But when he did that the trees in the village seemed to react as he hit a sour nite, and their branches and leaves flew up.
Which seeing this surprised his Gramps, as that meant Merric was a music-craft mage. He could control nature with different music instruments. Different instruments did different things, he made this move around with his flute, made plants grow with violin, made the roots of the plants shake the earth with a drum. Which he was able to pick up thise three different instruments with ease. So this meant he was a music prodige as well as a music-craft mage, two things that obviously went hand and hand.
As Merric played his flute the tree he sat under moved its branch down and grabbed a fresh aom the tree. Holding it up to make sure there werent any worm holes in it. He took a bite, the juice of the inside exploding all over his face, making a crisp crunching sound as he bit into it. It was, as usual; juicy, tastey, and just perfect.
But as he ate the apple, taking a small break from his flute, he looked out to the wide empty plain. Sitting on the wall that surrounded the village he had a clear view of what was going on. Which normally would have been nothing. But today, taking another bite of his apple, he squinted as out in the distance he could see a group of people approaching the village. It was a large group and they were all dressed way too nice to just be vagabonds, or travelers. Heck they were even carrying flags with them!
Jumping down off the wall Merric rushed into the village and told his Gramps about it. Which he immediately jumped up and in a matter of minutes the entire town was outside of the houses, waiting for the group to get to the village.