Index Registration
Lilly Lightwood wrote: 28 Jun 2026, 16:38 Character name: Lilly Lightwood
School Year or Adult Level: first year
Does any Profile Card info need changing? No
Link to the character page: here
Character Statistics:
ReducioStamina: 5
Evasion: 6
Strength: 4
Wisdom: 7
ArcPower: 8
Accuracy: 5
Character Backstory:
ReducioLilly grew up in a small village on the outskirts of Oxford with her parents and her adopted brother. Her mother worked in the accidents and catastrophes department at the ministry of magic, and her father had stayed at home to look after Lilly and her brother when she was born. Her parents had hired a tutor for them as they couldn’t attend a primary school with muggles. Her house was a reasonable size, and had a fairly big garden, along with a field across the road that no one seemed to own.
When they were younger, Lilly and her brother had shared a room up until she was 5. Her parents then had an extension built so they could have a room and a bathroom each. When Lilly was 8, her brother had his first instance of magic. He accidentally set the kitchen table on fire at night. As it was wood, it easily burnt down, and the smoke detectors went off, triggering all the doors to be closed. Her mother was at work and her father had gone shopping. No one was ant home except Lilly and her brother, and by the time her parents had returned and tried to put the fire out, he had vanished. The room was left in ashes, and although they couldn’t find his body, there was no way her brother could have made it out alive. Her parents had accepted that he was dead, and held a funeral. What Lilly doesn’t know is that when her brother was locked in the room, his fear triggered a window latch to open. He climbed out, and ran away. Unfortunately, he kept wandering around when he realised he was lost, and couldn’t see his way back to their house. He was later found in a forest, and was taken in by another family.
Lilly is an ambivert, but can be very extroverted around people when she’s comfortable.
First Instance of Magic:
ReducioWhen Lilly was 5, she was playing in the garden on the swing set her family used to have when the swing broke (it was very old). She was flung forwards but instead of falling straight away, her fall was slowed and she floated to the ground. When her dad came out to check on her, she was sitting on the ground with the broken swing behind her.
STATUS: Pending, Malaika, June 30th
- Could you precise if your character's brother is alive or dead? It doesn't matter if your character doesn't know it, we however do need to know it.
- Why would the doors have a locking mechanism upon a fire alarm? It's unrealistic (quick researches in the reducio below) and unsafe! Please adjust your backstory accordingly. Additionally, your character is a pureblood, which means her parents are wizards. Couldn't they magically unlock the door?
Reducio- On another note, please be mindful when roleplaying this part of your story (your character's brother's death), and please make sure to remain in the PG 13 limit.1. Electromagnetic door holder — this is an electromechanical device that is power to hold a door open. When a fire alarm control panel is tripped, power would cut to the door holder and it would close, but fire doors do not lock. These would really only lock when connected to the burgler control panel, in which the door itself would automatically lock when closed. This isn’t an option here because while the smoke alarm may trip it, it wouldn’t lock.
2. Fire door release devices — the electromagnetic door holder actually falls under this category, holding a door open until a fire alarm goes off, in which case the doors would close. These also would not lock, as that is a safety hazard.
- Please copy paste your backstory + FIOM to your encyclopedia after the edits, to make sure they are the same!
STATUS: Denied, Malaika, June 30th
- Explained in owls, but you need to edit your previous post and not create another one!
~you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love~
Index Registration
Name - Surname: Iris Rowan
Age:12
Dob: 21 December 2013
Nationality: Irish
Residence: Dublin, Ireland
School Year: 1st (2025-2026)
Pronouns: She/Her
Sexuality: Hetero
House: Hufflepuff
Race: Human
Blood Status: Pure-blood
Wand: 35,5 cm chestnut wood and dragon heartstring
Patronus: N/A
Does any Profile Card info need changing?
No changes needed thanks
Link to the Character Page:
Character Statistics:
Character Backstory:
First Instance of Magic:
hope I get validated~!
𝓘𝓻𝓲𝓼 𝓡𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓷
Age:12
Dob: 21 December 2013
Nationality: Irish
Residence: Dublin, Ireland
School Year: 1st (2025-2026)
Pronouns: She/Her
Sexuality: Hetero
House: Hufflepuff
Race: Human
Blood Status: Pure-blood
Wand: 35,5 cm chestnut wood and dragon heartstring
Patronus: N/A
Does any Profile Card info need changing?
No changes needed thanks
Link to the Character Page:
Character Statistics:
Reducio
Stamina: 7
Evasion: 9
Strength: 6
Wisdom: 9
ArcPower: 9
Accuracy: 8
Evasion: 9
Strength: 6
Wisdom: 9
ArcPower: 9
Accuracy: 8
Character Backstory:
Reducio
Iris had grown up under the strict rules and refined manners of a noble family, slowly developing a deep resentment toward nearly everything her upbringing represented. From the moment she was born, she was shaped to become a “proper lady,” and she learned to keep her emotions buried inside herself. Even in her darkest, most depressive moments, she mastered the art of appearing cheerful, sociable, and perfectly composed on the outside.
Her father, Mr. Rowan, constantly pushed her toward perfection. He did everything he could to ensure she excelled in every aspect of life, yet the smallest mistake would result in blame and disappointment directed at Iris. In contrast, her mother, Mrs. Rowan, was far gentler and far less strict. Rather than punishing Iris for her errors or causing her distress, she would calmly guide her toward understanding what she had done wrong and how she could improve.
Despite everything, Iris had a few close friends with whom she could speak freely without hesitation. However, she was an only child, with no siblings to share her home or her burdens.
Her father, Mr. Rowan, constantly pushed her toward perfection. He did everything he could to ensure she excelled in every aspect of life, yet the smallest mistake would result in blame and disappointment directed at Iris. In contrast, her mother, Mrs. Rowan, was far gentler and far less strict. Rather than punishing Iris for her errors or causing her distress, she would calmly guide her toward understanding what she had done wrong and how she could improve.
Despite everything, Iris had a few close friends with whom she could speak freely without hesitation. However, she was an only child, with no siblings to share her home or her burdens.
First Instance of Magic:
Reducio
Iris was six years old when it happened for the first time—without warning, without intention, and without anyone in that house truly understanding what they had just witnessed.
That day had already been heavy.
The atmosphere in the Rowan household felt unusually tight, like the air itself had become too dense to breathe comfortably. Iris had done something small—something she barely even remembered afterward—but in her father’s eyes, it had been enough to spark disappointment. His voice had filled the room with sharp precision, each word measured, each sentence cutting deeper than the last. Not loud enough to feel chaotic. Controlled enough to feel worse.
Iris, as always, didn’t cry. She never gave him that satisfaction. She stood there with her hands clenched at her sides, face carefully composed, eyes lowered just enough to look “respectful.”
But inside, something was breaking.
Too much. Too fast. Too heavy for a six-year-old mind to carry in silence.
And then it happened.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She didn’t even fully understand what she was feeling anymore—only that everything inside her seemed to surge upward at once, like pressure building behind glass.
The windows in the room shut.
Not slowly. Not naturally. They snapped closed in perfect synchronization, as if an invisible hand had decided the conversation was over. The sound echoed sharply through the room—enough to make both parents go silent mid-breath.
A cold draft rolled through the space immediately after, sudden and unnatural, brushing against Iris’s skin like a passing shadow. The temperature dropped for just a moment—noticeable enough to make the candles flicker and the curtains tremble slightly.
Then… stillness.
No more movement. No more sound.
Just silence that felt heavier than before.
Iris blinked.
She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t touched anything. And yet the room had responded to her like it had been listening.
Her father froze, eyes narrowing as he looked from the closed windows back to her. Not anger this time—something sharper. Something uncertain.
Her mother, on the other hand, didn’t react with fear. Only quiet recognition flickered across her face, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.
Iris, however, didn’t understand any of it.
She only felt confused… and strangely empty, as if the emotions that had built up inside her had spilled out without permission and left nothing behind.
A few seconds passed.
Then the warmth slowly returned to the room, as if reality itself had corrected its breath. The windows stayed shut, unmoving, ordinary again—too ordinary for what had just happened.
No one spoke for a long time.
But from that day forward, something shifted in the Rowan household.
They no longer looked at Iris only as a child to be shaped.
They looked at her as something else entirely—something that had just begun to awaken.
That day had already been heavy.
The atmosphere in the Rowan household felt unusually tight, like the air itself had become too dense to breathe comfortably. Iris had done something small—something she barely even remembered afterward—but in her father’s eyes, it had been enough to spark disappointment. His voice had filled the room with sharp precision, each word measured, each sentence cutting deeper than the last. Not loud enough to feel chaotic. Controlled enough to feel worse.
Iris, as always, didn’t cry. She never gave him that satisfaction. She stood there with her hands clenched at her sides, face carefully composed, eyes lowered just enough to look “respectful.”
But inside, something was breaking.
Too much. Too fast. Too heavy for a six-year-old mind to carry in silence.
And then it happened.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She didn’t even fully understand what she was feeling anymore—only that everything inside her seemed to surge upward at once, like pressure building behind glass.
The windows in the room shut.
Not slowly. Not naturally. They snapped closed in perfect synchronization, as if an invisible hand had decided the conversation was over. The sound echoed sharply through the room—enough to make both parents go silent mid-breath.
A cold draft rolled through the space immediately after, sudden and unnatural, brushing against Iris’s skin like a passing shadow. The temperature dropped for just a moment—noticeable enough to make the candles flicker and the curtains tremble slightly.
Then… stillness.
No more movement. No more sound.
Just silence that felt heavier than before.
Iris blinked.
She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t touched anything. And yet the room had responded to her like it had been listening.
Her father froze, eyes narrowing as he looked from the closed windows back to her. Not anger this time—something sharper. Something uncertain.
Her mother, on the other hand, didn’t react with fear. Only quiet recognition flickered across her face, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.
Iris, however, didn’t understand any of it.
She only felt confused… and strangely empty, as if the emotions that had built up inside her had spilled out without permission and left nothing behind.
A few seconds passed.
Then the warmth slowly returned to the room, as if reality itself had corrected its breath. The windows stayed shut, unmoving, ordinary again—too ordinary for what had just happened.
No one spoke for a long time.
But from that day forward, something shifted in the Rowan household.
They no longer looked at Iris only as a child to be shaped.
They looked at her as something else entirely—something that had just begun to awaken.
hope I get validated~!
STATUS: Denied, Santiago, 1/07/2026
- The applications pings 100% AI. Please apply again in your own words.
Last edited by Iris Rowan on 30 Jun 2026, 19:35, edited 1 time in total.
𝓘𝓻𝓲𝓼 𝓡𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓷
Index Registration
Users from this point onward would be a part of the 2026-2027 school year.
There is something about ambition, how it not only propels you but also defines you.
There is something about ambition, how it not only propels you but also defines you.
Index Registration
Character name: Octavian Taylor
School Year or Adult Level: first year
Does any Profile Card info need changing? No
Link to the character page: viewtopic.php?f=169&t=47586
Character Statistics
Stamina: 5
Evasion: 7
Strength: 2
Wisdom: 9
Arcane Power: 6
Accuracy: 6
Character Backstory:
First Instance of Magic:
School Year or Adult Level: first year
Does any Profile Card info need changing? No
Link to the character page: viewtopic.php?f=169&t=47586
Character Statistics
Stamina: 5
Evasion: 7
Strength: 2
Wisdom: 9
Arcane Power: 6
Accuracy: 6
Character Backstory:
Reducio
Octavian Taylor grew up as an only child in a wealthy but emotionally distant household.His father Samuel Taylor worked as a model and spent most of his life traveling while his mother Lilith Taylor is a fashion designer who primarily lives and works in Paris. Because both of his parents were often busy with their own careers Octavian was raised more by a rotating cast of nannies,tutors and house staff than by his actual family.
When Octavian was younger he had a weak immune system and was frequently ill which gave his parents another reason to keep him isolated. He was rarely allowed outside and even simple things like visiting a park or meeting other children were treated as unnecessary risks. He spent much of his early childhood looking out through windows watching other people live lives that felt far away from him. Even after his health improved his parents never truly relaxed their rules and the habits of confinement remained long after the original reason for them had passed.
Because he was lonely Octavian became attached to small routines and quiet comforts. He learned to read early and devoured books about animals, history and places he had never been allowed to see. He also developed a habit of collecting little things that reminded him of moments he wanted to keep: feathers, pressed flowers, ticket stubs, smooth stones, and scraps of paper covered in notes. These became his way of holding onto the world when so much of it felt out of reach.
Most of the affection he received came from caretakers rather than his parents and even that was often practical rather than warm. He became very good at appearing agreeable even when he was unhappy because it was easier than arguing with adults who rarely listened.
As he got older Octavian began to resent how controlled his life was. He disliked being dressed, spoken for, and planned around as though he were another expensive possession in the house. Dyeing his naturally black hair white became one of the first choices he ever made entirely for himself and he did it partly out of rebellion and partly because he wanted to look like someone his parents would never have chosen. It was a small act but it made him feel like his own person for the first time.
When Octavian was younger he had a weak immune system and was frequently ill which gave his parents another reason to keep him isolated. He was rarely allowed outside and even simple things like visiting a park or meeting other children were treated as unnecessary risks. He spent much of his early childhood looking out through windows watching other people live lives that felt far away from him. Even after his health improved his parents never truly relaxed their rules and the habits of confinement remained long after the original reason for them had passed.
Because he was lonely Octavian became attached to small routines and quiet comforts. He learned to read early and devoured books about animals, history and places he had never been allowed to see. He also developed a habit of collecting little things that reminded him of moments he wanted to keep: feathers, pressed flowers, ticket stubs, smooth stones, and scraps of paper covered in notes. These became his way of holding onto the world when so much of it felt out of reach.
Most of the affection he received came from caretakers rather than his parents and even that was often practical rather than warm. He became very good at appearing agreeable even when he was unhappy because it was easier than arguing with adults who rarely listened.
As he got older Octavian began to resent how controlled his life was. He disliked being dressed, spoken for, and planned around as though he were another expensive possession in the house. Dyeing his naturally black hair white became one of the first choices he ever made entirely for himself and he did it partly out of rebellion and partly because he wanted to look like someone his parents would never have chosen. It was a small act but it made him feel like his own person for the first time.
First Instance of Magic:
Reducio
Octavian was nine years old when he first performed accidental magic.
While outside with one of his caretakers he noticed a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. Ignoring instructions he climbed a nearby tree to rescue it.
On the way back down, he slipped.
Instead of hitting the ground he suddenly stopped in midair and slowly floated down safely still holding the bird.When he told his caretakers what had happened none of them believed him
While outside with one of his caretakers he noticed a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. Ignoring instructions he climbed a nearby tree to rescue it.
On the way back down, he slipped.
Instead of hitting the ground he suddenly stopped in midair and slowly floated down safely still holding the bird.When he told his caretakers what had happened none of them believed him
STATUS: Approved, Malaika, July 2nd
Index Registration
Character name: Colette Sanchez
School Year or Adult Level: First year
Link to the character page: here
Character Statistics:
stamina: 5|evasion: 4|strength: 5|wisdom: 9| arcane power: 7|accuracy: 5
Character Backstory:
First Instance of Magic:
(Edited) Change Request: She now currently lives in Oxford, England. Her nationality is Filipino.
/ooc All changes made in my Index Application will be added to my Encyclopedia page. Thank you.
School Year or Adult Level: First year
Link to the character page: here
Character Statistics:
stamina: 5|evasion: 4|strength: 5|wisdom: 9| arcane power: 7|accuracy: 5
Character Backstory:
Reducio
Born and raised in the capital of the Philippines, Colette was a curious kid from a very young age. Given her family's strict rules, she was only allowed to play inside the house. She never had any childhood friends that she would run or play outside with. Often times, she'd just read or draw inside their house, in which helped her develop a passion for them as she grew older.
Her parents were almost never at home. Her mother, Eleanor Sanchez, was a Hufflepuff student. She excelled in Herbology, yet her current occupation is a nurse at Muggle Hospital, where she was required to work either all morning or all evening. Despite this, she made sure she had the time to teach Colette for school. Colette's father, however, works as an Engineer. Vince Sanchez was a Muggle that her mother met after flying back to Asia after she had finished her Hogwarts years. Much like his wife, he was often at work and only goes home 2-3 times a week because of how tedious it could be. This leaves Colette alone at home with her maternal grandmother, Laurie, and her two uncles (her mother's younger siblings).
While Colette was already keen to reading and drawing, it was her uncles who introduced her to the world of gaming. They had lent her their gadgets and devices, teaching her the basics, and even gave her a personal computer of her own on her 5th birthday.
At school, she felt as if she was always the odd one out. However, she did make friends along the way who felt the same as her. She was glad to be able to play and talk with other kids her age, with the same interests as her!
But being the odd group had its disadvantages, like they always did. Yet Colette was not the kind of kid to be messed with, not in an edgy way, but in a way that would make you actually want to think twice before doing it again to her. Because of this, she has been a magnet for unusual troubles, but the school faculty never pointed a finger on her. Her doings were always completely under their radar that they never would have suspected that she did those.
As worried parents, they had her transfer schools. Quite a lot for her age. She went to 3 different schools before the age of 11. She was about to move to her 4th before finding out she was accepted at Hogwarts.
Shortly after she finished her Elementary School years in the Philippines, her family decided to move to Oxford because of her father's job opportunity. Colette was 11 years old at the time, turning 12 after a few months. There, she was almost about to be enrolled by her parents in a muggle school again, until her letter from Hogwarts arrived.
All her troubled experiences aside, she actually excels a lot at school. And by a lot, she actually competes in contests such as a pageant for her mother's hospital at 2 years old, a flag guessing quiz bee at her school at 5, a board game competition at 7, and a national math competition at 10. Those achievements made her mother think to herself that her daughter would easily be sorted in Ravenclaw.
And Colette did, too.
But the Hat thought otherwise.
Her parents were almost never at home. Her mother, Eleanor Sanchez, was a Hufflepuff student. She excelled in Herbology, yet her current occupation is a nurse at Muggle Hospital, where she was required to work either all morning or all evening. Despite this, she made sure she had the time to teach Colette for school. Colette's father, however, works as an Engineer. Vince Sanchez was a Muggle that her mother met after flying back to Asia after she had finished her Hogwarts years. Much like his wife, he was often at work and only goes home 2-3 times a week because of how tedious it could be. This leaves Colette alone at home with her maternal grandmother, Laurie, and her two uncles (her mother's younger siblings).
While Colette was already keen to reading and drawing, it was her uncles who introduced her to the world of gaming. They had lent her their gadgets and devices, teaching her the basics, and even gave her a personal computer of her own on her 5th birthday.
At school, she felt as if she was always the odd one out. However, she did make friends along the way who felt the same as her. She was glad to be able to play and talk with other kids her age, with the same interests as her!
But being the odd group had its disadvantages, like they always did. Yet Colette was not the kind of kid to be messed with, not in an edgy way, but in a way that would make you actually want to think twice before doing it again to her. Because of this, she has been a magnet for unusual troubles, but the school faculty never pointed a finger on her. Her doings were always completely under their radar that they never would have suspected that she did those.
As worried parents, they had her transfer schools. Quite a lot for her age. She went to 3 different schools before the age of 11. She was about to move to her 4th before finding out she was accepted at Hogwarts.
Shortly after she finished her Elementary School years in the Philippines, her family decided to move to Oxford because of her father's job opportunity. Colette was 11 years old at the time, turning 12 after a few months. There, she was almost about to be enrolled by her parents in a muggle school again, until her letter from Hogwarts arrived.
All her troubled experiences aside, she actually excels a lot at school. And by a lot, she actually competes in contests such as a pageant for her mother's hospital at 2 years old, a flag guessing quiz bee at her school at 5, a board game competition at 7, and a national math competition at 10. Those achievements made her mother think to herself that her daughter would easily be sorted in Ravenclaw.
And Colette did, too.
But the Hat thought otherwise.
First Instance of Magic:
Reducio
It all started with a trip to England for the summer. The air inside Blackwood Manor was thick with the scent of centuries-old wax and damp stone. Six-year-old Colette lagged slightly behind her family, her small shoes clicking softly against the polished floorboards as she clutched her sketchbook to her chest. She was perfectly content fading into the background, observing the grand, gloomy history of the UK estate.
Until a certain kid named Leo decided to be a menace.
Leo was an absolute terror of an eight-year-old on the same tour group. As the guide ushered everyone toward the Grand Portrait Gallery, Leo aggressively shoved past Colette to get to the front. The force knocked her straight to the ground, sending her sketchbook skittering across the floor. To make it worse, Leo turned back, let out a loud, obnoxious laugh, and deliberately stepped right over her drawings before running ahead.
Colette didn’t cry. She didn't throw a tantrum. She simply pushed herself up, dusted off her clothes, and retrieved her sketchbook. But as she looked toward the doorway where Leo had disappeared, her eyes narrowed with a cold, intense focus. A strange, prickling static electricity began to hum right beneath her skin. She wished, with every fiber of her little six-year-old being, that the universe would teach him a lesson he couldn't run away from.
The moment Leo stepped into the center of the roped-off portrait gallery, the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening THUD.
The tour guide rattled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. On the other side of the glass, the atmosphere inside the gallery instantly shifted. The temperature plummeted so fast that Leo's breath turned to visible white mist.
Suddenly, the ambient museum lighting flickered and died, leaving him in a dim, eerie twilight. Leo spun around, terrified, but the worst was yet to come. The painted eyes of every single aristocratic portrait on the walls—scores of ancient, stern faces—subtly cracked and shifted. Hundreds of painted eyes locked onto Leo, tracking his every frantic movement. The empty suits of medieval armor lining the walls began to vibrate, their iron gauntlets scraping together with a metallic screech that echoed through the room.
Leo let out a blood-curdling shriek, dropping to his knees and sobbing hysterically as the terrifying, localized haunting closed in on him.
Outside the door, the adults panic-called for maintenance. But Colette just stood at the back of the crowd, completely unbothered, calmly hugging her sketchbook. The strange static in her veins smoothed out into a satisfying, warm hum.
The exact second Leo completely broke down, screaming a tearful apology to the empty air for being a bully, the heavy oak doors clicked and swung open effortlessly. The museum lights snapped back on. The portraits were just paint again; the armor was just hollow metal.
As a traumatized Leo was dragged out by his parents, wailing that the ghosts were trying to eat him, Colette casually walked past him. She didn't say a word, but the tiny, knowing smirk on her face was the scariest thing in the entire manor.
It all started with a trip to England for the summer. The air inside Blackwood Manor was thick with the scent of centuries-old wax and damp stone. Six-year-old Colette lagged slightly behind her family, her small shoes clicking softly against the polished floorboards as she clutched her sketchbook to her chest. She was perfectly content fading into the background, observing the grand, gloomy history of the UK estate.
Until a certain kid named Leo decided to be a menace.
Leo was an absolute terror of an eight-year-old on the same tour group. As the guide ushered everyone toward the Grand Portrait Gallery, Leo aggressively shoved past Colette to get to the front. The force knocked her straight to the ground, sending her sketchbook skittering across the floor. To make it worse, Leo turned back, let out a loud, obnoxious laugh, and deliberately stepped right over her drawings before running ahead.
Colette didn’t cry. She didn't throw a tantrum. She simply pushed herself up, dusted off her clothes, and retrieved her sketchbook. But as she looked toward the doorway where Leo had disappeared, her eyes narrowed with a cold, intense focus. A strange, prickling static electricity began to hum right beneath her skin. She wished, with every fiber of her little six-year-old being, that the universe would teach him a lesson he couldn't run away from.
The moment Leo stepped into the center of the roped-off portrait gallery, the heavy oak doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening THUD.
The tour guide rattled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. On the other side of the glass, the atmosphere inside the gallery instantly shifted. The temperature plummeted so fast that Leo's breath turned to visible white mist.
Suddenly, the ambient museum lighting flickered and died, leaving him in a dim, eerie twilight. Leo spun around, terrified, but the worst was yet to come. The painted eyes of every single aristocratic portrait on the walls—scores of ancient, stern faces—subtly cracked and shifted. Hundreds of painted eyes locked onto Leo, tracking his every frantic movement. The empty suits of medieval armor lining the walls began to vibrate, their iron gauntlets scraping together with a metallic screech that echoed through the room.
Leo let out a blood-curdling shriek, dropping to his knees and sobbing hysterically as the terrifying, localized haunting closed in on him.
Outside the door, the adults panic-called for maintenance. But Colette just stood at the back of the crowd, completely unbothered, calmly hugging her sketchbook. The strange static in her veins smoothed out into a satisfying, warm hum.
The exact second Leo completely broke down, screaming a tearful apology to the empty air for being a bully, the heavy oak doors clicked and swung open effortlessly. The museum lights snapped back on. The portraits were just paint again; the armor was just hollow metal.
As a traumatized Leo was dragged out by his parents, wailing that the ghosts were trying to eat him, Colette casually walked past him. She didn't say a word, but the tiny, knowing smirk on her face was the scariest thing in the entire manor.
(Edited) Change Request: She now currently lives in Oxford, England. Her nationality is Filipino.
/ooc All changes made in my Index Application will be added to my Encyclopedia page. Thank you.
STATUS: Pending, Malaika, July 2nd.
- Your residence will be changed, we would just need you to add it to your character's backstory (that they live in Oxford).
- Your backstory states your character was born and raised in Manila (capital of the Philippines). That would require your character's nationality to be changed. Please precise if you want it to be edited, or edit that part out of your character's backstory!
- Could you please add a mention that her family moved from the Philippines to England, why and at what age?
- Your application is missing the first instance of magic! Please add it in.
- Please report any changes to your backstory or FIOM onto your encyclopedia.
Last edited by Colette Sanchez on 3 Jul 2026, 03:45, edited 1 time in total.
Index Registration
Character name (First and last name): Evelyn Johnson/Vinnedikta Renasscentia
School Year or Adult Level: First
Does any Profile Card info need changing? Name change to Vinnedikta Renasscentia; blood status change to muggle-born; residence change to Gloucestershire, England.
Link to the character page: Here.
Character Statistics: [ sta ] 6 [ eva ] 4 [ str ] 0 [ wis ] 7 [ arc ] 6 [ acc ] 7
Character Special Race/Talent: Werewolf.
Character Backstory:
First Instance of Magic:
──────────────────────────── ꫂ᭪݁
eternally yours in sentiment and sincerity, vinnedikta
School Year or Adult Level: First
Does any Profile Card info need changing? Name change to Vinnedikta Renasscentia; blood status change to muggle-born; residence change to Gloucestershire, England.
Link to the character page: Here.
Character Statistics: [ sta ] 6 [ eva ] 4 [ str ] 0 [ wis ] 7 [ arc ] 6 [ acc ] 7
Character Special Race/Talent: Werewolf.
Reducio
The story I am about to tell has never been told honestly. Its tracks and marks have been carefully covered and glazed over with a layer of sweetness to match the Renasscentia family’s reputation. It is a story so grotesque, such an annihilation of a pure creature, that many avert their gaze and fall silent when they hear it. That night, that night of unforgettable pain and agony, is imprinted not only in one’s mind, but in one's skin and blood cells as well. An evening like any other soon turned into one of despair and destruction. The dusk through which one metamorphosed.
19 April 2020. Our angel, whom this story unfortunately concerns, was merely five years old. It was a warm evening; the sun, already setting, grazed the sky with warm, captivating colors, birds sang their humble melodies, and made the day, now ending, seem as if it were straight out of a picture book – so beautiful it was. No one could have suspected it would be soon outlined by blood…
Dear Vinnedikta and her beloved father decided to go for a stroll in the woods. It was such a delightful evening; how could one not take advantage of it? In a spring day dress, wrapped in a scarf for comfort, and wearing her flat ballet shoes, she left their castle a little past ten in the evening, her gaze fixed forward toward the forest they approached. Her imaginative mind traveled to the fairy tales she’d been read before bed: how the oaks and beeches aligned so perfectly overhead, creating a gated entry to the forest, enveloping and embracing the people who walked its paths, their gentle branches swooning over them to ensure they spent an eternity in the shadows of the leaves, detached from the sun, in a world of bark and mud, yet loveliness at its best.
The pair walked together, hand in hand, not a single word leaving either of their lips, as both were quiet people, appreciative of the calm the forest offered in a fast-paced modern world.
Suddenly, out of the darkness of the forest, a deer leaped into view. In its full grace and purity, it ran from something – something bad. The pair walking through the forest should have taken it as a sign, for such a heavenly creature’s eyes would only gain that hint of insanity when confronted with something otherworldly, something evil. At its fright, the flashlight that dear father held to illuminate the path they walked that night dropped to the forest floor and shattered in an instant. Her father leaned down to examine it and fix it so they could reach their home by dawn and not spend a night in darkness and the unknown.
But as he worked, curious Vinnedikta began to wander, guided only by the pale cheese of the full moon, whose stray beams of light slipped past the looming trees to illuminate where she walked. With no directions and no guiding light to return to, the girl wandered farther into the forest, blind to the horrors that loomed there that very night. To her father, alone and chafed, his daughter went unnoticed and, without his knowledge, disappeared into the tangled jungle.
When walking, she did not feel the presence that followed her, did not sense the aura of a thing that stalked her hungrily. It did not take long before the creature struck, unearthly and inhuman, its claws and grip merciless. Unseen, unheard of, it existed only, perhaps, in the tales that the little girl was read before nightfall.
Its claws of massacre tore into her neck, a vital part of her livelihood and wellness, where they would leave a scar forever. An agonizing scream ripped through the night from the girl’s throat; it seemed to scare even the evil that attacked her. With its bloody claws, which now knew the taste of pureness and delight, it ran back into the forest’s refuge and disappeared among the trees as suddenly as it had appeared.
As for the girl, she lay in the mud, her hands pressed desperately to her neck, but time was running out. Her father, the dear man, who had heard her scream and come to his senses, rushed to her. Whether it was a minute or a day was hard to tell, as misery enveloped all of the girl’s being. He scooped her up in his arms, desperation and tears of hopelessness pouring out of him, unanswered. He tore at the trees that stood in the way of his and his daughter’s safety. After the attack, Vinnedikta remained conscious for only a minute, and after that, a deep sleep shielded her from reality.
It took an hour to get her to the hospital, where the doctors worked all night to bring her back to life. A corpse, it seemed, lay before them, and the only thing that kept them going, despite their movements weighted with hopelessness and despair, was the raw weeping of the mother, whose beloved daughter lay motionless before her eyes.
For two weeks the little one lay in a coma, surrounded by bouquets of flowers and other gifts of kindness. When she awoke, it was a miracle for her to have survived such wounds. Unseen, unheard of, magic at its best. The moment her presence was noticed, she was cradled in her parents’ hands, and forever they would cradle her in those hands that had known decay. From the moment they saw her body go limp to the moment they finally dared to hope she would live, and in all the moments afterward, they preserved her like a piece of gold, a priceless treasure at their mercy. She was their jewel, forever to be guarded from the harsh world of which she had gotten a taste in the cruelest way possible.
At first, the nightmare might have seemed to end when she awoke, but they were greatly mistaken, for the lengths her parents were willing to go for their daughter would soon be tested tremendously. Thirty days passed after the very incident of the full moon, when she had been struck down in barbarity. That evening was not much different, perhaps slightly lighter, as summer was nearing. It failed to bring back memories of the last, perhaps because that part of one’s life had been blocked by the sensible minds of her and others, in an attempt to forget the despair it caused the family. Yet the evening resembled the previous one far more than they could have ever expected.
The angel lived in a tower facing east, which would soon become her downfall. Her grand canopy bed, with soft sheets and silk pillowcases, stood at the head of the room, facing a window that in turn looked toward the very direction from which a full moon would rise. If it were not such a tragic, sacrifice-demanding event, perhaps we could even laugh at how darkly humorous it was that she would face, with her own eyes, the very wreckage that would drive her mad in the night. The first time was likely the most harrowing, for none of them, having never been exposed to magic, were prepared to experience a side of it deemed dark and ruthless, leaving nothing but shackles in the wake of its force. That evening, she lay in her bed, just like any other. Her mother sat beside her, stroking her soft golden curls and reading a book of princesses and fairy tales in an attempt to help the girl, whose eyes were still wide with the paranoia the incident had left her with, to fall asleep. Her father, in his tower, lay with open eyes in a fashion similar to hers, unable to forget the horrors of the night. Only her mother was able to hold back her tears at the thought of what had occurred a month ago. After the little one seemed to drift into sleep and become enveloped in its embrace, the mother left the room, leaving only silence and an approaching predator about to turn a life upside down.
When the illuminating light of the full moon rose above the frame of the window that Vinnedikta’s canopy faced, she awoke with a sudden jolt. Something inside her stirred. For a second she subdued it, contorted it into a tight little bog and hid it deep inside herself, her mind, her body. But it became relentless. It rose up; it wanted to escape her, and with what strength she had, with her weak body, she tried to calm it, to pay it no mind. But in its wake she was helpless. It escaped. An escapade of grimness – a macabre thrill inside her. A cry escaped her, the last of what was left of her humanity, as she slowly began to mutate into gaunt form. Her body became unfamiliar to her in its nature, and she became horrified. Her limbs grew long; she began to rise and rise in height until she almost reached her high tower ceiling. Chaos arose in her mind, chaos and an unsustained fury that seemed to create itself out of thin air, yet its presence was undeniable. It forced her to strike, an uncanny force she had never felt before coursing through her. There was only a sliver of a moment when she hesitated, but then another strike. She was relentless. A deep roar emerged from her throat, like the one she let out when the merciless claws of death sliced through her neck in that forest of doom. But this time she was not the helpless victim, not at this moment anyway; she was the destroyer, a vengeful creature whose curse was now its triumph, which granted her the power to be mightier than ever. In that moment she felt without weight, and strangely, despite her kind and harmonious heart in any other scenario, this time she chose destruction. After that night she remembered everything, every little detail, every trickle of blood and draught, although more than anything she wished she did not. She remembered lunging for her bedroom door, trying to escape, for the moon outside called to her, as a mother calls to her daughter. She remembered her father appearing in the corridor, blocking her way. He held a tool of violence; he did not recognise her. She ran. God, what terror the metallic abhorrence held in his arms struck into her. Lunging through the second-floor window and landing on the roof of a glass greenhouse… It was all so overwhelming, so chaotic and unearthly. The complete contrast to the harmony she prized as her most precious value had now vanished, giving way to dread.
That night ended in complete silence. Not a comfortable silence, but one in which the wind soared through the trees, creating ghostly whimpers, and the ballads of the morning birds were otherworldly, like those from hell below. She awoke in a clearing in the forest, the very forest where she had been turned. Memories and impressions of the previous night began returning to her, like nightmares from Lucifer himself, belatedly delivered just a couple of hours after dawn. Grass cradled the petite, exhausted girl who now lay in its traces. Her strength had abandoned her after the events of the previous twilight, and she once again lay limp on the forest floor in its care. This time, though, fear was absent; there was only an unfamiliarity between her physical body and her psyche, a separation that could not be avoided for the rest of her life, for one was now beyond her control. She made it back home – her nightgown torn, her hair drenched in sweat, tangled with branches and mud, her face barely recognisable. The little angel her parents had once known returned home like a devil with its mask torn away, and a sorrow in its eyes that showed it would be changed forever.
From then on, her parents started taking matters into their own hands. Their trust in the once responsible and gullible little child was gone, after what had occurred that May night. Oh, how many doctors and psychologists visited their home, how many tests and interventions she had to undergo, only for the desperate family to be met with nothing, or, far worse, with the insistence that their daughter was not only perfectly fine, but a well-developed, well-mannered and mature individual. The problem was that the doctors did not see how she would change one night each month, how deranged she would become and what furtive acts she would commit. Soon they understood there was no solving the impossible problem that had suddenly arisen in their child. They became secretive and afraid of what might come to light about their dear little one, who was such a doll in everyone’s eyes. They gave up looking for a cure and focused instead on ways to conceal it. To conceal the inhumanity she had been cursed with.
During her “happenchances” she would be locked away in a high tower – not her own, not the one filled with gold and marble, but an abandoned one in their castle, high and far away from where any of the residents slept. There she would have to endure the night of torment alone, with no one to hear either her screams for help and the cracking of fur, or her mad roaring of resentment towards those who had turned their backs on a form of her she had never asked to take on.
19 April 2020. Our angel, whom this story unfortunately concerns, was merely five years old. It was a warm evening; the sun, already setting, grazed the sky with warm, captivating colors, birds sang their humble melodies, and made the day, now ending, seem as if it were straight out of a picture book – so beautiful it was. No one could have suspected it would be soon outlined by blood…
Dear Vinnedikta and her beloved father decided to go for a stroll in the woods. It was such a delightful evening; how could one not take advantage of it? In a spring day dress, wrapped in a scarf for comfort, and wearing her flat ballet shoes, she left their castle a little past ten in the evening, her gaze fixed forward toward the forest they approached. Her imaginative mind traveled to the fairy tales she’d been read before bed: how the oaks and beeches aligned so perfectly overhead, creating a gated entry to the forest, enveloping and embracing the people who walked its paths, their gentle branches swooning over them to ensure they spent an eternity in the shadows of the leaves, detached from the sun, in a world of bark and mud, yet loveliness at its best.
The pair walked together, hand in hand, not a single word leaving either of their lips, as both were quiet people, appreciative of the calm the forest offered in a fast-paced modern world.
Suddenly, out of the darkness of the forest, a deer leaped into view. In its full grace and purity, it ran from something – something bad. The pair walking through the forest should have taken it as a sign, for such a heavenly creature’s eyes would only gain that hint of insanity when confronted with something otherworldly, something evil. At its fright, the flashlight that dear father held to illuminate the path they walked that night dropped to the forest floor and shattered in an instant. Her father leaned down to examine it and fix it so they could reach their home by dawn and not spend a night in darkness and the unknown.
But as he worked, curious Vinnedikta began to wander, guided only by the pale cheese of the full moon, whose stray beams of light slipped past the looming trees to illuminate where she walked. With no directions and no guiding light to return to, the girl wandered farther into the forest, blind to the horrors that loomed there that very night. To her father, alone and chafed, his daughter went unnoticed and, without his knowledge, disappeared into the tangled jungle.
When walking, she did not feel the presence that followed her, did not sense the aura of a thing that stalked her hungrily. It did not take long before the creature struck, unearthly and inhuman, its claws and grip merciless. Unseen, unheard of, it existed only, perhaps, in the tales that the little girl was read before nightfall.
Its claws of massacre tore into her neck, a vital part of her livelihood and wellness, where they would leave a scar forever. An agonizing scream ripped through the night from the girl’s throat; it seemed to scare even the evil that attacked her. With its bloody claws, which now knew the taste of pureness and delight, it ran back into the forest’s refuge and disappeared among the trees as suddenly as it had appeared.
As for the girl, she lay in the mud, her hands pressed desperately to her neck, but time was running out. Her father, the dear man, who had heard her scream and come to his senses, rushed to her. Whether it was a minute or a day was hard to tell, as misery enveloped all of the girl’s being. He scooped her up in his arms, desperation and tears of hopelessness pouring out of him, unanswered. He tore at the trees that stood in the way of his and his daughter’s safety. After the attack, Vinnedikta remained conscious for only a minute, and after that, a deep sleep shielded her from reality.
It took an hour to get her to the hospital, where the doctors worked all night to bring her back to life. A corpse, it seemed, lay before them, and the only thing that kept them going, despite their movements weighted with hopelessness and despair, was the raw weeping of the mother, whose beloved daughter lay motionless before her eyes.
For two weeks the little one lay in a coma, surrounded by bouquets of flowers and other gifts of kindness. When she awoke, it was a miracle for her to have survived such wounds. Unseen, unheard of, magic at its best. The moment her presence was noticed, she was cradled in her parents’ hands, and forever they would cradle her in those hands that had known decay. From the moment they saw her body go limp to the moment they finally dared to hope she would live, and in all the moments afterward, they preserved her like a piece of gold, a priceless treasure at their mercy. She was their jewel, forever to be guarded from the harsh world of which she had gotten a taste in the cruelest way possible.
At first, the nightmare might have seemed to end when she awoke, but they were greatly mistaken, for the lengths her parents were willing to go for their daughter would soon be tested tremendously. Thirty days passed after the very incident of the full moon, when she had been struck down in barbarity. That evening was not much different, perhaps slightly lighter, as summer was nearing. It failed to bring back memories of the last, perhaps because that part of one’s life had been blocked by the sensible minds of her and others, in an attempt to forget the despair it caused the family. Yet the evening resembled the previous one far more than they could have ever expected.
The angel lived in a tower facing east, which would soon become her downfall. Her grand canopy bed, with soft sheets and silk pillowcases, stood at the head of the room, facing a window that in turn looked toward the very direction from which a full moon would rise. If it were not such a tragic, sacrifice-demanding event, perhaps we could even laugh at how darkly humorous it was that she would face, with her own eyes, the very wreckage that would drive her mad in the night. The first time was likely the most harrowing, for none of them, having never been exposed to magic, were prepared to experience a side of it deemed dark and ruthless, leaving nothing but shackles in the wake of its force. That evening, she lay in her bed, just like any other. Her mother sat beside her, stroking her soft golden curls and reading a book of princesses and fairy tales in an attempt to help the girl, whose eyes were still wide with the paranoia the incident had left her with, to fall asleep. Her father, in his tower, lay with open eyes in a fashion similar to hers, unable to forget the horrors of the night. Only her mother was able to hold back her tears at the thought of what had occurred a month ago. After the little one seemed to drift into sleep and become enveloped in its embrace, the mother left the room, leaving only silence and an approaching predator about to turn a life upside down.
When the illuminating light of the full moon rose above the frame of the window that Vinnedikta’s canopy faced, she awoke with a sudden jolt. Something inside her stirred. For a second she subdued it, contorted it into a tight little bog and hid it deep inside herself, her mind, her body. But it became relentless. It rose up; it wanted to escape her, and with what strength she had, with her weak body, she tried to calm it, to pay it no mind. But in its wake she was helpless. It escaped. An escapade of grimness – a macabre thrill inside her. A cry escaped her, the last of what was left of her humanity, as she slowly began to mutate into gaunt form. Her body became unfamiliar to her in its nature, and she became horrified. Her limbs grew long; she began to rise and rise in height until she almost reached her high tower ceiling. Chaos arose in her mind, chaos and an unsustained fury that seemed to create itself out of thin air, yet its presence was undeniable. It forced her to strike, an uncanny force she had never felt before coursing through her. There was only a sliver of a moment when she hesitated, but then another strike. She was relentless. A deep roar emerged from her throat, like the one she let out when the merciless claws of death sliced through her neck in that forest of doom. But this time she was not the helpless victim, not at this moment anyway; she was the destroyer, a vengeful creature whose curse was now its triumph, which granted her the power to be mightier than ever. In that moment she felt without weight, and strangely, despite her kind and harmonious heart in any other scenario, this time she chose destruction. After that night she remembered everything, every little detail, every trickle of blood and draught, although more than anything she wished she did not. She remembered lunging for her bedroom door, trying to escape, for the moon outside called to her, as a mother calls to her daughter. She remembered her father appearing in the corridor, blocking her way. He held a tool of violence; he did not recognise her. She ran. God, what terror the metallic abhorrence held in his arms struck into her. Lunging through the second-floor window and landing on the roof of a glass greenhouse… It was all so overwhelming, so chaotic and unearthly. The complete contrast to the harmony she prized as her most precious value had now vanished, giving way to dread.
That night ended in complete silence. Not a comfortable silence, but one in which the wind soared through the trees, creating ghostly whimpers, and the ballads of the morning birds were otherworldly, like those from hell below. She awoke in a clearing in the forest, the very forest where she had been turned. Memories and impressions of the previous night began returning to her, like nightmares from Lucifer himself, belatedly delivered just a couple of hours after dawn. Grass cradled the petite, exhausted girl who now lay in its traces. Her strength had abandoned her after the events of the previous twilight, and she once again lay limp on the forest floor in its care. This time, though, fear was absent; there was only an unfamiliarity between her physical body and her psyche, a separation that could not be avoided for the rest of her life, for one was now beyond her control. She made it back home – her nightgown torn, her hair drenched in sweat, tangled with branches and mud, her face barely recognisable. The little angel her parents had once known returned home like a devil with its mask torn away, and a sorrow in its eyes that showed it would be changed forever.
From then on, her parents started taking matters into their own hands. Their trust in the once responsible and gullible little child was gone, after what had occurred that May night. Oh, how many doctors and psychologists visited their home, how many tests and interventions she had to undergo, only for the desperate family to be met with nothing, or, far worse, with the insistence that their daughter was not only perfectly fine, but a well-developed, well-mannered and mature individual. The problem was that the doctors did not see how she would change one night each month, how deranged she would become and what furtive acts she would commit. Soon they understood there was no solving the impossible problem that had suddenly arisen in their child. They became secretive and afraid of what might come to light about their dear little one, who was such a doll in everyone’s eyes. They gave up looking for a cure and focused instead on ways to conceal it. To conceal the inhumanity she had been cursed with.
During her “happenchances” she would be locked away in a high tower – not her own, not the one filled with gold and marble, but an abandoned one in their castle, high and far away from where any of the residents slept. There she would have to endure the night of torment alone, with no one to hear either her screams for help and the cracking of fur, or her mad roaring of resentment towards those who had turned their backs on a form of her she had never asked to take on.
Character Backstory:
Reducio
Long ago, in a grand and bountiful town, there lived a happy couple. Their days were filled with smiles and giggles, and their nights with warmth and comfort. They lived in a loving castle, surrounded by trees and families who passed by and waved hello through the open windows on the first floor. The home was filled with music, the smell of freshly baked bread and hand-picked herbal tea, and sunbeams slipping past the day curtains, highlighting the shiny marble floors.
One day, the couple received the news they had been waiting for: they were expecting a child. They were overjoyed. And when nine months passed, a little angel came into their household, a little angel they called Vinnedikta. As soon as she saw the light, she was embraced in softness and care. She was wrapped in silk scarves when she came out of the womb; though other babies were dirty and raw the moment they entered the world, she was almost spotless. How could such a thing come about? Soft skin, loving in a way hardly imaginable, wrapped around her and held her tight. Oh, how much trust she had, not to be let go of, not to be dropped or abandoned, simply held forever, supported forever, and most of all loved. A miracle came to the Renasscentia family that early December day, and they had not forgotten it since.
The Renasscentia were a highly regarded family, a well-known name in the political world of England, and steady pillars of their community. On the outside, they appeared perfect, flawless even. The high towers of their castle, decorated with flags on gilded masts, shone brightly and promisingly, as if the people carried so much hope from as little as their presence. But, as history has told us many times, the brightest, most respected names carry the most blood on their hands and hide the most bodies in the cramped closets of their safe abodes, hidden from the outside world beyond the gate.
One day, the couple received the news they had been waiting for: they were expecting a child. They were overjoyed. And when nine months passed, a little angel came into their household, a little angel they called Vinnedikta. As soon as she saw the light, she was embraced in softness and care. She was wrapped in silk scarves when she came out of the womb; though other babies were dirty and raw the moment they entered the world, she was almost spotless. How could such a thing come about? Soft skin, loving in a way hardly imaginable, wrapped around her and held her tight. Oh, how much trust she had, not to be let go of, not to be dropped or abandoned, simply held forever, supported forever, and most of all loved. A miracle came to the Renasscentia family that early December day, and they had not forgotten it since.
The Renasscentia were a highly regarded family, a well-known name in the political world of England, and steady pillars of their community. On the outside, they appeared perfect, flawless even. The high towers of their castle, decorated with flags on gilded masts, shone brightly and promisingly, as if the people carried so much hope from as little as their presence. But, as history has told us many times, the brightest, most respected names carry the most blood on their hands and hide the most bodies in the cramped closets of their safe abodes, hidden from the outside world beyond the gate.
First Instance of Magic:
Reducio
Once upon a time, in the autumn of 2018, in an idyllic escape amidst stunning scenery in the Renasscentia family’s castle, a grand ball was being hosted. Families from all over the country gathered to celebrate the harvest, donate to the charities the ball supported, and socialize with fellow members of high society in this gape-awing preparation of a castle for guests. The impeccable early autumn air allowed for a beautiful celebration outside. A stage was built in the gardens of the residence, surrounded by trees just beginning to shed their leaves and flowers that were coming into their true autumn bloom. Everything was decorated in soft pastels, shiny gold accents, and floral ornaments. The guests gathered were dressed no less splendidly than the decorations. Women wore long daytime gowns, pearls around their necks, flowers in their hair or hats, and tiny satchels in which only a couple of flower seeds seemed to fit. Men were dressed in tailored suits, flowers tucked into their flap pockets, their polished shoes reflecting the sunlight in all directions and nearly blinding the ladies who came over to chatter. Children ran around, giggled, and squealed – the true squeals of happiness a child can have when present in an enormous garden in which they could run forever, eat deluxe fare, and take part in many more delightful things.
Unlike the others, Vinnedikta stayed by her mother, holding her hand and hiding behind the long folds of her cascading skirt, her big blue eyes staring up curiously at all the adults her mother greeted and shared a melodic laugh with. It was the first ball the little one attended; at the previous ones she had been sent to stay with her grandmother to preserve the shy tenderness she still possessed. And now, despite her mother’s attempts to get her to make friends with the other children, she clung determinedly to what she knew and, shyly, with an almost disdainful look in her eyes, stared at the other children as they ran around, rolled on the ground, and pushed each other. She was far too soft for those kinds of merriment.
Later, when all the arriving guests had gathered in the gardens and had had the opportunity to share a few soft-soap conversations, the time came for the little angel’s most eagerly awaited part of the afternoon. A classical wind orchestra assembled on the decorated stage of the ball to perform a symphony dedicated to the charities present that day. The host family – the Renasscentias – were seated at the very front to witness the beauty unfolding onstage firsthand. The little one sat on her mother’s lap, wrapped in the woman’s soft scarves and folds of fabric. She rested in comfort, watching as the wind orchestra began to play in the full light.
How beautiful the melody was! How it captured everyone’s gaze, fixing it on the performers and their passionate yet elegant movements, physicality, and graceful performance gestures. Their bodies seemed to move in time with the melody; it was a dance of their own. It hypnotized the guests – their eyes, their minds, their bodies. And the music… no less powerful and captivating was it to the soul and heart that heard it and imagined it had come straight from heaven, from the place where they had been born. It caught all souls and carried them along on a journey to pure bliss, so familiar and longed for.
Dear Vinnedikta was affected no less. The performance was so beautiful she could have sat there forever, enjoying the music that seemed to lead her through the course of an entire lifetime with its tonality and dynamics. It stirred so many emotions inside the little girl – self-transcendence, vastness, admiration… It was like nothing else she had experienced at her young age, and like nothing she would encounter in the near future. She was so engrossed in the trance the music had sent her into that she did not even notice as gentle rose petals started descending from the sky, seemingly out of nowhere. A wave of awed gasps swept through the guests, who looked up and saw the roses floating down. The angel was nudged softly by her mother and followed her graceful finger pointing up at the sky, from where all the beautiful magic was flowing. The girl gasped and giggled, catching a couple of petals in her hand. The faint idea that this could have been her doing did not even cross her mind, and why would it? In such an enchanting moment one could only be grateful to be alive, and she was.
After the party ended, her mother and father recalled several guests approaching them, gratitude in their expressions, to tell them what an intricate and vulnerable way it was to welcome the cold of autumn, with rose petals falling from the sky. With puzzled smiles and murmured condolences, the parents nodded and expressed their gratitude, with no idea who could have arranged such a quintessential gesture for the ball.
Unlike the others, Vinnedikta stayed by her mother, holding her hand and hiding behind the long folds of her cascading skirt, her big blue eyes staring up curiously at all the adults her mother greeted and shared a melodic laugh with. It was the first ball the little one attended; at the previous ones she had been sent to stay with her grandmother to preserve the shy tenderness she still possessed. And now, despite her mother’s attempts to get her to make friends with the other children, she clung determinedly to what she knew and, shyly, with an almost disdainful look in her eyes, stared at the other children as they ran around, rolled on the ground, and pushed each other. She was far too soft for those kinds of merriment.
Later, when all the arriving guests had gathered in the gardens and had had the opportunity to share a few soft-soap conversations, the time came for the little angel’s most eagerly awaited part of the afternoon. A classical wind orchestra assembled on the decorated stage of the ball to perform a symphony dedicated to the charities present that day. The host family – the Renasscentias – were seated at the very front to witness the beauty unfolding onstage firsthand. The little one sat on her mother’s lap, wrapped in the woman’s soft scarves and folds of fabric. She rested in comfort, watching as the wind orchestra began to play in the full light.
How beautiful the melody was! How it captured everyone’s gaze, fixing it on the performers and their passionate yet elegant movements, physicality, and graceful performance gestures. Their bodies seemed to move in time with the melody; it was a dance of their own. It hypnotized the guests – their eyes, their minds, their bodies. And the music… no less powerful and captivating was it to the soul and heart that heard it and imagined it had come straight from heaven, from the place where they had been born. It caught all souls and carried them along on a journey to pure bliss, so familiar and longed for.
Dear Vinnedikta was affected no less. The performance was so beautiful she could have sat there forever, enjoying the music that seemed to lead her through the course of an entire lifetime with its tonality and dynamics. It stirred so many emotions inside the little girl – self-transcendence, vastness, admiration… It was like nothing else she had experienced at her young age, and like nothing she would encounter in the near future. She was so engrossed in the trance the music had sent her into that she did not even notice as gentle rose petals started descending from the sky, seemingly out of nowhere. A wave of awed gasps swept through the guests, who looked up and saw the roses floating down. The angel was nudged softly by her mother and followed her graceful finger pointing up at the sky, from where all the beautiful magic was flowing. The girl gasped and giggled, catching a couple of petals in her hand. The faint idea that this could have been her doing did not even cross her mind, and why would it? In such an enchanting moment one could only be grateful to be alive, and she was.
After the party ended, her mother and father recalled several guests approaching them, gratitude in their expressions, to tell them what an intricate and vulnerable way it was to welcome the cold of autumn, with rose petals falling from the sky. With puzzled smiles and murmured condolences, the parents nodded and expressed their gratitude, with no idea who could have arranged such a quintessential gesture for the ball.
STATUS: Pending, Ruckus, July 8
For the werewolf application, you need to include where her scars are located and if she transforms into a Gaunt Form or a Wolf Form.
STATUS: Approved, Ruckus, July 8
Last edited by Vinnedikta Renasscentia on 8 Jul 2026, 16:14, edited 1 time in total.
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eternally yours in sentiment and sincerity, vinnedikta
Index Registration
Character name (First and last name): Rikkali Fyre
School Year or Adult Level: Second
Does any Profile Card info need changing?: It does if I am a Dhampir.
Link to the character page: Rikkali's Character Page
Character Statistics: 30 (Stamina: 5 Evasion:5 Strength:7 Wisdom:7 ArcPower:2 Accuracy:4) Character Special Race/Talent: Dhampir
Backstory:
A Dhampir Story:
First Instance of Magic:
School Year or Adult Level: Second
Does any Profile Card info need changing?: It does if I am a Dhampir.
Link to the character page: Rikkali's Character Page
Character Statistics: 30 (Stamina: 5 Evasion:5 Strength:7 Wisdom:7 ArcPower:2 Accuracy:4) Character Special Race/Talent: Dhampir
Backstory:
Reducio
With the truth about her parents being revealed, filled her with anger. When she finally received her Acceptance letter, determination had set in. Determined to learn all she can, to master all that she needed. Then one day, maybe she would cross those responsible for the death of her parents. She has high hopes that she would be the one responsible for putting a stop to them, one way or another. She hoped to be there when the verdict came, and they were sent to Azkaban. Before leaving for school, her foster mother taught her an illusion spell, just a simple one, to make her skin look a bit more normal.
Rikkali never knew her parents as most others knew theirs. She had been just a year
old, when her parents died. Her parents had taken the small child to some important event in Dublin Ireland. While they were technically in hiding, they had met others who were in similar situations and were in hiding themselves. It was an event those in hiding had set up. But unfortunately, there was a traitor among them. A storm had swept in during the event. As the storm continued to rage, it masked the attack that had followed. Vampires working with Dark Wizards, attacked. Her father, a rogue Vampire, had fought the attackers (unknown to Rikkali as she was just a year-old child) with devastating injuries. Rikkali's mother, a Human, had placed the small child beneath a covered table, in hopes the child would be safe. As her mother turned to face the attackers, she had been killed immediately. During the attack, the table Rikkali had been placed under, had collapsed upon her. When the attack was over, Rikkali's parents had been found nearby the table that she was under. Her mother already deceased, and her father's injuries were severe. He and his daughter had been taken to St. Mungos, but he passed away three hours later, due to his injuries and the refusal of being treated due to his Vampiric status. Rikkali survived with only a gash on her cheek. Rikkali was healed by one of the Mediwizards at St. Mungos. For now, those who had attacked, believed all three had perished.Unfortunately, the death of her parents had left her an orphan, and she had been sent
to a temporary home to be adopted out, which didn't take long, as she was just a small babe. The first few years went by smoothly. She laughed, cried, played just like a normal babe. But shortly after she turned five years, that was when things started going wrong for her. The wizarding family she had been placed with seemed to be oblivious to what was happening. The foster parents decided they wasn't ready to deal with a child like her. She had difficulty being out in the direct sunlight, painfully burning within the hour. As she aged, she became a bit of a problem child.Eventually, she was sent away to be taken in by another wizarding family. She always
would try hiding the accidents, but the truth always revealed itself in the end. But her new foster parents seemed to overlook it all. She thought something had been wrong with her at first, until her foster parents finally gave her an explanation of who and what she was. When Rikkali was nearing her eleventh birthday, her foster parents had finally sat her down explaining to her fully about who and what she was. They had mentioned it a few times prior to this, but now they explained it all. Rikkali was technically still in hiding, much the same as her parents had been. They lived in the small town of Enniskerry, Ireland. Population of just a little over 2000. There were some who believed that Rikkali is an abomination and would rather her not being on the face of the earth. When the foster parents had taken Rikkali in, they weren't told much as to why they had to remain in hiding, or at the very least a semi-hiding living. It took a lot of digging. While they still didn't know everything, they still gave Rikkali what they had dug up when she turned ten. They figured it was a decent age, old enough to understand at the very least.Her parents, a vampire and a human. Due to Rikkali's father being a rogue vampire, they had
other vampires after them, as well as the Dark Wizards that wanted to keep them under their control, keep them working for them. Syraia and Alarik hated the work they were doing for the Dark Wizards but remained because it kept the vampires at bay. When they decided they wanted a family, they wanted to distance themselves from the Dark Wizards. But when they tried, they realized it wasn't going to be easy.With the truth about her parents being revealed, filled her with anger. When she finally received her Acceptance letter, determination had set in. Determined to learn all she can, to master all that she needed. Then one day, maybe she would cross those responsible for the death of her parents. She has high hopes that she would be the one responsible for putting a stop to them, one way or another. She hoped to be there when the verdict came, and they were sent to Azkaban. Before leaving for school, her foster mother taught her an illusion spell, just a simple one, to make her skin look a bit more normal.
A Dhampir Story:
Reducio
This story has yet to be told.
Nearly year later, Rikkali was born. 30 October 2013, Rikkali entered the world. Syraia and Alarik were extremely proud, but many others were not. They had gone as far as shunning them for their union. A year after Rikkali's birth, while attending some event, there had been an attack which resulted in killing Syraia and Alarik, leaving Rikkali and orphan.
It had been fifteen years ago. Rikkali's human mother, Syraia, had left work late one
night. Her home was a little over a block from her work, so she walked. As she passed a dark alley, she heard something within. It sounded sinister. She rushed past and continued to hurry her way home. She hadn't a clue what it was she had heard, and she didn't think she wanted to find out. She didn't slow her pace and kept looking over her shoulder.Even after unlocking her door, she hurried inside, closing and locking the door. Her
heart raced as she peered out the window into the dark street. No one was there. She breathed a sigh of relief. 'Maybe I imagined it? It certainly wasn't the first time I've imagined such things.' she thought to herself. She truly hated being afraid of nearly everything. But she had to work, else wouldn't be able to pay her bills. That worked, most times had her working late. She readied herself for bed and was about to crawl into that bed when she felt as if she
were being watched. She whipped her head around to the window, which faced to her back yard. It was dark beyond her window. She walked over and peered out, checked the window to be sure it was locked, then shrugged off the feeling. She crawled into her bed and fell asleep, sleeping soundly that night.The next day, she readied herself for work. Syraia didn't need to be to work until six pm
which will put her out at two am again. She really hated the late hours but had no other options. She left and made her way to work. The walk was night, sun shining above her. Her mind wandered as she thought about last night. The strange noise from the dark alley, the feeling as if she were being followed and watched. It hadn't been the first time she had had those feelings of being followed and watched. It hadn't even been the first time she had heard strange noises coming from that same dark alley.Despite these feelings, and even though her heart would be racing each time, despite
being frightened, deep down she was curious in a reckless way. If someone was really following her, really watching her, who is it? Why did they follow and watch her? Questions she couldn't answer, yet. And yes, she wanted answers, but would she like those answers? She cleared her head just as she stepped inside the club where she tended the bar. She headed to the back, and into the staff break room. Putting her things into a locker, she then headed back out into the club proper, clocked in and began her shift.Roughly around eleven pm, a man approached the bar. He ordered nothing but
watched Syraia closely. He was tall, with pale skin. He sported dark wavy hair, that hung just past his shoulders His eyes appeared to be strangely dark, in an alluring away. Syraia felt his watching her, feeling the same as she had many times before. 'Is he the one who's been following me? Watching me?' she wondered to herself. The man gave her a brief closed lip smile. She gave a smile back and continued to work. He sat at the other end of the bar from her section. Tobias worked the end of the bar where the man sat. She wiped up some spilled drink, near the middle of the bar where Tobias' section
started. Tobias handed a drink to the customer in front of him and turned to her. "You see that one at my end?" he said with a shake of his head. She gave him a nod. "Yes, I noticed him." she replied. "Strange one. Refuses to order anything. As you can see, he has not even a glass before him. I keep asking but he just says no and stares down this way. Not sure what or who he's staring at though." Tobias stated. Syraia already knew the answer to that question, as she caught him staring at her each time she'd turn to look his way.About an hour before her shift ended, the man was gone. When her shift ended, she
had grabbed her things from the staff breakroom, and despite having that feeling of being watched creeping up on her again, she headed for home. She hurried her feet, as that feeling increased. She was approaching that dark alley. Those strange noises came from it again. Somewhere behind her, it felt as if she were being followed. She looked back but seen no one. Taking a deep breath, to ready herself to hurry past that dark alley. As she turned back to do just that, the man from the club stood before her. She stopped in her tracks, backing up a bit. He reached out a hand, with long, rounded nails. "Do not be frightened." he spoke with
an English accent. His words seemed soothing to Syraia. She relaxed slightly, but not fully. "Who are you?" she asked. "The name is Alarik." the man replied. "You were at the club." she stated. He gave a nod of his head. "I've always been there." he said. "What do you mean always?" she asked as she glanced nervously at the dark alley where those strange sounds still came from.Alarik noticed her nervous glance at the alley. "Perhaps we should be away from this
alley. I do not much like the idea of tangling with what's within." he stated without answering her question. "And what would that be?" she asked. "I shall answer any questions, once we are away from here. You are not safe." he stated. She gave a nod of her head. "I shall see you safely home." he added. "Wait, are you the one who's been following me? Watching me?" she asked him. "Yes and no. I follow and watch until you are safe within your home, then I leave you. he said as they hurried past the dark alley. "Why?" she asked. "Shh... I shall reveal once you're safe." he said as he glanced back at the alley.In truth, Alarik had been following and watching her for well over two years. Ever since
she started working at that club. He found her beautiful and interesting. Originally, he had plans of killing her, had been ordered to kill her, feed upon her. Despite the laws. But for some reason, he just couldn't do it. It wasn't until later; he figured out why. He had fallen for the human woman. Something he had sworn he'd never do. They hurried to her house. Then he remained outside the door as she had gone inside.Syraia turned back to look at him, wondering why he hadn't followed her in. She wasn't
sure why but somehow felt safe with him. He stayed outside her door. "Are we planning to sit outside so I can get answers?" she asked. He gave a shake of his head. "It is not polite to enter without an invitation." he stated. It wasn't entirely the truth. A vampire could not physically enter without an invite. Something prevented them. "Well then, I am inviting you in." she said, she wasn't sure why, but she didn't feel frightened by the man. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked. She nodded her head and invited in him again.Syraia asked all the questions she needed and wanted. Alarik answered each and every
one of them without hesitation. When she asked why he followed and watched her. His reply was that he was trying to keep her safe. She asked again, 'why'. "I apologize. I had been ordered to kill you, to feed upon you. I went about my normal routine, which is stalking the person for a time, to learn their routine, then I would find a way to put myself in their path, gain their trust. But with you, it was different. I had already been stalking a few other victims when I spotted you. You had been my next target, but I wasn't quite ready for you yet. But then I found myself unable to stay away from you until I was ready for you. I ended up following you for two years, watching you, and making sure you were safe. I had told my superiors that the only reason I hadn't taken your life yet, was because I was still stalking my other victims, therefore I hadn't been ready for you yet. Then they sent a another to do what I could not. This one is what we call a feral. Very dangerous." he stated. "One of you? A feral? Please explain." she said. It was time to reveal what he truly was. When he did, Syraia was startled, yet somehow, not frightened in any way. She felt as if she was drawn to him. She couldn't understand it.Syraia and Alarik had officially met in 2007. Alarik had turned rogue when he realized he was
in love with Syraia, and therefore instead of killing her by draining her blood, he married her in secret. Other vampires were not happy with his decision. Within that first year, they had turned to dark wizards, working for them, with promise of protection against other vampires. While the work didn't satisfy them, as they were asked to do all manner of things, they remained, because no one bothered them. They had felt relatively safe for five years. In 2012, they decided they wanted and needed to pull away from the Dark Wizards. They made plans to have a family, and both agreed being in league with the Dark Wizards, would not be a good atmosphere for the children they hoped they would produce.However, upon trying to distance themselves from the Dark Wizards, they realize it wouldn't
be as easy as they had thought it would be and their lives were threatened. So not only did they need to watch out for the vampires, but they also needed to go into hiding to keep off the radar of the Dark Wizards. They hid in a remote village in Ireland; the village was primarily Muggles. It wasn't easy to hide out there with Alarik's appearance. Their home rested within a small forest, at the end of a road. Alarik rarely left their home unless it was at night, which helped. Some people questioned as to why Alarik was almost never seen, and when he was, why his appearance or skin looked so pale and dead-like. They played it off as Alarik having a rare genetic condition, that is non-threatening.Nearly year later, Rikkali was born. 30 October 2013, Rikkali entered the world. Syraia and Alarik were extremely proud, but many others were not. They had gone as far as shunning them for their union. A year after Rikkali's birth, while attending some event, there had been an attack which resulted in killing Syraia and Alarik, leaving Rikkali and orphan.
First Instance of Magic:
Reducio
Rikkali had been just a little over five years when her magic first appeared. She had
been left in the living room with toys, alone. She and her foster mother had just returned home from shopping. Her foster father had been at work. The fireplace had been dark and cold while they were away, and her foster mother had left it that way while she put the groceries away.The home was built in an open concept; therefore, the foster mother could 'see' her in
the living room. But just as she turned her back to put something into the cupboard, flames were shooting out of the fireplace. At five years old, Rikkali sat a short distance from the fireplace, giggling as the flames were licking toward her and she had her hand outstretched toward the flames. While there had been no actual proof that Rikkali had been the culprit, the foster parents knew and blamed her for the incidents. They weren't the nicest parents. Rikkali always felt out of place and as if she didn't belong there, therefore became a bit of a problem child after that, so much so that those who fostered her got fed up and sent her away to be taken in by another family. The new foster parents were better. At least they tried explaining to her what was happening, even if they did keep the knowledge of her parents from her until she received her Acceptance letter.STATUS: Pending, Ruckus, July 8
- Please include your backstory and first instance of magic in the application.
- Rikkali's birth date needs to be between Sept 1 2014 and August 31 2015. She will need to be a first-year. Please adjust the backstory for that.
STATUS: Pending, Ruckus, July 9
- Since Rikkali roleplayed as a first year in the 2025-26 school, we need an in-character reason as to why she will be held back.
- We need more details the event where her parents died. Even Rikkali is not aware of the details, we need a record of what happened: Who were the attackers? Where were they when this happened?
- Rikkali cannot learn any spells before attending Hogwarts, since this give her an advantage over other players. I recommend using makeup to cover the scar.
- Why didn't the first foster parents tell her about magic? She would normally be placed in the wizarding foster care system, so her foster would mostly likely be normal wizards. We'll need an explanation of this.
Last edited by Rikkali Fyre on 9 Jul 2026, 20:14, edited 4 times in total.
Index Registration
Character name (First and last name): Noirin Polkinghorn
School Year or Adult Level: First year
Does any Profile Card info need changing?: N/A
Link to the character page: XoXo
Character Statistics: Stamina 8 Evasion 3 Strength 4 Wisdom 7 Arcane Power 6 Accuracy 7
Character Special Race/Talent: N/A
Character Backstory:
First Instance of Magic:
School Year or Adult Level: First year
Reducio
She was held back in-character because of poor wand-work.
Does any Profile Card info need changing?: N/A
Link to the character page: XoXo
Character Statistics: Stamina 8 Evasion 3 Strength 4 Wisdom 7 Arcane Power 6 Accuracy 7
Character Special Race/Talent: N/A
Character Backstory:
Reducio
Isil, a struggling uni student when Rin was conceived agreed to give sole custody of her child over to the father, Hendrick. Because the split was so amicable Hendrick didn't feel the need to reveal the magical world to Isil whom to his knowledge was a Muggle.
He studied journalism to completion with constant visits from dear ones to help raise little Rin. Among his support system were actually very few family members. His eldest sister, her wife, and their adopted daughter were the only Polkinghorns to not sever ties with him and his half-blooded daughter.
From Rin's perspective her father has it all figured out. He leaves in the morning with food in his mouth and none of his work forgotten because it's all visible beneath his arms. Others are sluggish when they should instead sleep in and prepare faster. She confuses Hendrick's haphazard morning dashes for efficiency. His job at the paper may have subconsciously endeared histories and theories of histories onto her.
The women in her life that chose love over chasing blood likely have a bigger impact on Rin than she realizes. Her two aunts and cousin tried to get her to call themselves the sisters three when she was little because they thought she struggled to remember their names. She called them her aunties instead much to their chagrins.
It was feared she would continue to lack focus and the ability to make connections until one day the concept of manners clicked for her. If it mattered to someone else she should feign that it did to her too, until it did enough to at least remember it. They still hope she'll improve as there is a glaring difference when comparing her genuine emotions versus her memorized ones.
One of the most glaring examples to compare her usual indifference to was when she took a liking to dirt. It wasn't an aha moment that led to her obsession with it. It was as simple as a child liking how it sometimes had sparkles and expanding upon that as she aged. Her current style evolved into what it is today because she likes to be comfortable and her family thinks she likes flowers.
He studied journalism to completion with constant visits from dear ones to help raise little Rin. Among his support system were actually very few family members. His eldest sister, her wife, and their adopted daughter were the only Polkinghorns to not sever ties with him and his half-blooded daughter.
From Rin's perspective her father has it all figured out. He leaves in the morning with food in his mouth and none of his work forgotten because it's all visible beneath his arms. Others are sluggish when they should instead sleep in and prepare faster. She confuses Hendrick's haphazard morning dashes for efficiency. His job at the paper may have subconsciously endeared histories and theories of histories onto her.
The women in her life that chose love over chasing blood likely have a bigger impact on Rin than she realizes. Her two aunts and cousin tried to get her to call themselves the sisters three when she was little because they thought she struggled to remember their names. She called them her aunties instead much to their chagrins.
It was feared she would continue to lack focus and the ability to make connections until one day the concept of manners clicked for her. If it mattered to someone else she should feign that it did to her too, until it did enough to at least remember it. They still hope she'll improve as there is a glaring difference when comparing her genuine emotions versus her memorized ones.
One of the most glaring examples to compare her usual indifference to was when she took a liking to dirt. It wasn't an aha moment that led to her obsession with it. It was as simple as a child liking how it sometimes had sparkles and expanding upon that as she aged. Her current style evolved into what it is today because she likes to be comfortable and her family thinks she likes flowers.
First Instance of Magic:
Reducio
It happened when she was eight. While helping her father dry dishes she accidently snapped the handle off of a mug. It miraculously repaired itself along with packaging in the nearby recycling bin.
STATUS: Pending, Ruckus, July 8
Noirin is registered as a half-blood. Can you explain which parent is magical and which is not? How does this affect Noirin's home life?
You also need a separate post in your encyclopedia for your trunk.
Last edited by Noirin Polkinghorn on 11 Jul 2026, 03:16, edited 1 time in total.
Index Registration
Character name: Avalon Briard
School Year: First Year
Does any Profile Card info need changing? N0
Link to the character page: Here
Character Statistics:
Stamina: 5 |Evasion: 5 |Strength: 4 Wisdom: 4 |Arcane Power: 5 |Accuracy: 7
Character Special Race/Talent: Metamorphmagus
WC: 514/500
ReducioCharacter Backstory:Being a pureblood family, it was no surprise that magical talents popped up randomly in the Briard family tree. Sometimes there were generations full of these talents, other times there were none for years. Tucked away in the Briard library in France was a book, listing every family member directly back to the first of the Briards and their magical abilities.
Alba Briard was the first known Briard to have the Metamorphmagus ability. Able to change her appearance at will with very little detection. She was a mother of six young children and from a poor pureblood family. She used her talent in every way she could to help those children, including changing her appearance to scam people out of their hard earned money.
After Alba, there were six Briards listed in the book with the talent of Metamorphmagus; Loise, Leonard, Chloe, Ambre, Gabriel, and Avalon. All of them possessing the unique ability to change their appearance into almost anything they wanted. The ability had skipped so many generations in the Briard family, many forgot it was even present unless they actively kept track of the book.
Avalon’s first signs of being a Metamorphmagus appeared when she was only a small baby, just a few months old. Arthur and Gwaine were the first to notice the sudden appearance change, startled by it as they were unaware of what was happening.
The trio was tucked away in the corner of the Fortune Tellers tent, Avalon’s wooden cradle rocking back and forth gently as the boys popped their heads over the edge every on in a while. Peak-a-boo was about the only game they were able to play with the young girl, being only a baby. They had been playing together for about a half an hour when it happened. Little Avalon was overjoyed with peak-a-boo, so much so that the small amount of hair she had suddenly turned a bright, bubblegum pink color. The boys did not understand it, quite startled actually, assuming one of them had accidentally done it.
Gwaine had run off to find their father while Arthur stayed to observe the little girl, tickling her stomach as she squealed with laughter. Her hair was still quite pink, maybe a little darker now, but definitely not the blonde color it had previously been. Idris, their father, was quite surprised when he arrived in the tent to see a baby with bright pink hair. At first, he had also assumed the boys had done something, until Avalon’s eyes fell on the man. With a happy squeal, her hair turned into a golden yellow color, the young girl happy to see her father.
Being a Metamorphamgus would change much of the trajectory of Avalon’s life. Suddenly she was getting attention that she did not previously have, distant family wanting to get to know her and her abilities, other pureblood families suddenly wanting to become friends. It was a major change, but Avalon would grow with the ability and make it her own. Not making her entire life revolve around her ability to change her appearance.
ReducioFirst Instance of Magic:Cirque Briard has always been and will always be chaotic. The birth of Avalon was never going to change that. She needed to learn to float, or she would be left behind in the rapids.
From the beginning, Avalon was tossed into the ever-moving flow of the circus. Tucked away in the corner of the fortune-teller’s tent, her bedtime stories were the lies that always seemed to slip from her mother’s mouth. Desperate people come to the circus to learn their fortunes, only to be gifted with a scam. It was always a surprise to the young girl that her mother had never gotten in trouble for pretending to be a Seer.
Avalon’s favorite part of the day was when she was clutched tightly to her father’s chest. Listening to his booming voice as he prepared for the evening shows or checked on the performers, both human and creature. He would explain everything to her, from the main focus to the invisible details; he wanted his daughter to know everything about the circus he inherited.
The circus was Avalon’s home, no matter how strange it seemed. She traveled continuously with the circus until she was about three years old. At that point, her travel time was limited to only one week out of the month. The rest of the month was spent with her brothers, exploring the Briard estate and interacting with the performers not on tour. A nanny and a governess were the children’s main caretakers while they were home, teaching the children the basics and making sure they were well taken care of.
The Briard estate was a large property, acting as a sanctuary for the performers. It provided a home for those who did not have their own and a safe place for the creatures who performed with them and were unable to live in the wild on their own. The creatures that used to travel and perform with them were even given a large area to retire and live out the rest of their lives with caretakers. Avalon grew up seeing the performers as additional family, learning plenty from them over the years.
For Avalon’s 7th birthday, she was gifted a young Connemara pony by the name of Butters. The young girl had grown fond of the flying horses in the circus, so her father purchased her a pony of her own. Flying horses were obviously too dangerous for someone her age, but a non-magical pony with previous training was the perfect first pony for a little girl to grow with.
When her brothers started attending Hogwarts, Avalon spent a bit more time with the circus. As long as she completed all of her lessons and chores, her father allowed her to come to the circus for the rest of the day. He did not want her feeling lonely at home, so did not see an issue with the girl coming to spend her free time with her family. Avalon would spend that time helping the performers and following her father around before returning home in the evening.ReducioAvalon’s first instance of magic happened at just three years old, a few days after her birthday. Arthur and Gwaine, her brothers, had gifted her a music box for her birthday. It was wooden and metal, with purple and gold details painted across the exterior. When the box was opened, a small unicorn popped up and pranced around the intricately decorated interior. Avalon had fallen in love with it as soon as she had opened the present.
Avalon had been spinning around the sitting room. Her little feet tapping against the ground as she danced to the music coming from the little box. The music did not last forever though, stopping in the middle of one of her spins. A young Avalon could not figure out what had happened and could not get the music to start again, and in her frustration, threw the music box to the ground. With tears streaming down her face, a crashing noise from the box was expected, instead, something else crashed. The box seemed to make itself rubber, bouncing across the floor and knocking over a lamp.
Her father, Idiris, came running into the room. Having heard the crash of the lamp, he had assumed someone was hurt. Avalon’s brothers instead explained what happened and handed the box to their father. It was in perfect condition, not even a scratch. It was a delicate wooden music box, so at least a crack in the wood exterior was expected.
In his excitement about his daughter having her first instance of magic, Avalon’s father picked her up and spun her around. This startled Avalon, causing the music box to once again drop to the floor. This time, the cracking of wood could be heard as the box hit the floor and the outer casing cracked open. Luckily an easy fix, but at least it had not broken into a million pieces when Avalon had first thrown it.
STATUS: Approved, Ruckus, July 8
First Gen: Logan Baird
Second Gen: Avalon Briard
Staff: Nancy McLoughlin
Index Registration
Character name (First and last name): kahira valerian
School Year or Adult Level: first year
Does any Profile Card info need changing? no
Link to the character page: extra, extra
Character Statistics: sta 5 || eva 7 || str 10 || wis 5 || arc 1 || acc 7
Character Special Race/Talent: N/A
Character Backstory and FIOM:
School Year or Adult Level: first year
Does any Profile Card info need changing? no
Link to the character page: extra, extra
Character Statistics: sta 5 || eva 7 || str 10 || wis 5 || arc 1 || acc 7
Character Special Race/Talent: N/A
Character Backstory and FIOM:
Reducio
First Use of Magic:As they so usually do, the story of this little girl begins with her parents' love story. Aldric Valerian is a British wizard who was born in 1988, the ninth heir of his generational Potions lineage and family business: the Valerian Consortium. Aldric attended Hogwarts and was Sorted into Slytherin, excelling in Potions (obviously) during his seven years there. At the same time, in a different country, Eloise Lavande (born 1990) was undergoing her education at Beauxbâtons, doing equally well in the field of Herbology - which also made sense, seeing as how the Lavande dynasty was quite famous for being one of the biggest worldwide producers of plant-based potion ingredients. Since they were both purebloods from well-known families in similar industries, their marriage was as much of a business arrangement as it was from love.
Not long after Aldric and Eloise tied the knot, they celebrated the birth of their first child, a son, on the 9th October of 2013. The young heir came into the world at the Valerians' work estate in the central London district of Covent Garden, was named Blaize, and was instantly dubbed the future of the Valerian Consortium. He even had the family's signature red hair! The new parents were absolutely enamored with their firstborn, and treated him with as much love and care as their busy business lives could possibly allow.
However, the heir would not be alone for long, as he was quickly greeted by his spare a year and a half later. On March 27th, 2015, Eloise again gave birth at the Covent Garden home, this time to a baby girl with red curls already as thick as her brother's and a loud wail like that of a Fwooper. She was dubbed Kahira, meaning "conqueror", and immediately the young lass took to living up to her name's significance.
Kahira and Blaize, being only a year and a half apart, were expected to be close in personality and relationship as they were in age; this expectation could not have been further off base. Whereas the elder brother was calm, soft, and malleable, Kahira was a firecracker and had a will stronger than an Unbreakable Vow. She despised getting herself dirty and tended more towards beautifying herself and strengthening her mind, whereas Blaize was happy to do whatever was asked of him by their parents. This deep difference between the siblings grew into a hearty distrust and divide, at least on Kahira's side, as they grew older and the sister realised that Blaize's advantage in age would lead to an advantage in life. He was being groomed to take over the family business, was the object of their parents' many affections, and Kahira was more often than not pushed to the side even when she strived so hard to be noticed.
This disconnect between siblings only intensified when Blaize, in the summer of 2025, was attacked and turned into a dhampir in their family's Cotswolds barn - only to be showered with even more adoration from Aldric and Eloise, as if he was still their little boy rather than a bloody monster. Kahira's fear of him grew into hatred and rage in his first year at Hogwarts, and now, entering her first year, she would rather pretend she doesn't really have a brother at all.
Not long after Aldric and Eloise tied the knot, they celebrated the birth of their first child, a son, on the 9th October of 2013. The young heir came into the world at the Valerians' work estate in the central London district of Covent Garden, was named Blaize, and was instantly dubbed the future of the Valerian Consortium. He even had the family's signature red hair! The new parents were absolutely enamored with their firstborn, and treated him with as much love and care as their busy business lives could possibly allow.
However, the heir would not be alone for long, as he was quickly greeted by his spare a year and a half later. On March 27th, 2015, Eloise again gave birth at the Covent Garden home, this time to a baby girl with red curls already as thick as her brother's and a loud wail like that of a Fwooper. She was dubbed Kahira, meaning "conqueror", and immediately the young lass took to living up to her name's significance.
Kahira and Blaize, being only a year and a half apart, were expected to be close in personality and relationship as they were in age; this expectation could not have been further off base. Whereas the elder brother was calm, soft, and malleable, Kahira was a firecracker and had a will stronger than an Unbreakable Vow. She despised getting herself dirty and tended more towards beautifying herself and strengthening her mind, whereas Blaize was happy to do whatever was asked of him by their parents. This deep difference between the siblings grew into a hearty distrust and divide, at least on Kahira's side, as they grew older and the sister realised that Blaize's advantage in age would lead to an advantage in life. He was being groomed to take over the family business, was the object of their parents' many affections, and Kahira was more often than not pushed to the side even when she strived so hard to be noticed.
This disconnect between siblings only intensified when Blaize, in the summer of 2025, was attacked and turned into a dhampir in their family's Cotswolds barn - only to be showered with even more adoration from Aldric and Eloise, as if he was still their little boy rather than a bloody monster. Kahira's fear of him grew into hatred and rage in his first year at Hogwarts, and now, entering her first year, she would rather pretend she doesn't really have a brother at all.
Reducio
As for her first use of accidental magic... routing her brother at his own game was something Kahira took very seriously. Blaize's first accidental magic had come about when he was eight, and so Kahira eagerly awaited hers as soon as his had passed, hoping that it would come at a younger age and prove her better magical talent to her parents. (Plus, his first instance of magic had been "saving" her from acorns - that he had thrown at her in the first place. Was it so wrong of her to want a little revenge?) But Kahira's eighth birthday came and went, the year and a half of waiting seemingly culminating in nothing, and the younger Valerian somewhat resigned herself to being second place to her brother... again.
But then, success. Kahira and her brother were very rarely allowed in to the potions workshop to watch their parents put their talents to work, but shortly after her birthday they were permitted to sit in on one brewing. Their parents warned against touching or doing anything - after all, magic or any attempts at it prior to Hogwarts were not permitted - but the young girl was so excited she could hardly sit still, staring at the cauldron as it simmered over the open fire. The ladle, balanced carefully on the iron rim, was teetering and about to fall - so Kahira reached out to catch it, concerned about letting it touch the floor. Unfortunately, the flowy sleeves of the old-fashioned peasant blouse she had chosen to wear that day were far too long, the edge catching on the flames as they flickered up against the basin of the cauldron.
In what seemed like a millisecond, her whole arm was up in flames that felt scorching hot against her skin. Kahira screamed, an earsplitting sound that caught the attention of her brother and both parents; her mother rushed to her rescue with a well-placed Extinguishing Charm. Her father sent her brother to fetch a vial of Burn-Healing Paste, but when Kahira pushed up the charred remains of her sleeve, they found nothing but pristine skin underneath - eliciting a sigh of relief from the vain, self-obsessed child, whose skin was as precious to her as a dragon's hoard. It was a miracle, her mother proclaimed, and only later when Kahira realised that it had been her first instance of accidental magic did she also figure out that hers had happened just three days before Blaize's - relatively, in their own lives, of course. Not that anyone would ever care, but Kahira felt satisfied - like, for once, she'd actually beaten her brother to something.
But then, success. Kahira and her brother were very rarely allowed in to the potions workshop to watch their parents put their talents to work, but shortly after her birthday they were permitted to sit in on one brewing. Their parents warned against touching or doing anything - after all, magic or any attempts at it prior to Hogwarts were not permitted - but the young girl was so excited she could hardly sit still, staring at the cauldron as it simmered over the open fire. The ladle, balanced carefully on the iron rim, was teetering and about to fall - so Kahira reached out to catch it, concerned about letting it touch the floor. Unfortunately, the flowy sleeves of the old-fashioned peasant blouse she had chosen to wear that day were far too long, the edge catching on the flames as they flickered up against the basin of the cauldron.
In what seemed like a millisecond, her whole arm was up in flames that felt scorching hot against her skin. Kahira screamed, an earsplitting sound that caught the attention of her brother and both parents; her mother rushed to her rescue with a well-placed Extinguishing Charm. Her father sent her brother to fetch a vial of Burn-Healing Paste, but when Kahira pushed up the charred remains of her sleeve, they found nothing but pristine skin underneath - eliciting a sigh of relief from the vain, self-obsessed child, whose skin was as precious to her as a dragon's hoard. It was a miracle, her mother proclaimed, and only later when Kahira realised that it had been her first instance of accidental magic did she also figure out that hers had happened just three days before Blaize's - relatively, in their own lives, of course. Not that anyone would ever care, but Kahira felt satisfied - like, for once, she'd actually beaten her brother to something.
STATUS: Approved, Ruckus, July 8
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