Ilvermorny NPC
This is a thread that is used to submit applications and updates for iNPCs in Ilvermorny.
Restrictions to Creating an iNPC:You can find an up-to-date roster for this school here: viewtopic.php?t=17010 If you notice anything that is inaccurate, reach out to an admin (a Head of House, the Deputy Headmaster or the Headmaster).
- Ilvermorny has very few half-bloods, but they have many purebloods, wizard borns and muggle borns. You cannot create an Ilvermorny iNPC that is a halfblood.
- Any iNPC that you create needs to be the same year as you are presently.
- Any iNPC that you create must be fully human.
Application for iNPC Updates:Name: Nothing from the sacred 28, no plagiarizing names from other fandoms.
School: Ilvermorny
Year: Must be the same year as you are presently.
Status: Muggleborn, Halfblood, Wizardborn, Pureblood
Appearance: Please give a short description (at least 2 sentences) about what they look like and provide an avatar or a banner that shows their physical appearance. This picture or avatar is what you would be using in your posts where you are posting as your iNPC to clearly indicate that you are posting as your NPC not your PC.
Personality: Please give a brief description (at least 2 sentences) about their personality. If their personality is that they are a 'crazy person' or some sort of psychopath with a long list of disorders... please make a new personality because it will not be accepted. We do expect the personality to be something that can interface with other players and if they do have a mental or a physical handicap that it is done by a well-informed writer that will do so respectfully.
History: We are looking for at least 200 words describing their history. This is their life, their family. Their upbringing. This is separate from their personality and their appearance. This is not their ambitions or aspirations, this is the story of their life and the story of their life being reduced to a mere few hundred words should not be able to give their life justice. We want a well-thought out character. Please remember, they do not have awesome special powers that nobody else has. We do need a few sentences on their first magic as well.
Is your character a Broom Racer? This applies if you are any of the four schools. Players with an already created NPC from can state that their iNPC is a broom racer. Your sport choice (broom racing, quidditch, dueling) for your NPC can be the same as your PC. This is a binary YES/NO.
Is your character a Quidditch Player? This applies if you are any of the four schools. Players with an already created NPC from can state that their iNPC is a quidditch player. Your sport choice (broom racing, quidditch, dueling) for your NPC can be the same as your PC. This is a binary YES/NO.
Is your character a Duelist? This applies if you are any of the four schools. Players with an already created NPC from can state that their iNPC is a duellist. Your sport choice (broom racing, quidditch, dueling) for your NPC can be the same as your PC. This is a binary YES/NO.
Stats: They should add up to what you can have for your year if you were human. So if you have a Veela player character, your NPC does get the full stats you would have had if you were human. Wins from games (quidditch, broom racing, dueling) by your player character or NPC are also applied to your other account.
Abilities: To be accepted they must be written out fully and approved. This is a full application.
Note: You do not need to apply for aestethic changes of your character post, you can update that at your leisure.NPC Name:
Link: link to NPC page
Year: list the year your NPC should be
Stats: if you're updating stats, please put your stats here
Abilities: if you're applying for a new ability, please add that here
Extracurricular: include if they are a duellist/quidditch player/broom racer or none
Content Changes: Any updates to history/personality/etc will go here. Please provide detail on what exactly is changing and why.
Trunk Coding: please place here any special coding you want for your trunk. keep it simple
This is the "Game Master" account. Please do not owl this account, unless specified. This account is not moderated actively and therefore, you may not receive a response.
Contact a Head of House or the Headmaster if you need anything.
Ilvermorny NPC
Name: Artemis Cora Desrosiers
School: Ilvermorny
Year: First (soon to be second)
Status: Pureblood
Appearance: (FC: Olivia Rodrigo) Artemis has dark brown hair that falls just past her shoulders. She has deep brown eyes, and very tan skin, which is expected since she lives on the coast of California. She's fairly tall for her age, standing at 5'2, she weighs about 103 lbs.
Personality: Artemis is a huge extrovert. She talks to everyone and wants to be everyone's friend. She's always very happy and loves to make other people happy. She's very optimistic about everything, always looking for the brightside even when things are rough. Artemis definitely has ADHD, she can never sit still and never stops talking, which would often get her in trouble with teachers. But she's a very sweet and kind person so the teachers never hated her.
Reducio
History:ReducioArtemis was born in South Dakota, on April 14, 2012, to her two parents, Lewis and Ella Desrosiers, when they were both 24. Artemis has two older twin brothers, Nathan and Mason, both are fourteen years old. Nathan and Mason are both in Horned Serpent while Artemis is in Thunderbird. Their two parents were both in Wampus, and they met in their first year and became best friends until in their sixth year they started dating and later got married just six months after graduating from Ilvermorny. Artemis' mother, Ella, doesn't work and instead spends most of her day at her parents house, helping them out and just being around for company. Before Artemis left for Ilvermorny, she would also visit her grandparents most days with he mother. Her grandfather is from America but her grandmother is originally from Germany, but she moved to America in 1980, when she was 24 years old. She met Artemis' grandfather within a year of living in America, they got married in 1987 and had Artemis' mother, Ella, in 1988. After Ella and Lewis graduated in 2006 and got married, they decided to move to South Dakota together and have a farm. With their magical abilities they lived easily off the land, but when Artemis was nine, the family recieved news that Ella's parents' home had burned down while they were in Texas for Ella's cousin's wedding. Ella and Lewis decided to sell the farm and relocate the whole family to help her parents find a new place to live, and to be close by in case something like that happens again. And so Artemis was forced to leave everything she had known, which of course would give her a good reason to be upset. So upset that when her parents told her that they were moving that when she started crying, her tears turned her pink dress blue.
After Artemis and her family moved to California she began being homeschooled by her grandparents, since her parents were always busy. Her grandmother, Ellen taught her German, which she learned to be fluent in, and used it as a secret language to talk to her family with.
Is your character a Broom Racer? No
Is your character a Quidditch Player? No
Is your character a Duelist? No
Stats:
Stamina | 7
Strength | 7
Evasion | 6
Wisdom | 7
Arc Power | 6
Accuracy | 7
Abilities: Fearless
ReducioArtemis grew up with two older brothers, so she learned to toughen up pretty quickly. They weren't mean but they'd always tease her, make fun of her favorite shirt, and comment on her haircuts, (her mother, Ella, would often cut it short at Artemis' request because she didn't like having it always in her face.) Even the animals on her farm knew how to get to her, the horses would throw her off just as soon as she got on their backs, the chickens would peck at her hands and cluck loudly when she tried to grab their eggs, and the cows would walk away when she tried to milk them, only letting her parents or brothers do it. And it wasn't just her brothers and the animals who would push her around, when her family would go into the town near their farm this kid would always find her and bully her until she cried. He was Artemis' brothers' age, and his name was Marcus Miller, and even to this day, hearing that name makes Artemis angry. There was no reason for Marcus to be so awful to her, maybe he sensed she was different, or perhaps he just was a bad kid. Whatever the reason, he would always single out Artemis, and even though she had other friends in the town, they were too scared of him to say or do anything about how he treated her.
When Marcus would find her, he would say awful things to her, asking if she was a boy because her hair was short, or if she was adopted because both of her parents had light brown or blonde hair and blue eyes, and both of her brothers looked like her parents more than they looked like her. If she had a toy with her, Marcus would take it and destroy it, that would often be her breaking point and she'd run off crying to her mother.
One day they went into town again and the same thing happened, just like it always did. Marcus would show up, say nasty things to her, and make her run away and cry, except this time was different. Marcus decided he wanted to give her a better reason to cry. So while he was taunting her and saying mean things, he picked up a rock and threw it at her. He was good at throwing, and it hit her in the arm, causing her to scream and run to her family. When her brothers, Nathan and Mason, heard what had happened, they went up to Marcus and started pushing him around, yelling insults at him, asking him to tell them why he would go so low as to pick on a kid younger than him. After that, Marcus never bothered Artemis again. When she would see him in town he wouldn't even make eye contact with her and would just shuffle away quickly.
After that Artemis decided she wanted to be able to stand up to bullies and be like her brothers. So the next time one of the horses tried to buck her off, she held on with all her strength to stay on until the horse accepted it, and when the chickens would peck at her, she'd just smack them away, and when the cows tried to walk away she'd tie them to the posts tight enough so they couldn't go anywhere. And when her brothers would pick on her as they always did, she had just as sharp of comebacks for their petty insults and taunts. She learned not to be afraid, because fear is just a feeling, and just like any other challenge, you can overcome it as well.
Pending June 7 (Lear)
Your stats total 35, you are graduating so they should be 40.
Last edited by Alexandria Clark on 7 Jun 2024, 16:52, edited 1 time in total.
“If you don't believe in any kind of magic, or mystery, basically, (you're) as good as dead.”
Ilvermorny NPC
NPC Name: Elias Travers
Link: the luckiest duck
Year: Second Year
Stats: Current: Sta 8 \ Eva 8 \ Str 4 \ Wis 8 \ Arc 2 \ Acc 5
NEW: STA 9 \ Eva 8 \ Str 4 \ Wis 8 \ ARC 3 \ ACC 8
Abilities:
Ability:
's Grace
WC: 413/400
Extracurricular: none
Content Changes: N/A
Trunk Coding: none atm
Link: the luckiest duck
Year: Second Year
Stats: Current: Sta 8 \ Eva 8 \ Str 4 \ Wis 8 \ Arc 2 \ Acc 5
NEW: STA 9 \ Eva 8 \ Str 4 \ Wis 8 \ ARC 3 \ ACC 8
Abilities:
Ability:
's GraceWC: 413/400
Reducio
Elias is a lithe and slender boy, light in weight and on his feet compared to his peers. Through a lifetime of having to constantly be on his toes in case anything he couldn't hear coming snuck up on him, he's become as quiet as the silence that permeates his being.
On any average day in the Travers household, you will hear three types of footsteps: the loud, purposeful strides of Brendon and Lance, the quick pattering or tapping of Parker's urgent migration from kitchen to office, and the ever so soft footfalls of Elias. He oft wore socks, further muffling his steps to the point of almost perfect silence.
This proved problematic in several instances. While at school, it was oft hard for Lance to keep track of his charge, especially when Eli first transferred. A mop of brown hair, average height for a young boy, it didn't really stick out in the hordes of other elementary children. There was no distinctive voice or sound to follow either. If Elias hadn't been so sensitive to Lance's presence, the young man would have probably gone gray by now. While at home, Brendon and Parker would experience spikes in anxiety so often it would seem both had an anxiety disorder (which may be the case with Parker, but I digress) due to how often they simply couldn't find him. Calling his name was not their best option, nor could they simply listen out for him. He was simply a silent boy trapped in a bubble of noiselessness.
Over the winter holiday of 2023, this "talent" or quality of Elias came to extreme light. One would expect, even with a quiet lad such as himself, Elias' return would rock the temporary new world his parents had found themselves in since his acceptance and departure to Ilvermorny. One would expect them to hear his steps with new clarity, but he surprised them more than ever. He would enter the silent office of his mother as she poured over her QuickBooks and tap her on the shoulder, causing her to jump clear out of her chair before laughing and signing You sneak! You scared me!
In New York, it was doubly so. Both parents kept vigilant watch on the boy and tried to keep a physical connection, holding hands, a hand on the shoulder, whatever they could, at all times. They were terrified of an accidental slip away that would lose them their precious son forever.
On any average day in the Travers household, you will hear three types of footsteps: the loud, purposeful strides of Brendon and Lance, the quick pattering or tapping of Parker's urgent migration from kitchen to office, and the ever so soft footfalls of Elias. He oft wore socks, further muffling his steps to the point of almost perfect silence.
This proved problematic in several instances. While at school, it was oft hard for Lance to keep track of his charge, especially when Eli first transferred. A mop of brown hair, average height for a young boy, it didn't really stick out in the hordes of other elementary children. There was no distinctive voice or sound to follow either. If Elias hadn't been so sensitive to Lance's presence, the young man would have probably gone gray by now. While at home, Brendon and Parker would experience spikes in anxiety so often it would seem both had an anxiety disorder (which may be the case with Parker, but I digress) due to how often they simply couldn't find him. Calling his name was not their best option, nor could they simply listen out for him. He was simply a silent boy trapped in a bubble of noiselessness.
Over the winter holiday of 2023, this "talent" or quality of Elias came to extreme light. One would expect, even with a quiet lad such as himself, Elias' return would rock the temporary new world his parents had found themselves in since his acceptance and departure to Ilvermorny. One would expect them to hear his steps with new clarity, but he surprised them more than ever. He would enter the silent office of his mother as she poured over her QuickBooks and tap her on the shoulder, causing her to jump clear out of her chair before laughing and signing You sneak! You scared me!
In New York, it was doubly so. Both parents kept vigilant watch on the boy and tried to keep a physical connection, holding hands, a hand on the shoulder, whatever they could, at all times. They were terrified of an accidental slip away that would lose them their precious son forever.
Extracurricular: none
Content Changes: N/A
Trunk Coding: none atm
Almost dead yesterday, maybe dead tomorrow, but alive, gloriously alive today
Ilvermorny NPC
NPC Name: Stephen Nobler Schwartz
Link: To Infinity and Beyond!
Year: Fourth
Abilities: Muggle Condition (WC: 955/400)
Content Changes: Stephen is now pursuing a private, secondary curriculum taught to Muggles his age (his magical studies always come first!) through intensive tutoring while at home during breaks and long distance learning/tutoring while at school. His father agreed to it because his son had finally gotten through to him that his dream was to attend the Air Force Academy (USAFA) and later to become an astronaut. He saw no way to make that happen other than to plead for private Muggle tutoring along side his purely magical education at the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is not exactly an accredited, let alone known, educational institution as far as the USAFA would be concerned. Stephen’s father agreed to the arrangement only so long as Stephen kept his grades up at Ilvermorny and made his magical studies his priority. This arrangement was made between Stephen and his father over Christmas break.
Trunk Coding: Please paste following code below the 3rd Year Ability in his Trunk.
Thank you!!
Link: To Infinity and Beyond!
Year: Fourth
Abilities: Muggle Condition (WC: 955/400)
Reducio
Stephen’s third year studying magic had supercharged his desire to be able to pursue his dreams of one day becoming an astronaut. He had spent his first two years just finding his footing in the world of magic, and working to come to grips with the, mostly, unwelcome truths behind the realization that he, himself, was of magic.
He was a wickedly smart fellow. He was a pleasant guy to be around. But he was not at all like his Muggle friends at school when it came to the utter ecstasy or enthusiastic desire to explore his magic. He was here and doing so only because his father had left him no other choice but to do so. Stephen’s calm, serene, affable exterior more often than not belied the soul rending sadness and resentments that simmered deep below the surface when he thought about how his wants and desires had been so casually tossed to the side. His father had felt exploring this part of who he was, his magical side, was simply too much of a unique opportunity to pass by. He had actually told Stephen, out of honest ignorance, that becoming a wizard would be so much more rare and challenging than becoming an astronaut would ever be. That was simply not true, Stephen would find, after coming to Ilvermorny and learning that witches and wizards were everywhere. They were anything but rare, except to Muggles.
He wouldn’t deny the fact, however, that becoming a wizard didn’t present its fair share of challenges. It did. Yet even magic had its limitations, and frankly, some of those limitations were the very things that Muggles had succeeded brilliantly at accomplishing.
Like leaving this beautiful blue marble and exploring space.
Stephen had always been a disciplined student and a disciplined athlete. He had excelled while at Ilvermorny because to ever give less than his best at anything he did was not hard coded into his DNA. That did not mean he necessarily liked the situation or was altogether happy, but after two years, he was starting to become a bit more resigned to his death sentence. And that is how he had thought of life at Ilvermorny; the death of his dreams and the death of a part of who he was. His father was so gung-ho and caught up on the magic side of things that he failed to really see, or maybe even care, that Stephen’s dreams were being decimated, leaving him no say in the matter. He was a dead man walking quite honestly, to himself if not necessarily to anyone else.
But that all changed in the autumn of his third year with a visit to Hogwarts, and he had a dear friend, EmmaLee LeDames, to thank for it. She showed him a plaque in an alcove at Hogwarts that explained the broken piece of broomstick above it had belonged to a witch named Selene Wartnaby. Selene was a third year student who had, foolishly in Stephen’s opinion, disappeared in front of her classmates after claiming she was going to apparate to the moon. She was never heard from again, which likely meant she had died, but just knowing that another maj even dared dreamed Stephen’s dream of apparating to the moon only served to re-stoke and reinforce his burning desires to pursue his Muggle dreams.
So he had been. He first started by researching all he could about Selene Wartnaby. That led to nowhere, really. She was not heard from again and likely came to a grisly end. So his focus then turned to what little information he could get his hands on about the possibility of ever being able to apparate to the moon. He bought every wizarding scientific journal and magazine he could get his hands with respect to Transfiguration, but they were all pretty surface level and nothing like the peer reviewed findings one might come across in the Muggle world. It became more clear to Stephen than ever that his magical side was not going to get him to his dreams. It would be his Muggle side.
When he went home over the 2023 winter break, he had it out with his father. They argued hard but Stephen, somehow, managed to get through to him. The result was a compromise. His father would hire a tutor and make all necessary arrangements to get books and materials to his son to get the equivalent of a Muggle, home-schooled preparatory education alongside his magical one. One that would, when the proper tests were taken, and passed, be accepted by the USAFA. His father insisted, however, that if his marks should slip or if it became too overwhelming for Stephen, their arrangement would be dissolved and all attention would then need to be channeled into his Ilvermorny studies.
The sense of relief and peace that washed over Stephen was incomparable to anything he had ever experienced in his life. It was never that he objected to being magical, but it was not the part of himself that most spoke to himself. It was his Muggle side. He would abide by his word to his father and keep his magical studies up. There was much about them that enhanced his understanding of the Muggle world anyway, so that would not be a problem. And as the kid in class who had always asked for more homework, this was going to be a dream come true. Well, not exactly. It was going to be ton of hard work, but that was fine by Stephen.
It was all designed to put him back on the path to making his biggest dreams come true, and in so doing, reintroducing him to his whole self once again.
He was a wickedly smart fellow. He was a pleasant guy to be around. But he was not at all like his Muggle friends at school when it came to the utter ecstasy or enthusiastic desire to explore his magic. He was here and doing so only because his father had left him no other choice but to do so. Stephen’s calm, serene, affable exterior more often than not belied the soul rending sadness and resentments that simmered deep below the surface when he thought about how his wants and desires had been so casually tossed to the side. His father had felt exploring this part of who he was, his magical side, was simply too much of a unique opportunity to pass by. He had actually told Stephen, out of honest ignorance, that becoming a wizard would be so much more rare and challenging than becoming an astronaut would ever be. That was simply not true, Stephen would find, after coming to Ilvermorny and learning that witches and wizards were everywhere. They were anything but rare, except to Muggles.
He wouldn’t deny the fact, however, that becoming a wizard didn’t present its fair share of challenges. It did. Yet even magic had its limitations, and frankly, some of those limitations were the very things that Muggles had succeeded brilliantly at accomplishing.
Like leaving this beautiful blue marble and exploring space.
Stephen had always been a disciplined student and a disciplined athlete. He had excelled while at Ilvermorny because to ever give less than his best at anything he did was not hard coded into his DNA. That did not mean he necessarily liked the situation or was altogether happy, but after two years, he was starting to become a bit more resigned to his death sentence. And that is how he had thought of life at Ilvermorny; the death of his dreams and the death of a part of who he was. His father was so gung-ho and caught up on the magic side of things that he failed to really see, or maybe even care, that Stephen’s dreams were being decimated, leaving him no say in the matter. He was a dead man walking quite honestly, to himself if not necessarily to anyone else.
But that all changed in the autumn of his third year with a visit to Hogwarts, and he had a dear friend, EmmaLee LeDames, to thank for it. She showed him a plaque in an alcove at Hogwarts that explained the broken piece of broomstick above it had belonged to a witch named Selene Wartnaby. Selene was a third year student who had, foolishly in Stephen’s opinion, disappeared in front of her classmates after claiming she was going to apparate to the moon. She was never heard from again, which likely meant she had died, but just knowing that another maj even dared dreamed Stephen’s dream of apparating to the moon only served to re-stoke and reinforce his burning desires to pursue his Muggle dreams.
So he had been. He first started by researching all he could about Selene Wartnaby. That led to nowhere, really. She was not heard from again and likely came to a grisly end. So his focus then turned to what little information he could get his hands on about the possibility of ever being able to apparate to the moon. He bought every wizarding scientific journal and magazine he could get his hands with respect to Transfiguration, but they were all pretty surface level and nothing like the peer reviewed findings one might come across in the Muggle world. It became more clear to Stephen than ever that his magical side was not going to get him to his dreams. It would be his Muggle side.
When he went home over the 2023 winter break, he had it out with his father. They argued hard but Stephen, somehow, managed to get through to him. The result was a compromise. His father would hire a tutor and make all necessary arrangements to get books and materials to his son to get the equivalent of a Muggle, home-schooled preparatory education alongside his magical one. One that would, when the proper tests were taken, and passed, be accepted by the USAFA. His father insisted, however, that if his marks should slip or if it became too overwhelming for Stephen, their arrangement would be dissolved and all attention would then need to be channeled into his Ilvermorny studies.
The sense of relief and peace that washed over Stephen was incomparable to anything he had ever experienced in his life. It was never that he objected to being magical, but it was not the part of himself that most spoke to himself. It was his Muggle side. He would abide by his word to his father and keep his magical studies up. There was much about them that enhanced his understanding of the Muggle world anyway, so that would not be a problem. And as the kid in class who had always asked for more homework, this was going to be a dream come true. Well, not exactly. It was going to be ton of hard work, but that was fine by Stephen.
It was all designed to put him back on the path to making his biggest dreams come true, and in so doing, reintroducing him to his whole self once again.
Content Changes: Stephen is now pursuing a private, secondary curriculum taught to Muggles his age (his magical studies always come first!) through intensive tutoring while at home during breaks and long distance learning/tutoring while at school. His father agreed to it because his son had finally gotten through to him that his dream was to attend the Air Force Academy (USAFA) and later to become an astronaut. He saw no way to make that happen other than to plead for private Muggle tutoring along side his purely magical education at the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which is not exactly an accredited, let alone known, educational institution as far as the USAFA would be concerned. Stephen’s father agreed to the arrangement only so long as Stephen kept his grades up at Ilvermorny and made his magical studies his priority. This arrangement was made between Stephen and his father over Christmas break.
Trunk Coding: Please paste following code below the 3rd Year Ability in his Trunk.
Reducio
Code: Select all
[quote][b][u]Muggle Condition – Year 4[/u][/b] [Reducio] Stephen’s third year studying magic had supercharged his desire to be able to pursue his dreams of one day becoming an astronaut. He had spent his first two years just finding his footing in the world of magic, and working to come to grips with the, mostly, unwelcome truths behind the realization that he, himself, was of magic. He was a wickedly smart fellow. He was a pleasant guy to be around. But he was not at all like his Muggle friends at school when it came to the utter ecstasy or enthusiastic desire to explore his magic. He was here and doing so only because his father had left him no other choice but to do so. Stephen’s calm, serene, affable exterior more often than not belied the soul rending sadness and resentments that simmered deep below the surface when he thought about how his wants and desires had been so casually tossed to the side. His father had felt exploring this part of who he was, his magical side, was simply too much of a unique opportunity to pass by. He had actually told Stephen, out of honest ignorance, that becoming a wizard would be so much more rare and challenging than becoming an astronaut would ever be. That was simply not true, Stephen would find, after coming to Ilvermorny and learning that witches and wizards were everywhere. They were anything but rare, except to Muggles. He wouldn’t deny the fact, however, that becoming a wizard didn’t present its fair share of challenges. It did. Yet even magic had its limitations, and frankly, some of those limitations were the very things that Muggles had succeeded brilliantly at accomplishing. [i]Like leaving this beautiful blue marble and exploring space.[/i] Stephen had always been a disciplined student and a disciplined athlete. He had excelled while at Ilvermorny because to ever give less than his best at anything he did was not hard coded into his DNA. That did not mean he necessarily liked the situation or was altogether happy, but after two years, he was starting to become a bit more resigned to his death sentence. And that is how he had thought of life at Ilvermorny; the death of his dreams and the death of a part of who he was. His father was so gung-ho and caught up on the magic side of things that he failed to really see, or maybe even care, that Stephen’s dreams were being decimated, leaving him no say in the matter. He was a dead man walking quite honestly, to himself if not necessarily to anyone else. But that all changed in the autumn of his third year with a visit to Hogwarts, and he had a dear friend, EmmaLee LeDames, to thank for it. She showed him a plaque in an alcove at Hogwarts that explained the broken piece of broomstick above it had belonged to a witch named Selene Wartnaby. Selene was a third year student who had, foolishly in Stephen’s opinion, disappeared in front of her classmates after claiming she was going to apparate to the moon. She was never heard from again, which likely meant she had died, but just knowing that another maj even dared dreamed Stephen’s dream of apparating to the moon only served to re-stoke and reinforce his burning desires to pursue his Muggle dreams. So he had been. He first started by researching all he could about Selene Wartnaby. That led to nowhere, really. She was not heard from again and likely came to a grisly end. So his focus then turned to what little information he could get his hands on about the possibility of ever being able to apparate to the moon. He bought every wizarding scientific journal and magazine he could get his hands with respect to Transfiguration, but they were all pretty surface level and nothing like the peer reviewed findings one might come across in the Muggle world. It became more clear to Stephen than ever that his magical side was not going to get him to his dreams. It would be his Muggle side. When he went home over the 2023 winter break, he had it out with his father. They argued hard but Stephen, somehow, managed to get through to him. The result was a compromise. His father would hire a tutor and make all necessary arrangements to get books and materials to his son to get the equivalent of a Muggle, home-schooled preparatory education alongside his magical one. One that would, when the proper tests were taken, [u]and passed[/u], be accepted by the USAFA. His father insisted, however, that if his marks should slip or if it became too overwhelming for Stephen, their arrangement would be dissolved and all attention would then need to be channeled into his Ilvermorny studies. The sense of relief and peace that washed over Stephen was incomparable to anything he had ever experienced in his life. It was never that he objected to being magical, but it was not the part of himself that most spoke to himself. It was his Muggle side. He would abide by his word to his father and keep his magical studies up. There was much about them that enhanced his understanding of the Muggle world anyway, so that would not be a problem. And as the kid in class who had always asked for more homework, this was going to be a dream come true. Well, not exactly. It was going to be ton of hard work, but that was fine by Stephen. It was all designed to put him back on the path to making his biggest dreams come true, and in so doing, reintroducing him to his whole self once again. [/reducio][/quote]
Thank you!!
Ilvermorny NPC
NPC Name: Cyrus Darsel
Link:
Year: Graduating to Seventh
Stats: +5 from graduation, +2 from Quidditch wins
Old stats:
Abilities: Year 7 ability: wandmaker
WC: 856/400
Disclaimer: The RP is forward-dated to summer 2024 ─ whichever month is not summer camp. Application in reducio.
Extracurricular: Remaining as a duellist
Content Changes: n/a
Trunk Coding: in reducio
Link:
Year: Graduating to Seventh
Stats: +5 from graduation, +2 from Quidditch wins
Old stats:
Reducio
New stats:Stamina: 10 · Evasion: 10 · Strength: 10 · Arcane Power: 17 · Accuracy: 10 · Wisdom: 10
Reducio
Changes: +7 to accuracyStamina: 10 · Evasion: 10 · Strength: 10 · Arcane Power: 17 · Accuracy: 17 · Wisdom: 10
Abilities: Year 7 ability: wandmaker
WC: 856/400
Disclaimer: The RP is forward-dated to summer 2024 ─ whichever month is not summer camp. Application in reducio.
Reducio
Cyrus had, not once in his life, been the most responsible young man. Many times, he had lost his wand, and he often fidgeted with it when he got restless. Sometimes, he left it in his pocket and nearly snapped it.
It seemed that luck would not always be on his side, because, one fateful day in the summer of 2024, Cyrus had gone to a bonfire party with his aunt, and his wand had mysteriously ended up as some kindling. He had searched for it only to realise it was on fire by the time it was too late. He was inconsolable for days, sobbing himself to sleep. What type of wizard was he without a wand?
His Aunt Teresa grew tired of having a panicked seventeen-year-old in her house, so she told him to pack up for London. They were going to go to Ollivanders.
'I got my wand from Ollivanders back in the day, and it hasn't broken. If there's a wand you won't break, it'll be from there,' she had said.
He was a sleep-deprived boy when they arrived in Diagon Alley by floo the next morning, and when his aunt took him to Ollivanders for a ‘wand he would not dare to lose’, he groggily followed behind her. They entered the wand shop, and Cyrus found that he dwarfed many younger children, most of whom were probably around eleven. He waved at a few children, the fact that he was around people (and perhaps the mug of tea in his left hand) helping to wake him up. He apparently did not seem so harmless, as he spooked one boy who was trying out what had to be his hundredth wand.
When it was his turn, he stood idly as his wand arm was measured. He began trying to make small talk with Ollivander ─ he did, in fact, ask how the weather was ─ before his aunt silenced him with a well-timed side-eye.
‘Try this,’ said Ollivander, handing the teenager a box. ‘Fourteen centimetres, unyielding, rosewood with dragon heartstring.’
The words meant little to the exhausted teenager. The American opened the box and waved the wand inside. Nothing of note occurred, but Ollivander shook his head. ‘Absolutely not,’ he said, and he handed Cyrus a different box. ‘Twenty-four centimetres, reasonably supple, larch wood with unicorn hair.’ He watched as the boy picked up the wand. ‘Larch wood prefers wizards who lack confidence.’
Cyrus dramatically waved the wand. ‘I think I’m pretty confident, Mr Ollivander,’ he said when the wand felt wrong in his hand. He couldn’t place the feeling, but something about it just wasn’t right. He waved it again and heard a small bang, although if that had resulted from his efforts, he wasn’t sure.
‘Right, of course. Then it might be this.’ Ollivander unboxed a rather long, bendy wand and handed the stick to Cyrus. The American gingerly took it. ‘Thirty-four centimetres, whippy, dogwood with phoenix feather.’ The wandmaker smiled at Cyrus. ‘The phoenix feather tends to choose particularly stubborn and enduring wizards, something you showed me when you wanted to keep searching for the perfect wand.’ He glanced at Teresa. ‘Your being here today highlights your tenacity.’
Cyrus took a moment to think about the older man’s words, and for once, he wished he could articulate a more eloquent response. All he managed to say was a quietly choked, ‘Huh.’
The more he thought about it, the more that part made sense. Although he didn’t always seem like a tenacious individual, he had pushed himself very far. He had learned how to split spells on his own, staying up night after night to exercise both his body and mind in pursuit of his goal. And he had done it ─ his tunnel vision had paid off. It had taken him until his sixth year to properly join Ilvermorny’s duelling team ─ but he had done it.
He definitely was more stubborn than he let on.
He waved the wand, and, inspired, he took a big step and opted to give his wandwork a small flourish. He remembered his assertion that magic was really just art, and now he was dancing. The wand whistled as he moved, making music to his choreography. He spun the wand over his knuckles, caught it between his thumb and forefinger, and took a bow.
‘Dogwood was definitely the right wood,’ said Ollivander drily, a smile on his lips.
‘What does that mean?’ Cyrus asked, setting the wand back in its box. He, too, was smiling.
‘Dogwood was loud ─ I’m certain you heard it, no?’
‘Ohh.’ Cyrus’s grin widened. ‘So my wand will make noise!?’ He paused, his hands flapping at his sides. He had called it his. He didn’t do that aloud, not ever. He glanced at the stick in the box ─ his partner. His partner. His wand.
‘I love noise,’ Cyrus said, a bit more softly. ‘I’ll keep it in good company, I promise. I’ll even sing to it.’ He leaned forward and began a rather awful humming rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
While he was occupied, his aunt took out her money and paid Ollivander. She turned to Cyrus and patted him on the shoulder before closing the wand’s box. ‘Happy early birthday, Cyrus. Now don’t break this one.’
Why does this wand fit Cyrus?
It seemed that luck would not always be on his side, because, one fateful day in the summer of 2024, Cyrus had gone to a bonfire party with his aunt, and his wand had mysteriously ended up as some kindling. He had searched for it only to realise it was on fire by the time it was too late. He was inconsolable for days, sobbing himself to sleep. What type of wizard was he without a wand?
His Aunt Teresa grew tired of having a panicked seventeen-year-old in her house, so she told him to pack up for London. They were going to go to Ollivanders.
'I got my wand from Ollivanders back in the day, and it hasn't broken. If there's a wand you won't break, it'll be from there,' she had said.
He was a sleep-deprived boy when they arrived in Diagon Alley by floo the next morning, and when his aunt took him to Ollivanders for a ‘wand he would not dare to lose’, he groggily followed behind her. They entered the wand shop, and Cyrus found that he dwarfed many younger children, most of whom were probably around eleven. He waved at a few children, the fact that he was around people (and perhaps the mug of tea in his left hand) helping to wake him up. He apparently did not seem so harmless, as he spooked one boy who was trying out what had to be his hundredth wand.
When it was his turn, he stood idly as his wand arm was measured. He began trying to make small talk with Ollivander ─ he did, in fact, ask how the weather was ─ before his aunt silenced him with a well-timed side-eye.
‘Try this,’ said Ollivander, handing the teenager a box. ‘Fourteen centimetres, unyielding, rosewood with dragon heartstring.’
The words meant little to the exhausted teenager. The American opened the box and waved the wand inside. Nothing of note occurred, but Ollivander shook his head. ‘Absolutely not,’ he said, and he handed Cyrus a different box. ‘Twenty-four centimetres, reasonably supple, larch wood with unicorn hair.’ He watched as the boy picked up the wand. ‘Larch wood prefers wizards who lack confidence.’
Cyrus dramatically waved the wand. ‘I think I’m pretty confident, Mr Ollivander,’ he said when the wand felt wrong in his hand. He couldn’t place the feeling, but something about it just wasn’t right. He waved it again and heard a small bang, although if that had resulted from his efforts, he wasn’t sure.
‘Right, of course. Then it might be this.’ Ollivander unboxed a rather long, bendy wand and handed the stick to Cyrus. The American gingerly took it. ‘Thirty-four centimetres, whippy, dogwood with phoenix feather.’ The wandmaker smiled at Cyrus. ‘The phoenix feather tends to choose particularly stubborn and enduring wizards, something you showed me when you wanted to keep searching for the perfect wand.’ He glanced at Teresa. ‘Your being here today highlights your tenacity.’
Cyrus took a moment to think about the older man’s words, and for once, he wished he could articulate a more eloquent response. All he managed to say was a quietly choked, ‘Huh.’
The more he thought about it, the more that part made sense. Although he didn’t always seem like a tenacious individual, he had pushed himself very far. He had learned how to split spells on his own, staying up night after night to exercise both his body and mind in pursuit of his goal. And he had done it ─ his tunnel vision had paid off. It had taken him until his sixth year to properly join Ilvermorny’s duelling team ─ but he had done it.
He definitely was more stubborn than he let on.
He waved the wand, and, inspired, he took a big step and opted to give his wandwork a small flourish. He remembered his assertion that magic was really just art, and now he was dancing. The wand whistled as he moved, making music to his choreography. He spun the wand over his knuckles, caught it between his thumb and forefinger, and took a bow.
‘Dogwood was definitely the right wood,’ said Ollivander drily, a smile on his lips.
‘What does that mean?’ Cyrus asked, setting the wand back in its box. He, too, was smiling.
‘Dogwood was loud ─ I’m certain you heard it, no?’
‘Ohh.’ Cyrus’s grin widened. ‘So my wand will make noise!?’ He paused, his hands flapping at his sides. He had called it his. He didn’t do that aloud, not ever. He glanced at the stick in the box ─ his partner. His partner. His wand.
‘I love noise,’ Cyrus said, a bit more softly. ‘I’ll keep it in good company, I promise. I’ll even sing to it.’ He leaned forward and began a rather awful humming rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
While he was occupied, his aunt took out her money and paid Ollivander. She turned to Cyrus and patted him on the shoulder before closing the wand’s box. ‘Happy early birthday, Cyrus. Now don’t break this one.’
Why does this wand fit Cyrus?
Reducio
Dogwood (54/50): Cyrus is loud. He has always been loud with a flair for the dramatic. He enjoys creative efforts, such as building, dancing and arts and crafts, and he also has a strong interest in fashion. His outfits stand out, making them aesthetically 'loud', and he has an affinity for anything colourful, loud or dramatic.
Phoenix feather (69/50): Cyrus is enduring. He is mostly friendless, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing trying to make friends. Even though he has never been the greatest at his schoolwork, he perseveres until he succeeds in his endeavours. Furthermore, he is also rather stubborn. Although he doesn't share his opinions much, he is strong in his moral compass, and he is not afraid to fight for what he believes in.
Length (34 cm) (67/50): A 34cm/13.39in wand is a long one, and Cyrus is tall. However, he is also 'big' in personality. He finds it very difficult to be quiet, and his presence often makes itself known. He is dramatic and views magic as a theatrical art, which is reflected in the manner of his spellcasting. He takes wide swishes and often ends each spell, once cast, with a spin.
Flexibility (Whippy) (73/50): Cyrus is adaptable and loves trying new things ─ sometimes to a fault. He rapidly switches back and forth between ideas, avoiding commitment to anything for too long, and he is accepting of most things. He accepted that there was a magical world, and he did so without dwelling on it too much, quickly disregarding the newness of it in favour of involving himself in this new world as much as he could.
Phoenix feather (69/50): Cyrus is enduring. He is mostly friendless, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing trying to make friends. Even though he has never been the greatest at his schoolwork, he perseveres until he succeeds in his endeavours. Furthermore, he is also rather stubborn. Although he doesn't share his opinions much, he is strong in his moral compass, and he is not afraid to fight for what he believes in.
Length (34 cm) (67/50): A 34cm/13.39in wand is a long one, and Cyrus is tall. However, he is also 'big' in personality. He finds it very difficult to be quiet, and his presence often makes itself known. He is dramatic and views magic as a theatrical art, which is reflected in the manner of his spellcasting. He takes wide swishes and often ends each spell, once cast, with a spin.
Flexibility (Whippy) (73/50): Cyrus is adaptable and loves trying new things ─ sometimes to a fault. He rapidly switches back and forth between ideas, avoiding commitment to anything for too long, and he is accepting of most things. He accepted that there was a magical world, and he did so without dwelling on it too much, quickly disregarding the newness of it in favour of involving himself in this new world as much as he could.
Extracurricular: Remaining as a duellist
Content Changes: n/a
Trunk Coding: in reducio
Reducio
Code: Select all
[center][img]/files/7ea85ec9366d9746.png[/img][/center]
[center][size=120][b]Stats:[/b][/size][/center][center]+9 to Stats from Quidditch wins: [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=8714&start=50#p149357]i[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=15344&start=180#p255616]ii[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=16400&p=269317#p269317]iii[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=19424&start=170#p373361]iv[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=23357&start=70#p522642]v[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=740216#p740216]vi[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=853518#p853518]vii[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=965079#p965079]viii[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=989812#p989812]ix[/url].
[b]Stamina:[/b] 10 · [b]Evasion:[/b] 10 · [b]Strength:[/b] 10 · [b]Wisdom[/b] 10 · [b]Arcane Power:[/b] 17 · [b]Accuracy:[/b] 17[/center]
[center][size=120][b]Extracurricular:[/b][/size][/center][center]Duellist[/center]
[center][size=120][b]Abilities:[/b][/size][/center][b]Year 1:[/b] Fearless
[reducio]Cyrus was the type of boy who was full of chaos; the type of boy who would answer the "if someone jumped off a cliff, would you?" as "absolutely". Cy would do anything to prove himself, and he began running around Manhattan at the young age of seven. His parents didn't care, and he feared nothing. The world didn't scare him, so he did as he pleased.
By the time his aunt and uncle became prominent figures in his life, Cyrus was used to doing things by himself. He made breakfast without fear of burning himself on the pan, although he needn't make lunch or dinner - his parents always ordered things for him. While the boy might have lived a moderately sheltered life - what child of businesspeople didn't? - he was lonely, and there was always a bundle of energy manifesting inside the child's heart, waiting to be set loose.
After ending school one day Cy came across a group of kids. They weren't usual schoolboys; he could see that from a single glance. Their beat-up leather jackets stood out in stark contrast to his school blazer, and the fact that some of them didn't wear shoes let Cyrus know he'd ventured into the "wrong area of town". They surrounded a much smaller boy, one that wasn't in Cyrus' year; no, he was quite a bit younger. This kid was maybe nine, if that.
Cy wasn't deterred; he wanted that child out of the situation. "Hey, idiots!" yelled the blond, only glancing down to make sure his duck-print shoelaces were tied. A brazen grin decorated his expression as he charged forward, imagining he was a knight in medieval times and that the other boy was a lass, or lad now that he thought about it, in distress. "Make way for the king!" he shouted, his words echoing around the alley.
Now, any other child would have noticed how stupid the plan was. With Cyrus, however, there really was no plan. He did things on impulse, having no fear of the consequences that might arise from his actions. Putting one foot in front of the other, he charged at the other kids, shoving one of them as hard as he could.
He wasn't quite strong enough to knock the kid over, but he got the group's attention away from the young'un and onto himself. "Get out of the way!" he whisper-yelled to the smaller boy, and he was pleased to see the other kid running out of the corner of his eye as he felt a blow land on his arm.
Cy hadn't been strong enough to fight off the kids, but it had been your average schoolboy fight - everyone got hurt, to some extent. When Cyrus returned home, a triumphant grin on his face, his aunt shot him a questioning glance as he flopped down on the couch, exhausted, and shouted "No Regrets!"
Because really, he had no regrets. The feel of adrenaline in his veins had been amazing, and he would do it again. Cy wasn't a wimp. In fact, one might call him fearless.[/reducio]
[b]Year 2:[/b] Obnoxiously Strong
[reducio]Cyrus always possessed an unmistakable amount of energy. In fact, it was one of his defining traits. His feet would always tap the floor during his Muggle classes, and his hands would [i]always[/i] be moving.
He couldn’t help it. He just had too much energy.
Since he didn’t have very many friends (he was simply an unapproachable lad sometimes. It may have been his parents; he didn’t know), he didn’t have people who would listen to his endless chatter about who knows what. His parents were always far too busy to listen to his ramblings, so he sat quietly and allowed his appendages to move as much as they liked.
After a particularly embarrassing visit to his aunt’s where he had shattered a glass while dancing as he put up the dishes, Aunt Teresa had shown him an advertisement for child memberships at a fitness centre down the street.
At first, Cyrus hadn’t been at all interested. He was perfectly fit, and he saw this… [i]flyer[/i]... as an insult to his amazing physique.
After thinking about it for a while, though, he asked his parents - who he had still lived with at the time - to sign him up. They obliged relatively quickly, probably glad to have to worry about him less, and he began to take classes.
He started out with swimming classes, but those didn’t really stick - Cyrus was already fast, and swimming didn’t really challenge him that much. The private lessons his parents had invested in made that certain.
He then went on to both weight lifting and kickboxing. He was interested in learning how to fight, both because his parents said it was something he should never learn and also because he was reminded of his favourite movie characters whenever he thought of it. Weights, though? He wanted to build up his muscles so that any fighting he learned would have an effect on whoever he used it against - not that he would attack anyone, of course.
As the years passed, Cyrus began to develop muscles, [i]real[/i] muscles. When he moved in with Aunt Teresa, he began to help around the house, and he easily surprised his aunt with how easily he could lift things. He got into fights more often, but usually to protect people [as mentioned in previous fearless app], and he changed from an annoying idiot who managed to [i]irritate[/i] bullies away to someone who could actually fend them off. He didn’t even have to punch them; he would flex his bicep and watch with a goofy grin as the spindly bully ran away from whatever younger kid they were bothering.
Cyrus was strong, but he was never [i]just[/i] strong. No, he was [i]obnoxiously[/i] strong.[/reducio]
[b]Year 3:[/b] Charmer
[reducio]Cyrus was always too much.
His parents sometimes thought it; he knew that. He didn’t mind, though. Often, he embraced it. After all, he was liked well enough, and ‘too much’ wasn’t always a bad thing.
He began to flaunt it - he would use his parents’ money to buy the most ridiculous things, such as his trademark duck-print garments or his designer jeans. He even bought a solid gold duck tie tack for his school uniform.
Things changed when he moved in with Aunt Teresa. She never thought he was too much, at least not openly.
This meant Cyrus needed to try [i]harder[/i]. He wore the most flamboyant clothes; he cut his hair into a mullet. These things never fazed Aunt Teresa, but when he went to school with a green mullet and a clown nose that squeaked, no one could stop looking at him. He was eventually sent to the headmaster’s office because he was distracting students during a test.
He received a letter from Ilvermorny the following year.
The headmaster, Lazarus Plott, was a good example in Cyrus’s mind. A very extravagant man, his mannerisms encouraged Cyrus. Cyrus grew even [i]more[/i] dramatic, into even [i]more[/i] of a class clown, until he was certain everyone would notice him.
The thing was, Cyrus didn’t know when to stop. Not by a long shot.
He dumbed himself down sometimes, trying to make people gawk. It worked, sometimes. He adopted ducks as his trademark even more, wearing them no matter what. No one would be able to look at a duck without thinking of him, nor would they be able to look at him without thinking of ducks.
He never felt the need to explain himself to anyone, although to a certain Thea Knott, he did try. ‘Regal,’ he had said about ducks, ‘strong.’ He had said they reminded him of himself, but was that true?
It was as true as he had wanted it to be, he supposed, because then maybe he could be seen as regal. He was strong. Right?
Maybe some people - Aunt Teresa - saw him as those things: elegant, regal and strong. Some others most certainly didn’t - namely his parents - but he had long since trained himself not to care. What others thought didn’t matter as long as they were thinking about him, as long as they were [i]noticing[/i] him, as long as he [i]meant[/i] something.
Cyrus was a [i]distraction[/i], and that, for now, was enough for him.[/reducio]
[b]Year 4:[/b] Impartial
[reducio]Cyrus’s Muggle teachers had always called him selfish, and for good reason. Cyrus simply didn’t care about others, or so it seemed. He was always flaunting his clothes, bragging about his wealth… Simply put, he seemed like a jerk.
Throughout the years, Cyrus had learned to only care about himself. He wasn’t necessarily self-centred - he was still [i]polite[/i] to others, after all - but he never complimented others’ appearances, never smiled without reason. One might have called him cunning had they not known that he never really had a plan in mind, that his ‘calculated’ smiles were really just his following social cues.
Because Cyrus wanted [i]himself[/i] to stand out, he tended not to notice when other people did, at least not unless they stood out more than he did, which was incredibly rare. Even the most brazen of people didn’t meet Cyrus’s standards. They had to be bold, flamboyant and witty, but they also had to possess a certain type of charm that wasn’t necessarily superficial in order to pique Cyrus’s interest - and even then, it was usually brief at best.
For example, the first person who had made Cyrus interested in them was none other than his Aunt Teresa. She was as unassuming as could be - petite, with lightly tanned skin and average features, but there was a certain kindness in her eyes that had interested him. Her nature was sweet, and she helped people without strings attached. Seeing a person so obviously good had interested Cyrus - she had not stood out. She was one with the crowd, but he was still interested in talking to her, in knowing more about her.
The only flamboyant person whose name Cyrus could easily remember was Headmaster Plott, AKA his role model. From afar, Cyrus watched in awe as the man made spectacles, and he hoped that one day he could do the same, that one day he would be powerful enough to. Once he surpassed Headmaster Plott’s abilities, something told him he would no longer feel the same level of awe. He [i]was[/i] pretty sure, however, that he would remember Headmaster Plott’s name, and not just because it was a name he heard daily as he roamed the halls of Ilvermorny. No, a role model was someone special, someone to be remembered.
He often remembered no one else.
He did remember Thea Knott, but she, like his Aunt Teresa, did not stick out in a crowd. She was shy and quiet, and that intrigued him. He was not distracted by pretty girls or pretty boys; he did not often raise his eyebrows at amateur wannabes of class clownery. He did not care what they were doing because their attempts at flamboyance could never match his own.
He really was quite impartial to those sorts of things.[/reducio]
[b]Year 5:[/b] Poison Resistance
[reducio]Cyrus has never been known for his intellect. In fact, to some, he is known for his [i]lack[/i] of brains. He does not make up for his lack of book smarts by any common sense. So far, he has managed to get by due to sheer brawn and laughter, but the day was bound to come when he would no longer be able to joke his way out of a nasty situation.
The summer before his fifth year, multiple instances challenged his ability to stay alive.
The first: cleaning.
Cyrus’s aunt made him get a summer job in order to gain a ‘work ethic’, whatever that was. Cyrus personally didn’t think he needed a job─after all, his parents and aunt were filthy rich. Nonetheless, his aunt deemed work ‘good for him’, so he looked at open positions. One was a janitorial position at a hotel, and he decided he might as well apply. He did not expect to be hired, but two weeks later, he received an email telling him he’d gotten the job.
Although Cyrus was trained on what every chemical did, he had never been the smartest. He had never had the greatest memory. He soon forgot which unlabelled bottle had what, so he tried to stick to the labelled bottles. However, when a sink didn’t clean itself fast enough, Cyrus glanced down at his cart full of soaps. He thought about every bottle and noted that vinegar could disinfect counters and bleach could whiten them, so if he mixed them together, the sink would be disinfected and whitened. His supervisors would be so proud!
He put the stopper in the sink and mixed the chemicals. His gloves were on, so he assumed there would be no problem. However, soon after he began to mix the chemicals, he started coughing and found it increasingly difficult to breathe. He stumbled around the bathroom for a bit, wheezing, before he remembered he had a phone (perks of being a no-maj born!) and quickly dialled his boss’s number as he fumbled his way out of the bathroom.
His boss dialled 911, and Cyrus didn’t remember much after that. He woke up in the hospital and was informed that his very not clever mixture had created chlorine gas, which was toxic to breathe in. The hotel had needed the gas removed from the floor he’d been on, and Cyrus’s clothes were no longer any good. His hospital gown wasn’t nearly as cool as his duck-themed T-shirt.
He was promptly fired from his job after that ordeal.
The second test of Cyrus’s will to live? Driving.
Since Cyrus had been sixteen for a while, his aunt decided it was high time he learned how to drive. His aunt took him up to Lake Placid, where she had a vacation home, and began to teach him how cars worked. One day, she was visiting some of her friends, and Cyrus thought it would be nice of him to bring the car to pick her up. He was pretty sure he had done everything right─the car was on, the mirrors were all in the right places, his seatbelt was on… But the car wouldn’t move. The garage door was still shut because he didn’t know where his aunt put the garage door opener.
He began to panic, looking through the glove box and the other compartments before realising that he had no idea at all where the opener was. And when he pressed the gas, the car still wouldn’t move.
Once again, he remembered he had his phone, and he called his aunt to ask, but his vision wavered, and he passed out.
Luckily, his aunt had gotten the garage door open, and she had called 911. He woke up at Adirondack Medical Center with an oxygen mask over his face. The doctors informed him that he had given himself carbon monoxide poisoning, and his aunt tiredly told him he had forgotten to take off the parking brake. The garage door opener had been on the kitchen counter this entire time.
Cyrus was okay, though, if not a bit shaken up by the entire ordeal. His body didn’t feel as weak as he had expected it to. In fact, a few weeks later, he swallowed mouthwash─completely by accident, he would tell his aunt, since he had genuinely forgotten that Listerine was not meant to be swallowed. She had stared at him in complete and utter exasperation before asking if she should call the Poison Control hotline. Cyrus thought about it, and although he knew he was probably making a mistake, he shook his head. He had swallowed a fair amount of mouthwash, but he felt fine.
Maybe, he thought, the poison caused by the chlorine gas and the carbon monoxide had hardened his body against the future clumsiness that would almost certainly come someday.[/reducio]
[b]Year 6:[/b] Spell Spread
[reducio]Cyrus had always had a bit of a dramatic flair. This was exemplified by his choice in clothes (duck-themed everything, often thousands of dollars worth) and his style of speech. However, Cyrus wanted to channel this into his magic as well.
He was not the best spellcaster. Even simple spells, like [i]Lumos[/i], tended to give him grief. But Cyrus wasn’t popular amongst his peers, and he wanted to defend himself if stolen rude glances and muttered [i]’Mudblood’[/i]s turned to something more serious.
Thus, Cyrus practised. He practised more than he thought he was able to, finally becoming familiar with the feeling of his wand in his hand. He read book after book until he thought maybe he could feel his brain cells multiplying─or perhaps that was just him being tired because it was three in the morning. He studied spell movements until his [i]Lumos[/i] was perfect most of the time. He practised evasive footwork, and sometimes he wished he had more friends who could throw things at him so he could evade even better.
His movements became precise, no longer a jumble of jittery motion but instead a dance-like agglomeration of knowledge. Cyrus was an actor, and his spellbooks made up his stage. He found himself imagining he was a conductor, waving his wand in precise movements to command an army of musicians, and that was when the thought came to him: he could [i]be[/i] an army.
Cyrus’s studies multiplied. Instead of learning about [i]how[/i] spells were performed, he learned about [i]why[/i] they were performed the way they were. Magic was an art, he realised, a type of performance not unlike singing or acting. And actors could play multiple parts. He read about spell theory and how one could focus one’s magic into a single spell, how spells would differ in their outcome depending on the person and their preferred style of casting despite ultimately being the same spell doing the same thing.
He also thought a lot. He thought about what one of the old Hogwarts professors had [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=8092#p123749]once told him[/url]: ‘Making more questions is a good thing, not a bad thing.’
He had lots of questions about magic. Where did it all come from? His parents didn’t have magic, and he wasn’t blood related to his aunt, so why did he? His uncle, also a no-Maj, was dead now, so he couldn’t ask his uncle about what coincidence might have made him have magic.
It didn’t matter now. He knew he had magic, and he hadn’t embraced it as much as he wished he had in retrospect. Cyrus began to attend classes in earnest, to write down notes on even the most arbitrary of things. He would be a proper wizard.
Gradually, his spells grew stronger. He learned how to channel his emotions into his spellcasting, yet keep them in check so he remained in control. He poured his grief over his uncle’s death, his repressed anger at his parents and his appreciation for his aunt into his spellcasting.
And then there was the real test. Cyrus had set up two dummies to practise on, and so far, his spells had only been able to hit one. His accuracy was fairly decent, and his spells packed a punch. But his ability to cast spells was never consistent. Cyrus hoped that after all of his studies, this might be better, so he thought long and hard and decided on a spell he’d known for a long time─flipendo.
Cyrus held out his wand and focused. He imagined his uncle alive and well, smiling and telling him he was proud. He imagined his aunt nodding at how he had grown. He imagined his parents happy with his existence, willing to look away from their work. He imagined his spell, fuelled by his heart, knocking both of the dummies over.
Then he waved his wand and said the word. [i][b]’Flipendo.’[/b][/i]
It took a moment, as if his magic were hesitating, and Cyrus thought for a second that all of his studying had been for nothing. But he watched with wide eyes, willing to have patience, and he heard a satisfying [i]plonk[/i] as the dummies fell to the ground.[/reducio]
[b]Year 7:[/b] Wandmaker ─ 34 cm, Dogwood with Phoenix Feather core, whippy
[reducio]Cyrus had, not once in his life, been the most responsible young man. Many times, he had lost his wand, and he often fidgeted with it when he got restless. Sometimes, he left it in his pocket and nearly snapped it.
It seemed that luck would not always be on his side, because, one fateful day in the summer of 2024, Cyrus had gone to a bonfire party with his aunt, and his wand had mysteriously ended up as some kindling. He had searched for it only to realise it was on fire by the time it was too late. He was inconsolable for days, sobbing himself to sleep. What type of wizard was he without a wand?
His Aunt Teresa grew tired of having a panicked seventeen-year-old in her house, so she told him to pack up for London. They were going to go to Ollivanders.
[b]'I got my wand from Ollivanders back in the day, and it hasn't broken. If there's a wand you won't break, it'll be from there,'[/b] she had said.
He was a sleep-deprived boy when they arrived in Diagon Alley by floo the next morning, and when his aunt took him to Ollivanders for a ‘wand he would not dare to lose’, he groggily followed behind her. They entered the wand shop, and Cyrus found that he dwarfed many younger children, most of whom were probably around eleven. He waved at a few children, the fact that he was around people (and perhaps the mug of tea in his left hand) helping to wake him up. He apparently did not seem so harmless, as he spooked one boy who was trying out what had to be his hundredth wand.
When it was his turn, he stood idly as his wand arm was measured. He began trying to make small talk with Ollivander ─ he did, in fact, ask how the weather was ─ before his aunt silenced him with a well-timed side-eye.
[b]‘Try this,’[/b] said Ollivander, handing the teenager a box. [b]‘Fourteen centimetres, unyielding, rosewood with dragon heartstring.’[/b]
The words meant little to the exhausted teenager. The American opened the box and waved the wand inside. Nothing of note occurred, but Ollivander shook his head. [b]‘Absolutely not,’[/b] he said, and he handed Cyrus a different box. [b]‘Twenty-four centimetres, reasonably supple, larch wood with unicorn hair.’[/b] He watched as the boy picked up the wand. [b]‘Larch wood prefers wizards who lack confidence.’[/b]
Cyrus dramatically waved the wand. [b]‘I think I’m pretty confident, Mr Ollivander,’[/b] he said when the wand felt wrong in his hand. He couldn’t place the feeling, but something about it just wasn’t right. He waved it again and heard a small bang, although if that had resulted from his efforts, he wasn’t sure.
[b]‘Right, of course. Then it might be this.’[/b] Ollivander unboxed a rather long, bendy wand and handed the stick to Cyrus. The American gingerly took it. [b]‘Thirty-four centimetres, whippy, dogwood with phoenix feather.’[/b] The wandmaker smiled at Cyrus. [b]‘The phoenix feather tends to choose particularly stubborn and enduring wizards, something you showed me when you wanted to keep searching for the perfect wand.’[/b] He glanced at Teresa.[b] ‘Your being here today highlights your tenacity.’ [/b]
Cyrus took a moment to think about the older man’s words, and for once, he wished he could articulate a more eloquent response. All he managed to say was a quietly choked,[b] ‘Huh.’[/b]
The more he thought about it, the more that part made sense. Although he didn’t always seem like a tenacious individual, he had pushed himself very far. He had learned how to split spells on his own, staying up night after night to exercise both his body and mind in pursuit of his goal. And he had done it ─ his tunnel vision had paid off. It had taken him until his sixth year to properly join Ilvermorny’s duelling team ─ but he had done it.
He definitely was more stubborn than he let on.
He waved the wand, and, inspired, he took a big step and opted to give his wandwork a small flourish. He remembered his assertion that magic was really just art, and now he was dancing. The wand whistled as he moved, making music to his choreography. He spun the wand over his knuckles, caught it between his thumb and forefinger, and took a bow.
[b]‘Dogwood was definitely the right wood,’[/b] said Ollivander drily, a smile on his lips.
[b]‘What does that mean?’[/b] Cyrus asked, setting the wand back in its box. He, too, was smiling.
[b]‘Dogwood was loud ─ I’m certain you heard it, no?’[/b]
[b]‘Ohh.’[/b] Cyrus’s grin widened. [b]‘So my wand will make noise!?’[/b] He paused, his hands flapping at his sides. He had called it his. He didn’t do that aloud, not ever. He glanced at the stick in the box ─ his partner. His partner. His wand.
[b]‘I love noise,’[/b] Cyrus said, a bit more softly. [b]‘I’ll keep it in good company, I promise. I’ll even sing to it.’[/b] He leaned forward and began a rather awful humming rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
While he was occupied, his aunt took out her money and paid Ollivander. She turned to Cyrus and patted him on the shoulder before closing the wand’s box. [b]‘Happy early birthday, Cyrus. Now don’t break this one.’[/b]
Why does this wand fit Cyrus?
[reducio]Dogwood (54/50): Cyrus is loud. He has always been loud with a flair for the dramatic. He enjoys creative efforts, such as building, dancing and arts and crafts, and he also has a strong interest in fashion. His outfits stand out, making them aesthetically 'loud', and he has an affinity for anything colourful, loud or dramatic.
Phoenix feather (69/50): Cyrus is enduring. He is mostly friendless, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing trying to make friends. Even though he has never been the greatest at his schoolwork, he perseveres until he succeeds in his endeavours. Furthermore, he is also rather stubborn. Although he doesn't share his opinions much, he is strong in his moral compass, and he is not afraid to fight for what he believes in.
Length (34 cm) (67/50): A 34cm/13.39in wand is a long one, and Cyrus is tall. However, he is also 'big' in personality. He finds it very difficult to be quiet, and his presence often makes itself known. He is dramatic and views magic as a theatrical art, which is reflected in the manner of his spellcasting. He takes wide swishes and often ends each spell, once cast, with a spin.
Flexibility (Whippy) (73/50): Cyrus is adaptable and loves trying new things ─ sometimes to a fault. He rapidly switches back and forth between ideas, avoiding commitment to anything for too long, and he is accepting of most things. He accepted that there was a magical world, and he did so without dwelling on it too much, quickly disregarding the newness of it in favour of involving himself in this new world as much as he could.[/reducio][/reducio]Koko · #85200C Alluring · Eva. Man. · Scream · Calming Presence · Charm · Keeper's Catch 20 · 10 · 3 · 7 · 5 · 17 | · | Cyrus · #000000 Fearless · Obnox. Strong · Charmer · Impartial · Poison Res. · Spell Spread 10 · 10 · 10 · 16 · 10 · 10 |