Ronshaud Risewell

Role-Play Origins -•-

Our story begins beyond the horizon of our sight, to the south of Loka. Past our eyes, where the Artifacts protection ends, lie a series of islands known to its residents as Steamshire Islet. The tale begins when our protagonist was just a young man, an apprentice to a gifted redstoner where his fate is still unclear.

Under the stone playing of the mechanical hub of the main draw bridge connecting the 2 largest islands the hugging of a young man is heard. He crawls his way out of the cramp space and onto the street where an aged man stands. His old eyes look down at his young students. He tips his hat to rest on his upper brow and places his wooden cane on the cobble street parallel to the wooden bridge (basically the man I am picturing is Morgan Freeman)

The man chuckles as he hands the young man a handkerchief from his breast pocket. "Now Ron, if you want to be a gifted redstoner like me you need to be able to work in small spaces." says the elderly man.

Ron looks up at his kind expression "Yes Adriel." Ron takes the cloth and wipes his brow and is relieved from the bridge repairs.

Ron gathers his tools and begins a hasty stride home. On Steamshire Islet buildings tower high, an industrial sort mixed with a warm comfort that could only be described as steampunk. It seems here that the way the houses are built that homes were stacked one on top of the other.

Ascending an outdoor stone stairwell to the 3rd level home Ron enters to see his mother, Mrs. Risewell. She is kind-like, like Adriel, old and wise. She stands next to the charcoal fueled oven and as her son enters she pulls out 2 roast chickens.

"Oh you're home," she says with a smile, "I made your favorite. How was Adriel's lesson today?"

"Good, great even. He had me try a bit at repairing the Baliton Bridge. The gear box where the redstone wiring is kept, let's just say that there isn't much leg room- or standing room."

"Aw my little Ronshaud is growing up."

Ronshaud's mother handed him a plate of chicken and he thanks her before ascending a ladder to his room. Not stopping at his room he passes to the balcony where he spent most of his time admiring the beautiful view to the North. When he finished he set his plate aside and let his hands find his pants to wipe away the grease.

Leaping the fence be crossed a small bridge which leads to a small landing platform. Attached to the platform was an airship that was barley afloat. The main mode of transportation here is either walking or an airship of some sorts. This ship Ron bought for cheap as its previous drunk of a pilot flew it into a cliff face. Ron's mentor suggested that be purchase the ship and repair it in his off time.

The shaky aircraft was untrustworthy with one person's weight, let alone 2. Taking unsteady foot steps onto the craft he sat at the main propulsion system at the stern of the ship. Spending 2 hours under the blazing sun he wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm. The blobs of engine oil left steaks of black on his already dark complexion.

"Hey Ron, still working on this heap of scrap I see." said a voice from above.

Looking up he sees a lifelong friend, "I'll have you know that this thing isn't a heap of scrap Amelia."

"Whatever you say Ron, permission to come aboard?" she says with a sarcastic smirk.

"Good God no!"

Amelia smiles and remains on the balcony connecting to her room. Ron looks up at her for a moment and returns to his work. She has very light skin, rather pale; one of the few people on Steamshire Islet to possess almost white skin. Her hair hangs loose, appearing to be dyed bright red but she insists that it is natural. Since they both matured Ron has felt differently about their relationship, but has never admitted it and can only hope she feels the same.