Link to your encyclopedia thread: Link
Name of Ability: Broken Broomshaft
Describe why this fits your character:
Jorah was born in Scotland but moved far south to England when he was five. There’s not much he remembers about where he was born, but he’ll never forget the Highland games. Once a year in August, the inhabitants of Fort Augustus, his small village of 600, would gather in the countryside to compete against the neighboring villages for pride, honor, and fun. The festivities included your typical Scottish cuisine; boiled Haggis, roasted Grouse, and cured meats with cheese. A sea of different colored kilts fluttered over the knees of dancers working to the tune of the bagpipes. It was wonderful, and what Jorah enjoyed the most was the games. The stone put, the hammer throw, and Jorah’s favorite, the caber toss.

The caber toss consisted of a stout fellow picking up and balancing vertically a long slender but heavy log. The player then had to run forward with the log, throwing it into the air where it would flip over before touching back down. The one who managed to pull this off and have the straightest forward landing of the caber would be the winner. Now there was just something about balancing the log and seeing it somersault in midair that reminded Jorah of a Quidditch broom flying through the air. They had much smaller versions of the caber for the onlooking children to practice. Jorah jumped at the opportunity to practice the caber toss.

Jorah stepped up to his mini caber and squatted low to the ground. His father helped him lift up the caber’s far end straight into the air and balance the shaft against Jorah’s right shoulder. Jorah interlocked his fingers and cupped the base of the caber. With a quick thrust up, he was standing but  just barely, as the caber was wobbling in his grasp and throwing off his balance. Jorah ran a few steps forward, ONE - TWO – THREE, and with that he threw the caber as hard as he could. It was beautiful, the wooden log turned 180 degrees forward and was coming down for a landing.

CRACK! The caber landed perfectly but snapped in half at its midpoint, dispersing splinters of wood everywhere. “Tough luck, son. Must have been rotten wood, give it another go?”, said Jorah’s father. “Sure”, he replied. Jorah ran over to the mini cabers, taking a minute to inspect them for signs of damage or termites. Nothing. “I think this one will do, Dad”. Like before Jorah positioned himself as his father set the caber into position. Jorah lifted it into the air and did his best to balance the caber as he ran. ONE – TWO – THREE – FOUR – FIVE and lift off. Again, the caber somersaulted through the air, flipping end over end. It seemed to be flying straighter than before, a “that’s my boy!” rang from behind him.

CRA-CRACK! The second caber landed snapping in two places this time. Jorah looked behind at his father in disbelief. His father just shook his head and said, “Ya know, maybe this just isn’t for you.” Jorah’s heart sank at his failure, he felt like he was letting his village and his family down. The tears began to swell. Then his father got down on one knee to meet Jorah face-to-face. “Ya know what though, if you keep mashing wood like that, you’ll make one hell of a beater someday.” Jorah smiled, he threw his arms around his father in a hug and he never forgot what his father told him that day.

Word Count: 584

Character Stats:
Stamina: 10
Evasion: 5
Strength: 8
Wisdom: 1
Arcane Power: 1
Accuracy: 10

STATUS: Approved

There was a time where magic wasn't a large factual point of his upcoming education. He was, well, basically a ignorant muggle, basically. His half-blooded parents were really loose with education of learning about wizards and their world would be too much of a culture shock, in their minds.

At this time, Keenan's housing situation was still moving around and he was around with his grandmother as well with his parents.

His father was called, by others in the wizard community, bit of an curious eccentric wizard who were into muggle culture far more than any normal wizard should be. To wearing current styles (His father being stuck in the early 2000s, at the moment), being interested in their political events and his recent hobby of smoking cigarette brands like the French imported kind called Gauloises.

But there was one thing his father would love and try to integrate with Keenan would be boxing!

To watching it on TV and watching things on the internet that related to fight or what he called, "Muggle Slap Sports", as if it was a different classification of fighting as they didn't have wands to fight each other with. They used their bodies and their hands, it was super brutal yet actually useful.

In this little phase of interest and wanting to implant ideas into your child, Keenan was around 9 and some change. It would start in the summer and it could be remember clear as day; the sun was out, bright and radiant in the green woods. Nine year old Keenan was there, having far less hair like he did now.

He was wearing shorts and a tank-top, off-brand sneakers as well. His father was building something, via wand, which appeared to be a poor man's training dummy with pillows as they would float out of the house, out of some open window, and into the backyard.

Tossing Keenan some freshly brought kid-sized MMA gloves that seemed be brought online. His father speak in a harsh Irish accent, his throat bit more coarser as the years went as the cigarettes  were screwing with his throat but what could he do about it.


His father instructed his son,

"Now, once you go to Hogwarts, there might be a few dolts and screw-heads trying to mess with you. With what your mom been explaining to ya' about magic, that isn't always going to save you. This is where our little bonding time will come into play!"

Keenan's dad smiled radiantly, unafraid to show his yellowing teeth.

Keenan, confused about the whole notion of this as he been told by his mother, grandmother about how magic will always be by your side. Heck, even his dad said he should just stick in magic in a hairy situation!

But his father saw this inner conflict and didn't say anything. As Keenan was putting his gloves on. However, he was stopped when he was going to put on the other glove onto his left hand with it getting snatched as if his father was like a snobby kid who wanted some candy.

Stunned and even little hurt as Keenan speak up,

"Dad, I-I need the other one!"

Keenan whined.

His dad only smiled,

"See? What can you do in this moment? Jus' think if this was your wand, what'chu going to do then? Just stand there and watch, huh?"

He asked, but all of the question all gave the same answer...

Realizing what his dad was saying, his father playfully slapped his shoulder,

"That'a boy! See, you got that Kingsman logic running in yer head. Now you see why you have to learn how to defend yourself. Most wizard always think you need to fight with your wand but if you ever need to use your hands to survive, you have to do what you have to do. Your safety is the upmost importance, Keen."

From that day on. Day after day, month after until his recent moment of going to Hogwarts. He would get basic training with hitting, grappling, kicking and so with general self-defense.

There were moments where there would be needing to punch his father's midsection as hard as he could or try to make him at least stumble as it was pretty hard to make a grown-man to completely fall down.

In the recent months of coming to Hogwarts and getting ready for it once he gotten the letter for Hogwarts, his mother got wind of this and put a stop to it completely so no more training anymore, if it was even called training. But it was clear that frail, shy Keenan could at-least defend himself if he ever lost his magical friend aka his wand. He had another gift up his sleeves. Even if he was short and didn't appeared strong, he would use this as his advantage as even he knew that people wouldn't take him seriously as a threat and come to like the idea of fighting. As morbid as that sounds.

It would be his fists! Try to see a wizard try to attack you with their fist.

Word Count: 808 Words

Stamina: 5
Evasion: 6
Strength: 6
Wisdom: 5
ArcPower: 6
Accuracy: 7

STATUS: Approved

---

Link to your encyclopedia thread: Warren Kirkland
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Dhampir

Describe why this fits your character|

Tales of Vampires and wicked nightly endeavors begin far, far before our quirky boys time. A line rich in bloodshed and carnage has quieted itself in the most recent era. Kirkland; a name invoking a thread of fear in the hearts of those who whisper in the night. Fortunately, through changing times and trying nights that tested the moral of a young man by the name of Kurt, the vicious bloodline of deep seeded fear had found itself a seed of hope.

Speculation of how and why these beings come to exist is few and far between. From the unusual manners in which they behave, and the bewildering content of cursed blood coursing through the veins, an offspring of a Vampire and a mortal being is that of mystery. Kurt had thought this for a millennia.  Love and let lust be bygones, until a fateful night in the rich depths of London's darkened covens. This incapacitated man had met his maker; a witch brimming with spectacular prowess that could knock his teeth out. Her wand drawn always, her eyes a fury glow forever. Never should a Vampire beg for his life, but that night he broke more than one rule in the laws of 'do' and 'don't'.

A single meeting had turned into several bump ins and frequent chase. Strangely, she never reported him, and he wondered why she would do such a thing. To tempt him? Several evenings wasted watching and asking questions had led him to an answer that changed not only his heart, but what he considered to be fate.

Mary Jane, a wand pressed to the throat of the burly blood sucker. Her eyes narrowed, greener than the forests that enchanted England's beautiful valleys. Lost in her eyes, his piercing gaze settled, a soft, strange glow to his stare.

"H-Help me understand, Madam- Please," whispered his soft words as the tip of her wand dug deeper into his pale flesh. Her eyes glistened, a sharp twang of something dark disturbing the disturbed. Her wand, ill relaxed, whisked itself flat to his neck, and she pressed herself close, soft cream colored brows furrowed as she bit out her words.

"Fate's a funny thing, Kirkland. Tell me, if you had the chance to change your cursed fate, would you do it?"

Life itself seemed to still for the night crawler. Time and time again he'd convinced himself that there was nothing more for him to do; he was a coward among the community of Vampires. Too scared to draw the blood of those nearby, but willing enough to feed to satisfy his everlasting hunger. Swallowing a thick bubble in his throat, he leaned his head back, sharp ears brushing against a dark bricked wall.

"If- Ahem. If you'd allow me, then by chance would you care for dinner? My treat...?" The question had thrown the witch off so hard that she'd blanked. Staring into each others eyes, there was a long pause.

Then a fit of laughter.

Evenings passed one after the other starting harsh and guarded, but charnging quickly into something more. A relationship had blossomed from beneath their unsuspecting boots. Licked by the Goddess of love, a Vampire and a Witch unlike no other. Banes to their own kind for disobeying rules, or lack there of.

Through many hardships and bountiful work, the two had found themselves not only married, but happily spending their time together in a quaint village far from the caged confines of deep city London. Additionally, London was no place for a pack of five unruly boys. Each one born out of love and labor, the Kirkland boys grew into a household lacking the tension of a proud Vampire Father, but rather one created out of kindness and generosity.

Thus our story finally begins anew, as Warren, a boy born beneath the moon and stars, finds himself to be quite different from his peers. Different, but not unalike.

Starting young, Warren was raised to believe in coexistence. The family itself is quite large; five boys, Warren included, and their Father and Mother. His childhood wasn't one of sheltered shadows, but instead he was raised among other children as if he were normal. He was taught that drinking the blood of mortals was immoral. There were hundreds of alternatives, and there was nothing wrong with the thought of urges or curiosity. Kurt, his Father, never discouraged his boys from asking questions about their heritage.

Warren is extremely knowledgeable on the secrets and ways of a Vampire's life. As a Dhampir alongside his brothers, the young boy finds himself curious about all sides of several coins. He understands that there is fear laced within his blood that cannot be avoided, but he embraces his differences. He finds himself to be unique, strange, and believes that it is possible to have a happy existence among other humans without quarrel.

Given his bloodline, Warren is a first generation Dhampir born from a Witch and a Vampire. His brothers are the same as he is, but with each Kirkland boy there is a defining feature to them that gives way to their ancestry.

The young Slytherin's most key features are the ghostly pale skin and ruby like eyes. From a young age he had always show to have large, doe like features with a button nose and slight freckles from playing out beneath the moonlight. Sunlight is a sensitive topic for the boy, but he finds it to be lovely and enchanting; hence his unfortunate need to constantly carry sensitive-skin sunscreen. Up until he had begun his journey here at Hogwarts he'd lived a simple albeit different life.

Unlike most children, Warren was raised in the safety net of the moon. His playtime consisted of dusk till dawn. Though raised to enjoy the evenings and rising sun, he never struggled unlike his brothers who found it harder to accept who they were.

However, upon starting at Hogwarts there was a harsh reality that crashed unto him as he learned to curb himself from sleeping during the sunny hours and instead focusing on resting in the evenings and mornings. Considering he has already survived his first year, Warren has quickly become, as he states, a 'total pro' at resting between classes. Every day is a challenge to continue his acclimation to daytime, but he finds it to be something new and exciting.

Word count: 1,063

Link to your encyclopedia thread: Warren Kirkland
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Sixth Sense

Reducio

Sixth Sense
You just have a sense for things. You notice more often than most when something is out of place, such as a chair that is breathing or a snake in the grass that looks like it is watching you.

Effect: +2 to their awareness rolls. If a player attempts to enter a thread that you are already in, there is a 25% chance that you automatically detect them on entry.

Describe why this fits your character|

Through his years, Warren has always been considered an oddball. His sharp ears give way to his heritage, but they're more than mere decoration. Longing eyes often search the area a touch longer than those around him would, as Warren is particularly known for being a perceptive child. As he blossoms further into his teenage years, the young wizard is quickly becoming more and more aware of his surroundings.

It is as if the boy has a knack for catching onto those tiny details that would otherwise go unnoticed. Professors have often commemorated him for his wit and keen sense of catching those finer details. However, due to his chilling perception, it is often considered a difficult task to try and spook the young Slytherin.

Often times he is the first to notice when someone new has entered the room. Other times, the boy catches details in the area that would otherwise go unnoticed, as if a strange force were whispering his name. A strange movement in the trees, a noise that wasn't there a moment before. To Warren it's key to have a fundamental understanding of your area, otherwise being caught off guard could very well be your undoing.

If anyone were to ask Warren what he thought of his own bewildering eyes and ears, he'd muck it up to his love for chess, eating, and knack for slight of hand tricks. It's no easy task to perform a card trick without knowing how to do it. Countless hours spent cooped in his room on his bunk performing little tricks has honed his focus to a pin point perfection. There's no doubt that he's a persistent study-holic, but the constant need to be aware is both one of his prized skills, and downfall.

Unfortunately, Warren tends to be a bit paranoid. Considering his heritage, there is no doubt that certain humans and those that wander the night alike might find him to be unsavory in their sight. Due to this mild uneasiness, this young boy tends to keep his eyes on his shoulders. His ears are never covered completely by headphones, as he leaves one ear open to catch the footsteps of those who might approach him. Even without his glasses, the boy has a talent for catching those wandering too close to his person.

When in the classroom he uses his ears and eyes as his second set of hands. Allowing himself to absorb the area has caused him to pay more attention to his peers than others tend to do; gossip moves quick beneath these castle walls. There isn't a rumor this nosy boy isn't aware of.

Word count: 445

Status: approved

STATUS: Approved 

Encyclopedia Link: Alma

Ability: Poison Resistance

Description:

Alma Malvado had the fortune (or maybe misfortune) to be born into and raised by a family of scholars. Everyone had their own field of study, their own interests they researched. And while they all seemed to share an interest in the written word, most of the family members would set aside time for their own, private fields of study, be it warding, ancient languages or simply the everyday lives of Muggles.
In her early years, Alma developed a certain fondness for creating potions. By this, it is of course implied that she would ignore every rule in the books about potion-making and instead would randomly throw ingredients into a cauldron. If the result by some miracle did not explode, Alma would often find herself tempted to taste a drop of whatever potentially fatal brew she had just concocted this time around. Usually, an adult would be there in time to stop her, but not always. During these times, Alma would suffer her idiotic decision of tasting the brew by spending multiple days in bed, sick to her stomach. On one particularly memorable occasion, she even had to visit St. Mungos, where the staff would scold her for her foolishness.
Yet her ambition to learn just what exactly made a potion behave the way it did, far outweighed her sense of self-preservation. Over the years, Alma would spend a large part of her allowance on potions ingredients to replace those she wasted during her “research”. And slowly, over the years, her hard (and quite foolish) work seemed to pay off. While her brews did not lose any of their potential deadliness, they usually did no longer explode. Which in turn meant that Alma had more opportunities to taste test a brew. Yet, curiously enough, this did not mean she spent any more days in bed, sick and potentially poisoned, than before. In fact, the number of these occasions seemed to decrease, as if Alma’s body had slowly developed a certain immunity to her own idiocy. She, aside from the fact that she had proof of a certain level of resistance developing within her, also noted external changes. Her family often commented that she looked rather sickly, with a near consistent sort of sickly pallor and bloodshot eyes to her that had not been present before. And while Alma found that her immune system maybe wasn’t as good as it had been a few years prior, she continued building up her resistance, hoping to one day maybe build up a near immunity to most common poisons.     

Word Count: 425

Stats

Sta: 6
Ev: 6
Str: 6
Wis: 11
Arc: 9
Acc: 7

STATUS: Approved

STATUS: Approved

Link to your encyclopedia thread: Beauty Within
Name of Ability or Race that you Are Applying for: Part-Veela

Beauty; something most every girl strives for. Fortunately, Aphrodite was blessed with the gift of a lovely appearance, ever since she was a young child. With her fair light skin, doey chocolate brown eyes, and naturally red-tinted lips, she was practically the embodiment of the word 'beautiful'. The only thing unnatural about her could be found in her hair, dyed to be a soft light blonde color on one side, and noir black on the other. Her finely sculpted facial features, left her with the eyes of many, all in awe of her appearance.

Perhaps this is due to the past Veela in her blood, a small smidge of beauty rubbing off into her genes. It certainly wouldn't shock her if there had been a few ancestors with the race Veela. Perhaps it was on her mothers side, a side she didn't really know quite well, a side that could have easily slipped from her mind without knowing.

Aphrodite never took her pretty self exterior into vain, though. Why, she wasn't even aware of her beauty before she arrived at Hogwarts. Her first year had been a quiet time, she kept to herself and payed no mind to other's business. Aphrodite excelled in her studies and endured the stares she received without question, not thinking much of it. Though, when she walked in the halls, she took note as others eyes' followed her wherever she went. Yet she didn't dare ask what they were staring at. Instead she kept her head up high and dismissed it, assuming it would go away.

Although, it didn't. As days passed, more and more people observed her. Even at meals, where she would be having a conversation with someone, it was like they weren't even listening to her at all, though they seemed to be. They just looked to be.. zoned out in her elegance. It annoyed her, honestly. She slowly became aware that all the fuss was simply because she looked.. attractive? That was so stupid! Why did looks matter? If anything she wished people appreciated her words more than her appearance.

She felt as if she had so many important things to say, and no one could hear them if she looked like this. Was she ungrateful? No. She was thankful that she was fortunate enough to have a pretty exterior, but she also felt as if wasn't all it's caught up to be. Sure, she fit in with the 'popular squad', she had friends, she had practically the whole school tripping head over heels for her even! So why wasn't she satisfied? She knew any other girl would practically give their lives to be in her place, so why didn't she want it? Was she a defect, did she not deserve to be this pretty?

No, instead of feeling guilty for the way she looked, she began to take pride in it. She wasn't known as the smart girl anymore, she wasn't seen as the girl who got frustrated if not listened to. Aphrodite became known as the different girl, the pretty girl. The girl who lived up to the meaning of her name.

Aphrodite.

Word Count: 525

Please list out your stats using the 6-point stat system:
Stamina: 7
Evasion: 6
Strength: 5
Wisdom: 7
Arcane Power: 4
Accuracy: 6

STATUS: Approved

Link to your encyclopedia thread: encyclopedia
Name of Ability or Race that you Are Applying for: Seer
Describe why this fits your character:
Nick's father, Gordon, never really liked talking about his family. He wouldn't even visit his parents, even though they were still very much alive. Nick and his mother, Christina, didn't know this but Gordon didn't really have the best childhood and didn't have a good relationship with his parents.

Gordon was born with a Seer as a mother and a Pure-blood wizard as a father. Being a Seer Gordon's mother used her gift to tell the world of her prophecies and visions. Therefore, she was always gone, going from country to country, and never really was home for Gordon. When she was there she was always just disappointed in him, almost as if she knew how badly Gordon's life would turn out.

There's not much to say about Christina's lineage. Just a bunch of average wizards with nothing really remarkable about them. There is an exception though, which is Christina's 18th great-grandmother. She was born sometime in the 17th century and had a very interesting fate.

  Fiona Reid was born with pure white hair. No one thought anything of it though. Fiona was a bright and cheery girl who always loved being outside. When she got older though, she stopped going outside. She didn't have the same sparkle in her eyes, they were dark and scared. Whenever people asked her about the sudden change she just ran away mumbling.

After a while, Fiona started ranting about dragons and fire. Fiona's husband starts thinking she's gone insane and sent her to the Bethlem Asylum. She had been there for a year when in 1666 The Great Fire of London burns almost all of London. Fiona ended up burning in that fire.

Nick has always seen the world differently than everyone else around him. While most people will see the world like it is right in front of them, Caelan always has seen the world with a different mindset. He could imagine a flower sprouting where a seed was planted, or an entire house just from its foundation. Caelan's family just chalked that up to a strong imagination

Other than that, Caelan has always been what his mother calls, a lucky boy. He always seems to stay out of trouble and makes the most random choices that turn out to be good for him. Caelan has no idea why he does this, he's just always done it. Christina always says it's God making it up to Caelan for his dad abandoning him.

The strangest occurrence was when he was around six. His mother was playing a Match-Up game with Caelan and miraculously Caelan matched every single card together on his first go without even seeing one card beforehand. Christina never played a Match-Up card game with Caelan again.

Word Count: 456

Please list out your stats using the 6-point stat system:
Strength = 3
Evasion = 8
Wisdom = 4
Arcane Power = 4
Accuracy = 7
Stamina = 4

STATUS Approved

Link to your encyclopedia thread: Kylie Smith
Name of Ability or Race that you Are Applying for: Part-Veela

I know that I'm a pretty girl, since I'm a baby everybody that I meet said to me or to my parents that I'm pretty, beautiful… So imagine when I grew up, with teenager forms what people told me. I do not boast much because most people I know are no-mage but my grand-mother, the mother of my dad, is a pure blood Veela. She has a very moon light skin, white blond hair blue eyes so clear that they look transparent and she's so beautiful ! My father is an half-veela, he was so irresistible that my mom leave Cheltenham in England to go with my father to Brooklyn even if she only know him for a few days. The same for my step-mother Addison when she meet him.My sister and I are a quarter Veela. I know that Veela have originaly blond haire and I have Brown hair but dad's grand-ma, Gabriella, is from Brazil and even if her husband Chuck Smith was American she raised her children in Brazil before going to the United States when my grandfather was 13 years old. So I'm a part Veela with American, Brazilian, Russian and English origin. I would not say that I have an infallible charm but I found myself very beautiful even if I don't really make importance of the beauty, it helped me a lot during some fights that I had with guys for various reasons and sometimes even just for the sake of beat. I didn't need to distract them but only to approach them and they were a little strange, like hypnotized by me, I can make them do anything I want if I wante it. It was weird at first because no one in my family told me about it, but when I was 9, my grandmother told me about it. At first I didn't believe her, I thought she was joking, but no, she was not joking, she's really a veela, my father a half-veela and my sister and I are quarter veela. I don't have the typical veela hair but the lips yeah, I have naturaly red tint lips and I'm very temperamental, when someone annoys me I'll fight practically immediatly because I go into a mad anger and I need to let off steam, fight, solve my problems like that. That's why me and my mom weren't often agree, because I used it as soon as I could to get everything I wanted, I'm pretty capricious it's true I do not hide it. And for my mom, it's to easy to use it like that for when I wanted Something. She was not jealous, she just does not like the fact that just with a simple presence you can get what you want even if it's thanks to that power that she met my father and that my sister and I was born. So my grandmother who was a veela married a Brazilian that she meet during her travel in the USA because she's Russian.

Word Count: 506

Please list out your stats using the 6-point stat system:
Stamina: 4
Evasion: 6
Strength: 9
Wisdom: 3
Arcane Power: 4
Accuracy: 4

Status: on hold (owled)

LINK

Race: Dhampir

Isaac knew what he was, and he knew what it made him.

Dhampir.

Sometimes, the word felt suffocating, snuffing out everything that made him him until he was just a shell and a label. A tragic story of a forbidden love between a vampire father killed by illegal vampire hunters and witch for a mother (it’s never the other way around for Dhampirs. Female vampires can’t get pregnant). He never knew how he should feel about what he was. He’s always so confused.

He had pale skin, almost white that would look sickly on anyone but him, and he was skinny. Mostly, he thought it was amplified more because he was what his community considered a vegetarian. He never fed off live humans. He got blood bags from the deceased, or from blood donations, and it was enough to fill his hunger. He used to get extremely hungry during family reunions, and he hated every one he went to.  That was, until they found him covered in blood with the neighbors cat in his mouth. He never had to go to another one after that.

His mom and him were outcasted, broken off from the rest of the family. They could never accept the fact that his mom had a child with a vampire, and for some reason, Isaac always felt bad about it. Like it was his fault. Isaac didn’t want that for his mom. He loved her more than anything, even if she wasn’t always around, and he would never forgive her family for throwing her out.

He and his mom lived in a small house on top of a hill in a wizarding neighborhood. Isaac’s mom told him that the neighbors  would be accepting of him as long as they explained it, but he never believed it. He isolated himself and never talked to any kids who came by. He never let anyone know what he was.

Isaac had grown to be independent growing up where he did. With his mom working most of the time and him never going out, he learned to care for himself. He learned to cook himself meals, and he learned to clean the house. He learned everything he needed to live comfortably in a house where no one was ever home.

Isaac was hoping to find a community of others when he went to Hogwarts. Either no one else is open about being a Dhampir (or he just hasn’t found them yet), or there just were none. Isaac didn’t know what he would do if he never found another like him. The isolation of his childhood and the absolute hope he was pinning on Hogwarts having more people like him, ending up not finding anyone would crush him.

So Isaac just kept hoping. No matter what he did, he clung to have any sort of control. He played with matches, and he knew how dangerous it was, especially to people like him. He could light up as easily as paper.

But he kept in control.

Word Count: 505

TRUNK

Stamina- 8

Evasion- 4

Strength- 2

Wisdom- 5

Arcane Power- 4

Accuracy- 7

Status: approved