10 Feb 2021, 08:56
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
STATUS: ApprovedLink to your encyclopedia thread: Levi Drakos
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Metamorphmagus
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it): WC: 722
ReducioAmong the magical creatures that roam alongside wizards everywhere they’re found, there are those with not entirely different blood in their veins but a different talent in their genes: Metamorphmagi. Rubbing shoulders with them, a man called Myers Kallis of a pureblooded wizard family home to the Republic of Cyprus. This talent goes back in his family for generations, tending most often to skip a generation and strike it all at once as it did with Myers and his siblings. However, his illegitimate child—Levi Drakos—possesses this talent unknowing of how it came to find him. Myers would marvel at the sight of his blue moon, as it was expected to be his grandchildren to share it, but Katerina and Evander Drakos—the couple believed to both be the parents of said child—do not share in that awe.
This isn’t to say they were not stricken when Levi’s eyes flickered an intense scarlet in the midst of a nightmarish tantrum when the boy was four years old. This having been after the Playpen Incident of ’12, when a sister of Myers’ explained how the web they’d found themselves in years ago was stickier than either could fathom, they could briefly write it off to be a trick of the light, or “characteristic of all those things” as Evander would spit it. But time dragged on, and no explanation showed to their doorstep for their son’s temporary winter tan or flashing blonde hair in child-like admiration of his father (“oh would you look at that, he finally looks like me!”), and they were left to their lonesome deductions and guesses, all the two would ever create together. To this day, the two have yet to directly confront Levi about his supposed gift.
Unbeknownst to his guardians, however, he met a woman who’d done the very thing they’d dreaded, seen her in the most hushed time of night, under the dimmest light, learned of his talent in weak and songful whispers. He couldn’t have been older than nine. The recollection was hazy, dream-like, remembered either in blinding contrast or with a morose lack of saturation, so much so that the young lion had long since credited her existence to the confines of his imagination. Though the visuals were always fading further away as he grew older, the words would stay latched to him as damp leeches, her teachings and hungered for explanations.
For context on this woman: it is his aunt, sister to his biological father and the very same one that first explained magic to his guardians.
When Levi woke the following dawn, her warm-toned glimmering hair still fresh in his mind, nothing held him back from the nearest mirror, waiting for his reflection to shift, not match the millions of pictures of him that lined the spirited hallway from end to end. And, with all the zeal that splintered every bit of discontent he had ever felt, there was no reaction of pride, of life from the reflection but when he lifted his own left hand to his hair and it followed obediently. It was only when that stinging disappointment settled into his soul, burrowing its home down in the crypts void of sound that his eyes melted to an ice-cold blue and his youthful smile wasn’t the only thing that changed. Those once hazel eyes were always the feature that bowed quickest to the wills of his heart when it could not be silenced.
Though as a first year his skill in metamorphing remains amateur and powerfully influenced by his emotions, it is something he continues to work on in private, when the pressure of a critical gaze can’t send him whirling through all the better things to be. Whether this means staring intently at his nails, hell bent on watching them grow longer, or envisioning what fate carries for him in its back pocket to watch the thrill come to life in his brightening eyes. In an odd sense, it is a physical embodiment of that unrelenting craving to be someone new, someone he carves from rock to statue leaving no detail to the elements. He is not yet drenched in power, surrounded by mutual respect and rising dams, but every day Levi strives along sunbeams to make it there, and being a Metamorphmagus is part of that.
Stats: Stamina: 4 | Evasion: 6 | Strength: 4 | Wisdom: 5 | Arcane Power: 5 | Accuracy: 6
One may smile, and smile, and be a villain. | #125947
Sta: 7 | Eva: 8 | Str: 4 | Wis: 6 | AP: 5 | Acc: 6
Metamorph | Charmer
Sta: 7 | Eva: 8 | Str: 4 | Wis: 6 | AP: 5 | Acc: 6
Metamorph | Charmer
15 Feb 2021, 02:40
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
Link to your encyclopedia thread: Damien Thorne
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for:
's Grace
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it): 568 words
Stats:
STATUS: Approved
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for:
's GraceDescribe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it): 568 words
Reducio
From a young age, Damien had been bounced around from foster system to foster system often feeling unwanted. Early on, he had faith in the system, but quickly he learned that it would be better to remain unseen. He rarely had problems if people mostly ignored him. During his early years he tried to learn how to walk softly, starting by resting on the balls of his feet.
If he could be neither seen nor heard except when requested, perhaps he would finally have a family that stuck. Early on during his self-training, he was often caught by his family during his practicing. Some of them were weirded out by him attempting this, others still always told him 'you don't have to hide, you're part of the family'. Yeah right. If he were part of the family, they wouldn't have passed him on three months later.
He started to get an understanding of hiding places, where to move, exactly where to place his feet to not be seen or heard. But yet while he understood these things, he found it hard to put it into practice. He found it hard to understand why he was seen on occasions hiding in the shadows, all while wearing a bright colored shirt.
Over time, he learned to master this particular art, being able to find and hide in a lot of areas particularly easy. But even with his knowledge and skill, he had plenty of times where he fumbled often. He would always remember one moment in particular where he was trying to sneak by a table while his foster mother's back was turned, and yet he accidentally knocked over a glass. The sound startled her, and he got a severe scolding.
Over time, he refined the skill, and the fumbles came less and less. With this, he started to realize, that sneaking and hiding had far more uses than he thought. He could overhear conversations without people knowing he was there. He could leave the house without people seeing him and enjoy himself with a good book outside at a park, or at a local library. The possibilities for learning became endless.
But most importantly, he realized that he could find out about when his foster family wanted to pass him onto the next family. He could try to avoid them altogether, or when the social worker came, he could run out and avoid them on the streets. He could finally take back his life again. So when he was nine, and a social worker arrived to take him away to his new family, he ran out, the door flinging open in front of him, and ran off into the streets.
For the next week, he put his newfound skills to the test. When he needed food, he took some from a store when no-one was looking. During the week he had plenty of close calls with police officer's nearly seeing him, but he always ducked into the nearest alley and climbed up any nearby lowered fire escapes, or hid behind dumpsters and trash cans. This didn't work forever, as a little over a week after he ran away, he had a bad run of luck where he had no alley to duck into and was taken into a new foster family soon after. But one thing was for sure, he would put his abilities to use however he could.
If he could be neither seen nor heard except when requested, perhaps he would finally have a family that stuck. Early on during his self-training, he was often caught by his family during his practicing. Some of them were weirded out by him attempting this, others still always told him 'you don't have to hide, you're part of the family'. Yeah right. If he were part of the family, they wouldn't have passed him on three months later.
He started to get an understanding of hiding places, where to move, exactly where to place his feet to not be seen or heard. But yet while he understood these things, he found it hard to put it into practice. He found it hard to understand why he was seen on occasions hiding in the shadows, all while wearing a bright colored shirt.
Over time, he learned to master this particular art, being able to find and hide in a lot of areas particularly easy. But even with his knowledge and skill, he had plenty of times where he fumbled often. He would always remember one moment in particular where he was trying to sneak by a table while his foster mother's back was turned, and yet he accidentally knocked over a glass. The sound startled her, and he got a severe scolding.
Over time, he refined the skill, and the fumbles came less and less. With this, he started to realize, that sneaking and hiding had far more uses than he thought. He could overhear conversations without people knowing he was there. He could leave the house without people seeing him and enjoy himself with a good book outside at a park, or at a local library. The possibilities for learning became endless.
But most importantly, he realized that he could find out about when his foster family wanted to pass him onto the next family. He could try to avoid them altogether, or when the social worker came, he could run out and avoid them on the streets. He could finally take back his life again. So when he was nine, and a social worker arrived to take him away to his new family, he ran out, the door flinging open in front of him, and ran off into the streets.
For the next week, he put his newfound skills to the test. When he needed food, he took some from a store when no-one was looking. During the week he had plenty of close calls with police officer's nearly seeing him, but he always ducked into the nearest alley and climbed up any nearby lowered fire escapes, or hid behind dumpsters and trash cans. This didn't work forever, as a little over a week after he ran away, he had a bad run of luck where he had no alley to duck into and was taken into a new foster family soon after. But one thing was for sure, he would put his abilities to use however he could.
Stats:
Reducio
Stamina: 4
Evasion: 10
Strength: 5
Wisdom: 8
ArcPower: 2
Accuracy: 6
Total = 35
Evasion: 10
Strength: 5
Wisdom: 8
ArcPower: 2
Accuracy: 6
Total = 35
STATUS: Approved
16 Feb 2021, 23:28
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
Link to your encyclopedia thread: Emerly Pine
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Evasive Maneuvers Tier 2
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
Word count- 443
Stats-
Stamina: 6
Evasion: 7
Strength: 2
Wisdom: 8
Arcane Power: 3
Accuracy: 9
STATUS: Approved
STA-6 | EV-7 | STR-2 | WIS-8 | AP-3 | ACC-9
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Evasive Maneuvers Tier 2
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
Reducio
Emerly had possessed a certain type of poise and self-awareness, as well an a near-subconscious awareness of his surroundings, bordering on hypersensitivity, since he was a young child. He'd rarely be found tripping over things, and physical obstacles placed in his way rarely phase/throw him off his guard, even if others find themselves being knocked awry due to unawareness or a lack of presence of mind. This tendency became more and more concentrated as the years went on, the first influx being brought on by encountering a particularly bad bully in muggle school during the time he was unaware of his wizard blood. The second event took place during the time between graduating from First Year at Hogwarts, and returning to school for his Second Year.
His family was always relatively peaceful, he was the only child of an Irish witch mother and a muggle father from England who, despite their humble roots, loved each other dearly, from their early marriage and Emerly's early years in Ireland to moving to England after his grandmother's death, through revealing Emerly's mother's side's wizarding heritage, and to the young Pine's sending off to the Scottish school.
Upon returning home, Emerly began to notice his father changing, darkening, forbidding Emerly from returning to the school and blaming him, and Emerly's mother, for bringing a curse on him. The family floundered, until one day Emerly's mother simply disappeared. No letter, nothing. Emerly blew up, accusing his father of driving her away with his erratic behavior.
It was then his father told him her disappearance was his fault, Emerly's fault.
The next day, his father disappeared as well.
Emerly's wizard uncle Bogwild's family had taken him in since as they try to work with wizarding authorities to come to a conclusion as to what happened. The man encouraged him to return to the school, assuring him that Hogwarts would be quite possibly one of the safest places he could be during this whole ordeal, but Emerly is more touchy and skittery than normal, seeming as if he is always on the verge of darting away at a moment's notice at any sign of trouble. His childhood years running around in the green countryside of Ireland has given him quite a bit of nimbleness, and though he is still shy, he has also gained a quite a bit of the latter from having always tended towards hanging out in the Hogwarts grounds, near groups of other students but somewhat rarely with them, taking little runs and practicing exercises in hopes of perhaps joining the Quidditch one day- he continues this despite being too nervous nowadays to even consider it.
His family was always relatively peaceful, he was the only child of an Irish witch mother and a muggle father from England who, despite their humble roots, loved each other dearly, from their early marriage and Emerly's early years in Ireland to moving to England after his grandmother's death, through revealing Emerly's mother's side's wizarding heritage, and to the young Pine's sending off to the Scottish school.
Upon returning home, Emerly began to notice his father changing, darkening, forbidding Emerly from returning to the school and blaming him, and Emerly's mother, for bringing a curse on him. The family floundered, until one day Emerly's mother simply disappeared. No letter, nothing. Emerly blew up, accusing his father of driving her away with his erratic behavior.
It was then his father told him her disappearance was his fault, Emerly's fault.
The next day, his father disappeared as well.
Emerly's wizard uncle Bogwild's family had taken him in since as they try to work with wizarding authorities to come to a conclusion as to what happened. The man encouraged him to return to the school, assuring him that Hogwarts would be quite possibly one of the safest places he could be during this whole ordeal, but Emerly is more touchy and skittery than normal, seeming as if he is always on the verge of darting away at a moment's notice at any sign of trouble. His childhood years running around in the green countryside of Ireland has given him quite a bit of nimbleness, and though he is still shy, he has also gained a quite a bit of the latter from having always tended towards hanging out in the Hogwarts grounds, near groups of other students but somewhat rarely with them, taking little runs and practicing exercises in hopes of perhaps joining the Quidditch one day- he continues this despite being too nervous nowadays to even consider it.
Word count- 443
Stats-
Stamina: 6
Evasion: 7
Strength: 2
Wisdom: 8
Arcane Power: 3
Accuracy: 9
STATUS: Approved
STA-6 | EV-7 | STR-2 | WIS-8 | AP-3 | ACC-9
18 Feb 2021, 23:16
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
Reducio
I woke up on a fine Friday morning. I had just turned 11. It's Friday, I thought, what could possibly go wrong. I got out of bed and dressed in my best spring attire. I wore a white button up dress shirt with a light green sweater over top of it. I slid on some light-wash jeans to match the fun color of the bright sweater and slid on some white sneakers. I tied my wavy hair into a bun, and put a light green head band in my hair.
I walked downstairs and greeted my grandmother who was cooking breakfast.
Hello dear, she said, greeting me as well. I smiled and sat down at the bar, waiting for my eggs to be done.
Did you have a good nights rest? she asked me.
Yes I did indeed, you? I replied, taking a sip of the orange juice she gave me.
Just as well thank you for asking, she said. She placed the eggs on a plate and set them in front of me. I thanked her and started eating my eggs. We had decided to go on a bike ride today, so we set out on our bikes to the trail in a forest we usually rode on.
On our trail we knew snakes were a warning, but the snakes we usually crossed were small and harmless. This time however, was time was different. This time we came across a rather large one, a python.
We came across it because I had fallen off my bike. I got back up and walked back over to my grandmother. When I approached her, I saw a large Vipera berus facing her. She sat there in fear, not having a wand or anything to defend herself. I slowly approached it, hoping I could take it's attention away from her.
Get away from her, I said, or so I thought. The snake looked at me and came towards me.
At what price? The snake asked, I looked at it with a confused expression.
Anything, I said quickly.
Leave me alone, and don't come back. The snake said. I nodded in agreement while watching the snake slither off. I quickly rushed to help my grandmother and looked back at the snake.
Did you just speak Parseltongue? my grandmother asked.
Parseltongue; what's that? I asked.
I'll tell you when we get home, she said. I nodded and we headed back to the flat. I sat down at the couch while she made us a cup of tea.
Parseltongue is the language of snakes. If you hold the ability of Parseltongue, you can speak to and understand snakes. It makes sense why you're a Slytherin. Your father must have been one too. My grandmother explained.
But why am I a Parselmouth, how did it happen? I asked.
Your mother always told me how friendly your father was to snakes. He had one himself. She always told me how close he was with it and how it seemed that he would talk to it in a weird language. It sounded an awful lot like Parseltongue in my mind at the time, she replied.I sipped my tea while thinking. Was I really a Parselmouth?
I walked downstairs and greeted my grandmother who was cooking breakfast.
Hello dear, she said, greeting me as well. I smiled and sat down at the bar, waiting for my eggs to be done.
Did you have a good nights rest? she asked me.
Yes I did indeed, you? I replied, taking a sip of the orange juice she gave me.
Just as well thank you for asking, she said. She placed the eggs on a plate and set them in front of me. I thanked her and started eating my eggs. We had decided to go on a bike ride today, so we set out on our bikes to the trail in a forest we usually rode on.
On our trail we knew snakes were a warning, but the snakes we usually crossed were small and harmless. This time however, was time was different. This time we came across a rather large one, a python.
We came across it because I had fallen off my bike. I got back up and walked back over to my grandmother. When I approached her, I saw a large Vipera berus facing her. She sat there in fear, not having a wand or anything to defend herself. I slowly approached it, hoping I could take it's attention away from her.
Get away from her, I said, or so I thought. The snake looked at me and came towards me.
At what price? The snake asked, I looked at it with a confused expression.
Anything, I said quickly.
Leave me alone, and don't come back. The snake said. I nodded in agreement while watching the snake slither off. I quickly rushed to help my grandmother and looked back at the snake.
Did you just speak Parseltongue? my grandmother asked.
Parseltongue; what's that? I asked.
I'll tell you when we get home, she said. I nodded and we headed back to the flat. I sat down at the couch while she made us a cup of tea.
Parseltongue is the language of snakes. If you hold the ability of Parseltongue, you can speak to and understand snakes. It makes sense why you're a Slytherin. Your father must have been one too. My grandmother explained.
But why am I a Parselmouth, how did it happen? I asked.
Your mother always told me how friendly your father was to snakes. He had one himself. She always told me how close he was with it and how it seemed that he would talk to it in a weird language. It sounded an awful lot like Parseltongue in my mind at the time, she replied.I sipped my tea while thinking. Was I really a Parselmouth?
Stats After the Change
-Stamina 3
-Evasion 4
-Strength 3
-Wisdom 8
-Arcane Power 7
-Accuracy 5
Words: 530
STATUS: Pending
Note: Fixed
Mod Edit 21.02.21
Two things:
- You are biking in England. There usually is not suddenly a wild phyton. Please be aware of Englands common nature.
- No, you are not a descendant of Slytherin. Nowhere it is stated that a Parsel must be a descendant of Slytherin. Do not claim a relationship since this is against our rules.
Mod Edit: 28.02.21
An adder this time. This is at least native in England. What we are looking for in applications is some kind of explanation as to why you are parselmouth. You still try to justify it by "being Slytherin". This has nothing to do with the talent. Where does this talent come from or from whom?
Last edited by Eleanore Reed on 5 Mar 2021, 06:14, edited 5 times in total.
Keep your head held high and your attitude to the sky. Trust me babe, it's the only thing that will protect you from the harms of the unknown.
Eleanore Reed
20 Feb 2021, 00:29
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
Link to your encyclopedia thread: Ency Here!
1st Year Ability
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Lovely Creature
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
ReducioWord Count: 432 WordsZoë had grown up hearing that her mother had been a beautiful woman. Having never met her mother, all Zoë had were old pictures to give her some indication of her mother’s beauty. While initially unbeknownst to Zoë, the young girl had inherited many of the finer features that had made her mother beautiful. In her early youth, this initially cute appearance allowed her to frequently escape potential trouble. An adorable pouty face or wide eyes were enough to deflect initial scoldings from her father. Her long blonde hair and blue eyes kept an enchanting quality towards any frustration her father may have felt. While this worked against her already loving father, her developing attractiveness also proved useful as she entered her school years.
With a naturally mischievous nature, the young Zoë could use her natural charm for at least basic manipulation of the foolishly interested boys and girls. She found enjoyment in keeping up her appearance and style, if being attractive could disarm the good sense of others or make people more malleable to her wishes, it seemed a useful pursuit. Her fine features, vibrant eyes, and inviting smile were clearly reminiscent of her mother but as Zoë grew she continued to refine her appearance. Like her mother, she was relatively tall and thin, nearly always carrying a warm smile across her face. With a modest background, Zoë had to get creative with the development of her early fashion sense but her natural beauty was generally able to outweigh the more...curious fashion choices she made growing up. Not only did her appearance give her a quick level of confidence, she found that it also had the tendency for others to underestimate her abilities. While confident in her own power, she didn’t quite mind the notion of potential foes erroneously thinking of her as just a pretty face.
With increasing maturity, Zoë moved away from using her appearance for manipulation. Instead, Zoë allowed the innate attraction people had for her appearance to develop into easy friendships. While still enjoying the maintenance of her fashion sense, Zoë began to enjoy the increased sociability afforded to her. Not oblivious to the occasional stares she would receive from her peers, Zoë developed a slight habit of calling out those curious wandering eyes. Either directly yelling out to them or by making a sudden funny face at the onlooker, she always enjoyed their initial embarrassment for being caught. While undoubtedly enjoying some of the perks of her natural attractiveness, Zoë quickly gained a determination to not allow such a superfluous trait to make her conceited.
2nd Year Ability
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Perfectionist
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
ReducioWord Count: 442 WordsWhile already considered a relative prodigy of Charms and spell casting, Zoë was extremely critical of her own abilities. While not to a degree that could be considered self-loathing, she instead channeled her critical mindset into drive and ambition. With a blind passion for perfect casting, she wanted to make sure that each time she uttered a spell or whipped her wand that it was done with perfection. She would spend countless hours thinking over minute details for improvement to develop better habits. Her desire for perfection kept her from growing bored with her studies as she manufactured her own challenges and goals for success.
The death of her father towards the end of her first year at the hands of a dark wizard only amplified this tendency for Zoë. Overcome with grief, Zoë found some solace in her continued pursuit of perfection. With the vague hope of one day avenging her beloved father, she only became more governed by her perfectionism. With each new spell she learned, Zoë would drill every component of the spell far beyond what was necessary. Her natural gifts only grew with her desire to not fail. Slowly her perfectionist tendencies began to spread outside of general spell casting and into all of her pursuits. In subjects like potion-making, Zoë would become frustrated when her potions were not one hundred percent correct. Like her devotion to spell casting, Zoë began devoting considerable amounts of time to her studies to try and hone out any weaknesses she might have had.
Charms, however, remained her main point of pride. Her natural gifts in the subject and early devotion to the rudimentary mechanics of spell casting allowed her to quickly master almost any spell placed in front of her. Any critiques she might have received would be hastily analyzed and corrected. Her desire for increased strength fed directly into her perfectionism but can also be attributed as one of the primary sources of growing success. With each task or responsibility the developing Zoë was given, she attacked the task with the same desire for success that she found in spell casting. While finding perfection was considerably more elusive outside of spell casting, her perfectionist nature still pushed her to devote considerable care and focus to anything she took on. As her skills grew, this desire for perfection extended to those she was close to. Wanting to help others, Zoë found considerable enjoyment in positively pushing others towards perfecting their own skills. While she continues to focus too much on minute deficiencies in her skills, Zoë has never lost the drive to continue honing her skills towards the invariably elusive perfection.
STATUS: ApprovedSTATS:
Stamina: 5
Evasion: 11
Strength: 2
Wisdom: 20
Arc. Power: 16
Accuracy: 16
Stamina: 5 / Evasion: 11 / Strength: 2 / Wisdom: 20 / ArcPower: 16 / Accuracy: 16
"Never be so politе you forget your power. Nevеr wield such power you forget to be polite."
24 Feb 2021, 23:22
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
Word count: 910Link to encyclopedia:viewtopic.php?f=169&t=15710#p244115
Race I am applying for: werewolf
Describe why this fits your character:
Reducio
If you were to ask Paige her favorite thing to do during summer with her family, she would only be able to say it used to be camping. But now, she lives in constant fear during the summer. The camping trips always went well. Always went the same way. Her family packed, they got in the car, had a mini road trip, then rented a cabin in the woods. It was the same thing every time, yet something was always a surprise. Two summers ago, though, instead of a pleasant surprise, the Grant family was left horrified. This is how it went.
"Time to pack your things, Paige!"
Paige was excited, as usual. She had no way of knowing what was to happen so she rushed to shove her clothes into her luggage. Her mom entered the room to find Paige sitting on the luggage, trying to close it. Paige had felt the need to pack a little extra this year. She had decided to pack not only the usual but extra long sleeves, extra jackets, extra everything. She even made her own survival kit to pack which she had seen on t.v. Her mom only shook her head.
"What are you doing?" But Paige only gave a final push and locked the luggage.
"Being prepared." Her mom clearly was confused.
"For what, exactly?" She was met with a shrug.
"Anything. We're going to camp in the woods. In. The. Woods." She turned to start pulling her luggage to the front door. Her mom sighed.
***
"Who's ready?" Her dad had just finished packing the trunk and Paige and her brother, Ross, were geeking out over a creepy comic.
"Awesome! Look at how she runs!" Ross nods. "But then she stumbles and the monster teachers her and then-" Ross held his fingers like claws. "ROAR!" Paige swatted him with her hand before rushing into the car and into the back row. It was the best spot because you could lay across the seat and have your own section. Ross climbed into the car and threw the comic at Paige. She laughed and eagerly flipped through it.
She was glad this stuff could never happen, she was glad this was all fake. If she didn't know any better, she would be afraid because the comic takes place in the woods.
Her mom had just finished saying goodbye to the babysitter and the babies. She got in the car, and her dad started to drive. Paige could hardly contain her excitement.
Hours and hours later, they arrived at their destination. Paige hopped over the seat, landed on Ross, then hopped out of the car sticking her tongue out at him. She opened the trunk to help with the luggage. Her mom took out the keys to the cabin and unlocked the door. Paige walked inside and walked right to the room she stays in every year. She set her luggage down and unpacked. Her mom walked in.
"Go explore and play. I'll unpack and make dinner, okay?"
Paige smiled and grabbed Ross, running outside. She wasn't the least worried for the creepy comic had made its way out of her mind.
"so what should we do?" Ross shrugged but then smiled. "Hide and seek!" Ross didn't want to be outside and he was still annoyed with Paige but she didn't know that. Paige nodded and Ross turned. "I'll count. Go!"
The sun was starting to set, and tonight would be a full moon. Paige sprinted to a good tree. She found a big one that wouldn't show herself. She hid behind it and held her breath. Little did she know, Ross had gone inside.
It was getting cold out. She wondered how long it would take for Ross to find her now in the dark. She heard pounding and crunching. Her first thought was that it was Ross. But then she heard the howl. She heard the cry of a nearby animal, then the pounding again. She froze.
She turned, and up the hill, was a werewolf. Of course, she didn't know that. Paige nearly fainted as its piercing eyes rested on her. But her adrenaline kicked in as she burst down the hill. She gave a scream as she started to run and run. She was fit, yes. She was fast, yes. But nothing could prepare her for the log up ahead. She stumbled, and the wolf had just started to leap over the log when it realized she was beside it. There was a ditch next to the log, and the wolf was hanging off of it. The wolf snarled and clawed its way up, mouth open. Paige backed up to the log, she was trapped. The wolf began to slip. With a yelp, it lunged forward and tried to bring her down with it. The wolf's teeth closed around her leg, but it finally slipped and fell, thankfully not taking Paige down, too. Her cabin was so close she could see it. Her parents were calling her name. She was seeing red and her head was dizzy. Ross found her and screamed for help.
Her parents were carrying her, yelling for help when they came across a strange man. He ran over and took Paige, telling her parents over and over he knew what to do and that they needed to leave. Someway, somehow, they listened and he quickly took her to Saint Mungos.
She woke up in the hospital, a cast around the wound. A nurse was standing there, with some sort of stick her her hand. Her parents were called in and everything was explained to them. At first, her parents couldn't, wouldn't, believe it. But they had to. Paige was horrified and scared. She was lucky to survive. The downside was that she now was a werewolf. She read into them and now is afraid of wolves. She's afraid others will think she is a monster.
Sats:Stamina - 5 | Evasion - 6| Strength - 8 | Wisdom - 5| ArcPower - 6 | Accuracy - 5
New stats: Stamina - 4| Evasion - 6| Strength - 7| Wisdom - 4| ArcPower - 6 | Accuracy - 4
Edit: Thank you, I made the edits and sent the owl
STATUS: Approved
Mod edit 28.02.21:
While I recognize that in order to become a werewolf you have to meet one in the wild, there still is some issue with your character meeting a werewolf as muggleborn.
First, you would not know that it is a werewolf.
Second, a werewolf bite is deadly not just because it's a werewolf but because it does not heal. A normal hospital would not be able to treat her, she'd bleed to death. She needs to visit a magical one where things can also be explained to her.
Third, a werewolf can't be shooed away by a muggle.
Please make your edits and owl Béatrice Lydursdattir once you are done.
3 Mar 2021, 22:29
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
Never mind, I've changed my mind
Last edited by Holly Bliss on 18 Mar 2021, 20:34, edited 1 time in total.
5 Mar 2021, 01:29
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
Link to your encyclopedia thread: viewtopic.php?f=169&t=15643
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Healing Sage
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
Word count: 1034
Stats:
Stamina: 5
Evasion: 0
Strength: 9
Wisdom: 8
Arcane Power: 8
Accuracy: 5
STATUS: Approved
Stamina: 9 | Evasion: 0 | Strength: 9 | Wisdom: 8 | ArcPower: 8 | Accuracy: 6
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Healing Sage
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
Reducio
Shiawase always idolized her mother, the doctor. When she was six year old, she decided she wanted to be a doctor, too. She would take out her dolls and play a game she called, “trauma sturgeon.” She’d mime operating on her dolls and saving them from various diseases and conditions, from broken bones, to cancer, to leprosy. She would always save the day and never lose a patient. And she’d bring her mom on as a consult whenever she was dealing with a complicated case. She learned so much about anatomy and various conditions she was trying to treat, albeit in very simplified language.
On her seventh birthday, something very significant happened. No, it wasn’t a manifestation of her magic - that came later. On that day, she received her very first first aid kit. It was very basic - bandaids, disinfectant, a mask, gloves, and official stethoscope - and Shiawase was thrilled. Now she could be just like her mom and solve every problem everyone ever had!
And she did. Any time she heard anyone cry or sound distressed, she would ask what the problem was. They were usually basic. “I skinned my knee.” “I fell down and it hurts.” Shiawase would clean out the wounds and patch them up with her bandaids, saying all the while, “It’ll be okay. My mom’s a doctor.” But it wasn’t just cuts and scrapes she would treat. She would also talk to people and comfort them through their problems.
As she got older, she added more things to her kit and read more about biology. She didn’t have to deal with many complicated problems, though. She was still a child. The worst she had to deal with was that one time a kid fell from a tree and broke his arm. At least, until that day.
When Shiawase was ten years old, she was having lunch with her best friend, Amelia. They were smiling and laughing one second, and the next, her friend was swelling up and choking. She was having an allergic reaction.
“E-EpiPen! She needs an EpiPen! Does anyone have one?!” She cried out. No response. It was too fast. The others were in shock. She had to do it all herself. By the time anyone snapped out of it, it’d be too late.
“Fine!” She whipped up her phone and dialed the emergency number, putting it on speaker as she felt Amelia's pulse.
No pulse. At least she knew what to do about that. Chest compressions.
One and two and three and four and . . . .
As she pressed down on her friend’s chest to revive her, tears streaming down her face, she realized her friend’s lungs weren’t filling with air. She was turning blue. Blocked airway. What should she do about that? As she thought about it, the call was answered. She told the operator what was going on and where she was. She was told to continue chest compressions. Don’t try to do anything else. Maybe they were right.
She could only think of one way to get air into her friend when it was blocked off. She’d have to take a needle . . . she had one in her first aid kit, for basic stitching. Take a needle and go between the thyroid and cricoid cartilages. In other words, just below her Adam’s apple. It’d be hard to see, though. She’d have to feel, and even that wasn’t reliable with all the swelling.
She wasn’t a medical professional. She knew the technique in theory, but she never thought she’d actually have to do it. Her hands were shaking. There was no way she could do this! Her friend would die!
But her friend was dead either way if that airway stayed blocked.
She got off Amelia and grabbed her first aid kit, then ran into the kitchen to heat up her needle to disinfect it. Time slowed down. One second. Two seconds. Every second counted. She was back as soon as she could be - which still felt far too long. She straddled Amelia. Her legs burned from the effort of running . . . but the real pain would come later. For now, she was too focused. She looked at Amelia’s unconscious, swollen, pale with blue tinting body and let out a sob. Processing, for the first time, just how close to death her friend was. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stab her own friend with a needle! No way!
I can’t do this! I’m so sorry! I failed you. I thought I could be a doctor. But I can’t even save my best friend. I’m so sorry, Ame.
She took a deep breath.
The only way you live is if I do this and I do it right. I only have one chance at this.
“It’ll be okay.” Her hands were still shaking. She felt around Amelia’s neck until she was confident she found her Adam’s apple. She glanced down at where she needed to stab and raised the needle. She would only stab as hard as she needed to. “My mom’s a doctor!”
As she lowered the needle, she was suddenly tackled off Amelia. She didn’t really register who did this. Some idiot!
“No! NO! She needs me! Why did you do that?! She’ll die!”
Her ears were ringing. Her vision was fading. Whatever the person who tackled her said, she couldn’t hear it. She could only think about how her friend was doomed. How she’d never see her again. It was the most terrified of anything she’d ever felt. She burst into tears. But then, a familiar sensation washed over her. The same one she’d feel right before a flame would rise and burn her food. Was she about to burn the school down?!
No. It was a good thing this time. She heard Amelia take in a gasp of air. Shiawase was so relieved, she cried . . . and passed out.
Her magic didn’t fully heal Amelia, but it brought her swelling down just enough for her to get air again, for her heart to beat again. Just enough to survive.
They ate lunch together again in no time. And Shiawase added an EpiPen to her first aid kit.
On her seventh birthday, something very significant happened. No, it wasn’t a manifestation of her magic - that came later. On that day, she received her very first first aid kit. It was very basic - bandaids, disinfectant, a mask, gloves, and official stethoscope - and Shiawase was thrilled. Now she could be just like her mom and solve every problem everyone ever had!
And she did. Any time she heard anyone cry or sound distressed, she would ask what the problem was. They were usually basic. “I skinned my knee.” “I fell down and it hurts.” Shiawase would clean out the wounds and patch them up with her bandaids, saying all the while, “It’ll be okay. My mom’s a doctor.” But it wasn’t just cuts and scrapes she would treat. She would also talk to people and comfort them through their problems.
As she got older, she added more things to her kit and read more about biology. She didn’t have to deal with many complicated problems, though. She was still a child. The worst she had to deal with was that one time a kid fell from a tree and broke his arm. At least, until that day.
When Shiawase was ten years old, she was having lunch with her best friend, Amelia. They were smiling and laughing one second, and the next, her friend was swelling up and choking. She was having an allergic reaction.
“E-EpiPen! She needs an EpiPen! Does anyone have one?!” She cried out. No response. It was too fast. The others were in shock. She had to do it all herself. By the time anyone snapped out of it, it’d be too late.
“Fine!” She whipped up her phone and dialed the emergency number, putting it on speaker as she felt Amelia's pulse.
No pulse. At least she knew what to do about that. Chest compressions.
One and two and three and four and . . . .
As she pressed down on her friend’s chest to revive her, tears streaming down her face, she realized her friend’s lungs weren’t filling with air. She was turning blue. Blocked airway. What should she do about that? As she thought about it, the call was answered. She told the operator what was going on and where she was. She was told to continue chest compressions. Don’t try to do anything else. Maybe they were right.
She could only think of one way to get air into her friend when it was blocked off. She’d have to take a needle . . . she had one in her first aid kit, for basic stitching. Take a needle and go between the thyroid and cricoid cartilages. In other words, just below her Adam’s apple. It’d be hard to see, though. She’d have to feel, and even that wasn’t reliable with all the swelling.
She wasn’t a medical professional. She knew the technique in theory, but she never thought she’d actually have to do it. Her hands were shaking. There was no way she could do this! Her friend would die!
But her friend was dead either way if that airway stayed blocked.
She got off Amelia and grabbed her first aid kit, then ran into the kitchen to heat up her needle to disinfect it. Time slowed down. One second. Two seconds. Every second counted. She was back as soon as she could be - which still felt far too long. She straddled Amelia. Her legs burned from the effort of running . . . but the real pain would come later. For now, she was too focused. She looked at Amelia’s unconscious, swollen, pale with blue tinting body and let out a sob. Processing, for the first time, just how close to death her friend was. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stab her own friend with a needle! No way!
I can’t do this! I’m so sorry! I failed you. I thought I could be a doctor. But I can’t even save my best friend. I’m so sorry, Ame.
She took a deep breath.
The only way you live is if I do this and I do it right. I only have one chance at this.
“It’ll be okay.” Her hands were still shaking. She felt around Amelia’s neck until she was confident she found her Adam’s apple. She glanced down at where she needed to stab and raised the needle. She would only stab as hard as she needed to. “My mom’s a doctor!”
As she lowered the needle, she was suddenly tackled off Amelia. She didn’t really register who did this. Some idiot!
“No! NO! She needs me! Why did you do that?! She’ll die!”
Her ears were ringing. Her vision was fading. Whatever the person who tackled her said, she couldn’t hear it. She could only think about how her friend was doomed. How she’d never see her again. It was the most terrified of anything she’d ever felt. She burst into tears. But then, a familiar sensation washed over her. The same one she’d feel right before a flame would rise and burn her food. Was she about to burn the school down?!
No. It was a good thing this time. She heard Amelia take in a gasp of air. Shiawase was so relieved, she cried . . . and passed out.
Her magic didn’t fully heal Amelia, but it brought her swelling down just enough for her to get air again, for her heart to beat again. Just enough to survive.
They ate lunch together again in no time. And Shiawase added an EpiPen to her first aid kit.
Word count: 1034
Stats:
Stamina: 5
Evasion: 0
Strength: 9
Wisdom: 8
Arcane Power: 8
Accuracy: 5
STATUS: Approved
Stamina: 9 | Evasion: 0 | Strength: 9 | Wisdom: 8 | ArcPower: 8 | Accuracy: 6
8 Mar 2021, 06:07
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
STATUS: ApprovedLink to your encyclopedia thread: Imora Corcilius
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Werewolf
Describe why this fits your character: (Wordcount: 730)Stats:Imora had always been a child of delicate constitution. Anaemia chief among these, poor stamina, fatigue and fainting. But she grew up happy and loved, an only child to a mother and a father, and surrounded by her extended family of witches and wizards.
Family gatherings were common; being an only child, Imora's parents kept her close with her paternal cousins. The two eldest—Walter and Eben—were long graduated and working, but she grew up with the youngest, Taylor and Trista. The Corcilius family was one long involved in gathering wand cores for wand makers to use in their wares, a business that often put them into contact with wild animals. Not that werewolves were counted among that, but injuries resulting from that work were not uncommon in the family, who kept land on the countryside for this purpose.
Eben Corcilius, the second eldest of her cousins, was a withdrawn and often standoffish man who nonetheless cared deeply for his family. A member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Eben worked as part of the Werewolf Capture Unit and Werewolf Registry, putting him at odds with a number of people. Although the Unit ultimately sought to help people, put them in contact with Werewolf Support Services, the primary goal was still to stop the spread of lychanthropy and keep both the general populous safe during the full moon, and prevent wayward werewolves from exposing the Wizarding World.
Eben had recently brought in a woman on charges of conspiracy for harbouring an unregistered werewolf. The werewolf in question, her husband, had been attempting to deal with his condition himself by going out into the woods during the full moon, thinking this would be enough to keep people safe. Unfortunately he'd been getting into muggle farmers' livestock, bringing him into conflict with the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Upset that his wife had been arrested, he showed up on the Corcilius family's premise during a full moon, hoping to attack Eben in revenge. Instead, being unable to control himself as a werewolf, he dragged a young Imora into the woods that night.
Imora had taken to astronomy at a young age, something her parents fostered. The plan was to send her to schooling in the New World with her great uncle, Hadley Corcilius, a notable wizard astronomer and astrologist. She enjoyed stargazing, and had gone out with a small telescope given as a gift.
Dragged into the woods and unable to fight off the attack, the small girl was left to bleed out as her family rushed in to confront her attacker, leaving the creature to flee into the woods. She very easily would have died, given a werewolf bite's resistance to clotting, coupled with her own anaemia. The combined care of Eben, an expert on werewolves and werewolf bites, and Walter, a trained healer, kept her stable and alive long enough to be transported to St. Mungo's for emergency care.
The werewolf in question, horrified to learn who he had actually attacked, willingly turned himself in. Plans to send Imora oversees to study were put to a swift end, worried about her health and unable to ensure she'd receive the proper attention she required with her newfound condition. Hogwarts had a proven track-record with caring for students afflicted with lycanthropy. And the Corcilius put their trust in the noble old school.
Looking at Imora, one wouldn't normally equate lycanthropy with the quiet, cheerful girl. Given her pale complexion and anaemia, maybe a jesting diagnosis of vampirism. She was still young, not yet effected by the long-term changes of the transformation. But there was an unwillingness to let the affliction change her demeanor, change her personality, or change her plans.
Quiet and polite, timid but coming into herself with a graceful confidence. A determination to keep on top of her wolfsbane potions, every month—a determination to one day learn to brew the complicated concoction herself, despite no real aptitude for potions (perhaps more wishful thinking, but when a Ravenclaw puts one's mind to something...)—she wouldn't let lycanthropy get in the way of her plans. An absolute, stubborn refusal. She'd been dealt a hand of poor health, and although could not rightly 'overcome' it, she wouldn't let this dampen her prospects. It was quite a lot of resolve and wisdom for a small, bookish eleven-year-old.Stamina 〚2〛| Evasion 〚8〛 | Strength 〚2〛
Wisdom 〚8〛| Arcane 〚4〛| Accuracy 〚6〛
I will add it once you have been added to the Index. Please owl Béatrice Lydursdattir once you have been added.
~*~ Imora
14 Mar 2021, 02:12
DO NOT POST HERE: Application for Magical Races/Talents and Special Abilities
STATUS: Approved.Encyclopedia: Aeron Frey
Ability/Race/Talent: Part-Veela
Word Count: 631+ ish
A brief family history:
Starc Giboran, so proclaims Frey family crest in the High German of old. Born Strong. More colloquially it is boasted: There is no mud in Frey blood.
The statements are bold, provocative— and debatably true. The Frey are noted, even by their critics, for not having thrown out a squib in centuries. Arguably proof positive of the inherent potency of the bloodline. As for the mud, well. The muggle-lovers of the wizarding world may blanch at such frank speech, but it is also well known that the Frey have, in those same centuries, strictly avoided sullying their noble line with those sorry creatures completely devoid of magic— muggles.
How do they achieve such exceptional results, you may ask? Well, it's an open secret in wizarding high society. While their fellow purebloods contort themselves into increasingly consanguineous knots, sneaking muggle-borns on to their tree as much as they dare in order to stave off the worst of the deformities and deficiencies, the Frey have branched out into… new waters.
They say it's part of a storied history, a familial legacy. They cite an ancestor from antiquity that supposedly lay with a siren in Messina and lived. They claim a heritage that spans the ages and a spread of magical beings that spans the continent. Nixies, selkies, melusine, rusalka— veela. Whatever the veracity of the others, the veela is certainly true. For centuries now, when the wizard-born marriage prospects have seemed too weak, or incestuous, or muddied, the Frey have sought the beautiful, dangerous, magicial beings in the remote waterways of Europe.
Not all purebloods are accepting of their methods. Some of their witty detractors quip that that laying with watery tarts in lakes isn't a sound system for magical offspring, but the Frey have been pleased with their results thus far. They bridle at the term halfbreed and consider themselves pureblood— more pure than most that wear the name today. Better a veela than a muggle, they say. Better magic with magic, than magic with mud.Recent Events:
A little over eleven years ago, Aeron was born to Caspian Rhenus Theodor of the Bavarian Freys and Lysandra Leonora of the Dover Diernans. His parents had been betrothed since birth, a practice still in use by families serious about their bloodlines. He was raised as normally as a wizarding child can be— except for the fact his father was part-veela and his mother was Lysandra Frey, the opera superstar.Psychological Impact:
Fine. Aeron's childhood experience was pretty unique. With a veela/human hybrid for a father and a famous entertainer for a mother, he's been a student of the laws of attraction all his life— and his finding have been interesting.
The Frey have, for generations, cultivated a certain restraint and poise. Well aware of the emotional tendencies of the veela and the stigma of being less-than-human, they raise their children to be reserved and self-possessed. They aim to be eminently human, though some find them eminently boring. That they are beautiful is undeniable, particularly those benefiting from a more recent infusion of veela blood, but everything in their upbringing has focused on restraining the bulk of those gifts.
His mother is, of course, Lysandra Frey. Renown for her beautiful singing voice, marvelous stage presence and stunningly good looks. Enormously talented, alarmingly famous, completely human. Growing up with her, Aeron was quickly sensitized to the difference between veela magic and the mundane, ineffable, unfakeable force that is charisma.
All in all, Aeron is well aware that attraction born of veela magic is a transient, ephemeral thing. The feelings come and go as the magic does. The desire to impress, the desire to love— none of it matters. None of it's real. Not when he compares it to the effect his mother has on people.Stats:Stamina 4 | Evasion 7 | Strength* 0 | Wisdom 7 | Arcane 5 | Accuracy 7
*He doesn't lift with his legs.
Will be added to the trunk after you have been approved by Index. Please owl Bèatrice Lydursdattir once Index has been finished.
Veela Half-breed | Alluring | Stamina 4 | Evasion 7 | Strength 0 | Wisdom 7 | Arcane 5 | Accuracy 7