“RONAN! Get your lazy ass out of bed we have customers!” Ronan was startled and jumped up out of his bedding with such a rush, he tripped over his own feet and busted his butt, the so-called “bedding.” That was just a glorified rug with stains that God knows what they could be and a yellow and off-white sack filled with old pieces of fabric and pelt. Which somehow was comfortable and hard all at the same time. The “pillow.” Laid sloppily on the bedding. “Coming Mrs. Peren!” As Ronan picked himself up, he scrambled to get his cotton shirt littered with holes out of a wooden crate, and grabbed his dark brown trousers near the bottom, next to his only worn pair of shoes.
When he finished Putting on his clothes, he looked around. The room was poorly covered in random scraps of cloth to cover the dozens of dry-rotted holes in the wood. Papers and scrap pieces of old books and Miscellaneous hardware lay strewn and battered across the room. He almost tripped in trying to avoid stepping on the materials. As he pushed open the dilapidated shack door. The cold air sprung in and the autumn wind flew past him, the intense frigid gust made him start to shiver like a wet dog, Ronan sprinted for the backdoor of the tavern and pushed it open.
Ronan bowed down at an almost 90-degree angle “Sorry Mrs. Peren I will get to work.” Mrs. Peren his only living relative after a tragic fire, decided to help him. But in reality, Ronan was just a worker she did not have to pay. The tavern was two stories to accommodate crappy rooms for rent upstairs. and a sleazy half-baked “restaurant.” Which only had one food item on the menu, stale bread. Nobody ordered food anyway, just booze. Ronan’s days consisted of two things, being a server. And cleaning up throw-up from disgruntled customers.
But at night Ronan spent his waning hours studying magical and or applied magical theory Behind Mrs. Peren’s back. Sometimes he snuck out of the shack at night and went to a Book store named Snaggletooth’s Emporium of tomes and books. Which was currently under repair from an experiment in the alchemy lab that went wrong next door. The bookstore consisted of rows of various-sized and dog-eared books, lined on 3 rows of massive bookshelves with a small counter where the owner sits and catalogs the books by many diameters. The small building was lined up close together between similar styles of brick buildings with white grout, and various cracks in-between the brickwork; Ronan usually sits by a small nook where the bookshelves don’t quite fit together in the back. Ronan most of the time enters through a hole in the brick where a small fireplace used to pump smoke out the back, by the side of the counter but the owner feared his books and tomes would catch aflame, so it was removed.
About a year ago, Ronan’s research fruited a way to harness the Magic forces of the world without having an Engraved skeleton. The Magic forces of the world were only intended for the rich and powerful, including their knights. Because the process of Engraving a skeleton required a powerful sacrifice. Valuable metals would do the trick, but in the past people used to sacrifice many things including eyes, their blood, and even time off their lifespan, the more valuable the sacrifice the more powerful they would be in magic. Every person with an Engraved skeleton needs to make an equivalent exchange from what the sacrifice they did was, say you sacrificed gold you will have to provide gold to use spells if they know their words of power.; Every person has an intrinsic type of magic reflecting off their personality, like fire would be a loud overbearing person. But in Ronan’s research and theories, he discovered objects can be engraved along with skeletons.
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Ronan was born with a heretical disorder of increased muscle atrophy from his mother's side. Ronan appearance was quite ordinary compared to his mother; he had dirty blonde hair with curly waves, and his complexion was fair with freckles and moles lightly scattered across his body. He is 5’10 with deeply scared hands with various cuts and nicks on them, his face was more rounded with occasional sharper edges around the cheeks and eyes, and his eyes were dark brown and solemn; Ronan’s mom, Lila was a sticking beautiful woman with golden hair with a supple yet rounded body.
Ronan stumbled through the damp and dark alley littered with trash and rats scurrying behind boxes littered with different labels. And occasional spots of grass scattered the gravel floor. As he moved down the alley, it became more and more difficult to see as the lights came out of view. Ronan turned and started to crouch and slowly walk through the hole in the brick wall where the fireplace used to be. When Ronan finally came through the cavity in the wall, he let out a long sigh as he started to stand up. Ronan looked around a bit and started to quietly walk through the rows of towering shelves to the magical theory section, he grabbed a book on the second shelf from the top. He barely reached it even though he was standing on his toes, his body leaned and stretched. The book's title was embossed with gold letters with a dark brown leather cover, the book nearly weighed 1 kilogram. The book read “Charles Whitworth's theory on magical objects”. The book laid softly on his lap, as he sat in his little nook and started to turn the rough yellowish pages.
He got lost in his book whenever he started to read, he was so lost in it that he didn't hear the wooden door start to crack open with a horrid screech, as the shopkeeper started to talk to himself in a drunken daze as he mistook the library for his house. In the corner of his eye, Ronan spotted the inebriated man slowly stumbling to his chair, Ronan's heart nearly stopped at the sight of the man and started to quietly get up, lest he wake the man starting to doze off in the leather chair. Ronan got up and tip-toed ever so slightly to the bookshelf and accidentally dropped the heavy unwieldy book as his arms grew weak from carrying it. The book slammed onto the floor and made a loud snap, he felt his soul drop. “WHO’S THERE!” the man slurred in a harsh voice, Ronan took no hesitation and bolted to the door in a sprint when he tripped over the door's threshold and cut his arm.
The man picked up Ronan by his collar with ease, as he only weighed 43 kilograms. “WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN MY SHOP!” His slurring spat spit in Ronan's face and made him visibly wince. “I was just reading! Please believe me!” Ronan said in an exasperated tone “Your one of those thieves going around Arnt ya! You know what I do to thieves, do you? Boy!" The man frustrated, punched Ronan in the face leaving his nose broken. Ronan moaned in exasperated pain when the man threw him to the hard stone floor. Ronan’s breath was taken out of him, as he rolled on the floor confused, the man left him there and threw the door shut. Making the door rattle and buckle with an intensity known only as a blind drunken rage.
Ronan slowly limped and tumbled flimsily back to his room at the back of the tavern, his arm was slowly dripping a staccato of blood as his head spun with a flurry of colors and shapes. The street was dimly illuminated by oil lamps which shone an orange flickering light, as he stumbled and fell, he looked around the central street of the town. The buildings showed no light, as everyone was asleep, completely oblivious to Ronan’s plight. By the time he got back to the dilapidated tavern, he noticed something awry.
