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You stand on the steps facing a large but packed ballroom, dazzlingly beautiful so late in the evening with starlight shining in through the sky-light glass. The entire ball emits a constant, golden ray of utter greatness, filling you with awe as you look out across the crowd of guests.

Welcome to The Aviary!
We have a multitude of different bird breeds, however, owing to migration and temperature changes, some specific breeds are unavailable right now. Feel free to peruse the birds.
PLEASE DO NOT OPEN ANY CAGE DOORS

The Pigeons - 1 Galleon 8 sickles (725 potato peels) Simple, block-style, collage-like banner. Varieties Reducio Code: Select all [quote][center][b][size=125]🦜 PIGEON 🦜[/size][/b] [b]Name: [/b] [b]House: [/b] [b]House to feature (y/n):[/b] [b]Year: [/b] [b]Theme/Aesthetic: [/b] [b]Colour Scheme: [/b] [b]Avoided Colours: [/b] [b]Faceclaim (leave empty if unwanted): [/b] [b]Particular Objects or Images to feature: [/b] [b]Any Text: [/b] [b]Preferred means of contact: [/b][/center] [/quote]

The Robins - 2 Galleons (986 potato peels) Similar to Pigeons but involves more layering and is just better. Varieties Reducio Code: Select all [quote][center][b][size=125]🦜 ROBIN 🦜[/size][/b] [b]Name: [/b] [b]House: [/b] [b]House to feature (y/n):[/b] [b]Year: [/b] [b]Theme/Aesthetic: [/b] [b]Colour Scheme: [/b] [b]Avoided Colours: [/b] [b]Faceclaim (leave empty if unwanted): [/b] [b]Particular Objects or Images to feature: [/b] [b]Any Text: [/b] [b]Preferred means of contact: [/b][/center] [/quote]

The Hummingbirds - 3 Galleons (1479 potato peels) An empty cage (NOT AVAILIABLE RIGHT NOW)

The Parrots - 3 Galleons (1479 potato peels) An empty cage (NOT AVAILIABLE RIGHT NOW)

~~~~~~~~~~ Various breeds of Pigeons flap around the large enclosure. Two of them are fighting. Their fluff goes everywhere. You are now fluffy. And possibly sneezing. ~~~~~~~~~~

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~~~~~~~~~~ Only a few Robins flutter through the Aviary. A sign reads "Robins are dangerous" You think you see a small bird sleeping on the ground. You back away. A robin looks at you, a mad glint in its eye. It blinks. ~~~~~~~~~~

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The grand mahogany bookshelves lining the walls of the ballroom are fill to the brim with books, each of different sizes and colours yet each inlaid with gold leaf.

A book entitled, "The History of Kolya Obolensky," is placed on a pedestal at the front.

The History

Nicolau Obolensky Santos came into this world bathed in a golden glow and welcomed with raucous applause.

The truth was rather more ordinary. The light which gilded the room belonged to a fire that crackled in the almost-unused grate while the applause came from the skies themselves as thunder rolled over the Brazilian landscape and lightning split the sky in two. In the centre of it all, the warm glow gently softened Valentina Petrovna Santos’ hard features, once sculpted into cold ice over years of battling the Russian winters. Crouching in his wife’s shadow, one hand clutched tightly in a death grip, the other laying cold towels over her forehead, Paulo Mariano Santos whispered sweet words of comfort and adoration in Portuguese into his wife’s near deafened ears.

The unlikely pair had met on a night not dissimilar to one on which their first child was born. The thunder which heralded Nicolau’s arrival too was present during their first encounter, though they were not as unlucky as to hear so loudly from within a basement rave in the nation’s heart, Sao Paulo. Valentina, a beautiful, if slightly pink-nosed from sunburn, witch, had only two nights left in the country she had almost fallen in love with and fully planned to treasure it. Paulo, a half-blooded wizard who was visiting his little cousin as celebration for her graduation from USP, had finally given up on his self-imposed role as a “good role model” and was looking forward to a nice, long evening of fun. Of course, neither got their wish as they only truly remembered the first couple hours of the event before each found themselves in their respective accommodations, suffering from raging headaches, all without having even noticed one another.

Both, despite their groggy state, had a duty to see one last part of the region, Paulo for his soon-to-be-broken-up-with girlfriend and Valentina for the sheer determination to use all of her time in Brazil effectively. So, off they went, by a relatively short bus journey, to Cantareira State Park to do one last beautiful hike. Thanks to some twist in fate, or destiny, Paulo had managed to offend said girlfriend during the night before and so, marvellously, the pair were not on speaking terms. Three hours of awkward silence with Maria, the girlfriend, might have been unbearable had Paulo not gradually begun to chat to another hiker, seemingly as equally exhausted. Valentina. Though neither were prepared to admit it, something had started on that trail.

What followed were postcards. Hundreds sent from Russia, Spain, France, China, each replied to by ones marked from Maringá, Brazil with scrawls of writing slipping over the front and onto the bright pictures. Gossip was exchanged; complaints were described; Maria’s final words to Paulo were painstakingly etched into the card; those same words echoed back in the next postcard from Australia, leaving Paulo unable to hold in his laughter. At the supposed end of a surprise trip Valentina had made for Paulo’s twenty-sixth birthday, Paulo offered something far more valuable than his address: a ring. Granted, it was just a placeholder ring from his cousin in advance of the happy couple picking out matching bands together but, nonetheless, Valentina immediately agreed.

It was a sharp adjustment for Valentina. Despite her ongoing travels, she had never strayed from the Russian mansion she had grown up in for too long, usually returning within two months at her family’s insistence. But her home was in Brazil now, with Paulo and, within only a few years, a little boy and a little girl who filled their house with the giggles Valentina had never heard. Much time was taken over choosing young Nicolau’s and then, to a lesser extent, Sofia’s name, with Paulo offering family names and Valentina continually rejecting them, insisting that they had to have something Russian about them. Eventually, the two were chosen, judged to be close enough to their Slavic counterparts to earn the nicknames, “Kolya” and “Sonya”, names only ever spoken by their mother or between one another.

From the moment the children began to speak, the small house was filled with cheerful, curious choruses of “Que”s, "Что это”s and “What’s this”s. Nicolau was a happy boy, waking each morning with a smile and joyfully explaining all the incredible things he intended to do that day, wiping away the melon juice that would drip from his mouth. The children, barely over a year apart, were as close as siblings could be. They’d play games for hours. Nicolau would roll his eyes and sigh theatrically as he agreed to join Sofia, a hidden grin tugging at the corners of his mouth in excitement. If Nicolau won the ensuing argument, they’d play as beautiful Russian princes and princesses or knights worthy of Arthurian legend. If Sofia won, she would declare herself the Saci, darting away with fits of giggles as her brother chased after her on his “horse”, determined to pull off her bright red cap.

They also attended a small school of similarly magical children. While there, Nicolau made many attempts to win the other children’s loyalty, much to Sofia’s irritation and, eventually, amusement. They learnt enough to sate their immediate curiosity, mostly stories about what the magical village of Vila do Mato was like. However, in reality, their magical education came from the extensive lessons their mother gave, determined that her children would have the same abundance of knowledge when they went to Castelobruxo as she had had when she started at Koldovstoretz.

Alongside these lessons, practically quoted from the memorised words of strict Russian tutors, Valentina told the children about her family, their ancestors and their noble pursuits. Sofia grew largely ambivalent towards this, smiling sweetly at her mother’s stories while secretly greatly preferring her father’s descriptions of what his muggle side had grown up doing, unlike her brother. Nicolau, Kolya, became quickly enthralled. Every tale would have to be repeated at least twice, words stitching together into a beautiful tapestry until they became more promises than history, real versions of the games that filled his days. The Obolenskys were magical. They were powerful. They were seers.

And Nicolau was one too. There was no other explanation for the way he could avoid thrown objects, how he always managed to guess the weather from hours before, the strange feeling he got when having conversations or picking something up that he had seen himself do it before. Even more unmistakably, his dreams from a young age were so vivid: him, grown up, standing before masses, wealthy, powerful, golden.

Kolya Obolensky was destined for greatness.

~~~~~~~~~~ One Hummingbird darts through the Aviary. Wings, a blur before you. It brushes against your arm. Fast. Small. And beautiful. ~~~~~~~~~~

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