33rd of Saun, 718 - Cycres
A soft sound filled the early morning, it's ponderous crashing a constant methodical tone which roused Baptiste slow from a light sleep. The distant crash of waves was something most in Cycres did not notice, the town's distance from the sea making them but a whisper, the kind of subtle sound that older ears struggled to notice and younger ones paid no attention to at all. Baptiste had always loved that soft sound, and even as a boy he had found his mind filtered out all other sounds - calming his often scattered mind, allowing him to sleep when nothing else could. In truth it had been at the suggestion of his mother, her urging of him to listen to the waves a frequent and fond memory of his; Baptiste sometimes wondered if the sound of the waves truly reached all the way to Cycres at all, and if his mind hadn't simply filled in the blanks at the behest of his mother's soothing voice - years prior he had decided it did not matter, the sound was soothing for him and that was all that truly mattered, real or imagined.
Sitting up from his bed Baptiste stretched his sore muscles, rolling his neck and shoulders and standing slowly. He was thinly dressed, his athletically built upper body exposed and his powerful legs covered only by a dangerously short pair of undergarments. Baptiste had a morning routine, and almost like clock work he had set out to do it; another trick he had learned from his mother, to help his mind settle she drilled routine into him and soon the pair had began to share a simple morning routine that bemused Baptiste's father. A morning stretch, including squats and deep splits followed by caring for one's teeth and ending in brewing some morning tea; his mother always insisted to go through the early parts of ones day on an empty stomach. Baptiste never knew quite why, but it had become a part of his routine and so he did it in an effort to dull his wandering mind - it worked, for the most part and Baptiste had found as the years went on that the mornings were not the jumbled mess of thoughts and groggy, unkempt suffering that it had been in his youth.
"Thanks, Ma." Baptiste muttered to himself, lifting his tea glass toward a nearby window which faced the direction of his parent's home. He made a mental note to go see them sometime soon, because he knew before the arc came to an end he would not see them again - his body, mind and spirit would not abide it any longer, the subtle sound of the sea which always pulled at him called more and more each year as if the tide was slowly dragging his mind away. "I suppose I should head out." Baptiste mused to himself, setting the cup down on the chest near his bed and quickly pulling on his Biqaj styled clothing, ending with the red duelist's shoulder cloak.
He hurried out the door, waving to his elderly neighbor as he walked down the road rather quickly, his short powerful legs making deceptively long strides down the streets of Cycres. Soon the dock's came into sight, the deck hands and traders milling about even in these early hours of the mornings. Cycres sat on a river which opened into the sea, making it a common place to moor ships for resupply and grab repairs, Cycres famed for their shipwrights first and foremost. "Oi, Baptiste. Here to sketch the ships again?" A gruff looking elderly man asked, his eye patch and attire making him look a bit like a story book pirate, though none ever dared tell him so, river warden's rarely enjoyed being likened to pirates. "Not today, Claro." Baptiste said to the gruff man, his hand patting the larger man on the back as he headed toward an empty dock. Claro had the right of it more often then not, Baptiste frequently sketched the ships as they came and went hoping to gain some inspiration for one of his own design; but that time had ended - his design was complete at all last!
At the end of the empty dock stood a man dressed far finer then anyone else, his eyes focused on some paper work he had clipped to a board in his grip. "Not now, Mr. LePaute, I have already said once you pay I will give you permission to build a ship at dry dock." Baptiste drew a bag of gold from his hip, placing it atop the clipboard the dock manager seemed so focused on. "Paid." Baptiste said, a cocky winsome grin plastered across his good looks. The dock manager looked up at Baptiste with a genuine smile on his own face, sliding the gold into a pocket hidden somewhere under his finery and motioning for Baptiste to lead the way toward the dry docks. "So the time has finally come, has it boy? You've been coming down here, waving your sketch book in my face about the ships you would build since you were no taller then my knees." The dock manager mused, his mind recalling the days years ago - clearly a fond memory of his, no matter how he pretended to see Baptiste as a nuisance. "I finished the design last night, all that is left is to collect the materials and build her. I imagine by the middle of Vhalar I will be setting off." Baptiste said, his eyes almost focusing as he pictured himself setting off on the greatest adventure his chaotic mind could imagine.
Soon the pair had arrived at the dry docks, a section of land to the west of the docks themselves where a dozen or so ships sat on stands being repaired or built anew yet to even take their maiden voyage. "This spot is yours, good luck Baptiste. Everyone at the docks is excited to see what you are planning." The dock manager said, laying a gentle hand on Baptiste's shoulder as he did. After a friendly goodbye was shared between the pair Baptiste looked down at the stands set in the spot meant just for him. The first step had begun, a great leap in it's own way but also barely a crawl in others - for twenty seven arcs he had dreamed of this moment, and yet now that he had it he couldn't help but almost feel overwhelmed! In truth, Baptiste knew he was little more then a novice in the art of ship building; his father was far better suited to the task but the stubborn Baptiste had made a promise to himself.
He would sail the seas on a ship he designed himself, and which he constructed himself and himself alone! Baptiste was not a deeply religious man, but Baptiste hoped that U'frek would guide his inexperienced hand and allow him to build a ship which he could be truly proud of; and even if he could not, at least allow it be sea worthy enough not to kill him at the first sign of a storm. Baptiste offered a soft internal pray to U'frek for guidance at that thought, his mind equally cursing Chrien and hoping he would avoid crossing path's with any such misfortunes as her domain. No matter what happened in the future, the path Baptiste had promised himself as a child had finally begun and like a constant reminder the soft sound of the sea filled his ears, soothed his mind and told tales of the arcs to come.