Trial by Fear Main Story Event

Reducio

Over the last year pieces of Aida had splintered away with each passing month until, now, Aida treated herself more like a weapon being pounded on an anvil than a young girl surrounded by countless opportunities. All potential timelines had long since evaporated from her mind’s eye as every road seemed to converge on one singularity where Aida and Alexander would either recover their memories or die trying. Whether or not Alexander would go so far was not a question for Aida, not since she made that promise… she was an avalanche unstoppable once it began its fall.

Once, there was an Aida who wanted to be a magizoologist. She had dreams of liberating trapped beasts and fighting the tyranny of cruel captors. This Aida had made a promise to the Undead King and awakened to the gift of magical powers destined to resist those masters stealing wild creatures away from their homes. Then, the night Griffith disappeared, the night Aida sank the dead mosp into the Great Lake… that was the first crack in the white witch’s porcelain armor.

Then came Aida’s collapse in the Forbidden Forest, done in by hag handiwork and a giant spider who wanted no protection from such a human as her. Surrounded by flames Aida slipped into a dream of the White General, another voice desiring her fealty. Despite the warning that Aida would one day have to choose between the Undead King and the White General, Aida agreed. Surely everyone could be happy if only Aida worked hard enough at it. Yet, quietly, a second crack began fragmenting Aida's world.

Was it then that Aida lost a piece of her timeline? Finding herself surrounded by house elves but alongside Alexander they learned that the two were the victims of memory theft, and so a third crack ripped through Aida’s reality. This was a new kind of violation of freedom for her, profound and disturbing, while all the voices inside seemed to agree on the white witch’s path: take back their memories from whatever master lurked in the dark.

With faith that she could vanquish a foe in the names of Alexander, the Undead King, and the White General together, Aida threw herself mercilessly into training. Grinding against the wheel of drills, studying, and duels, Aida’s reality tunneled into a singular bright point. In the worn-down nighttime hours a quiet voice echoed, warning that one day she would still have to make a choice, but beneath the layers of piled-up exhaustion the voice was too faint to heed.

The dreams of old Aida lay curled up in the dust like dead insects, though she told herself she could use the strength she was forging now for other battles, one day… if she survived. If she survived. In her most exhausted hours, these were the words she clung to. Release from the pain of training, transcendence over the failures constantly haunting her, and peace of mind awaited her after the fight. Whether it be in the embrace of death or the serenity of victory, Aida lived for this battle’s conclusion. The problem was, neither she nor Alexander knew the secrets behind their lost memories and there was no clear map of where to go.

If Aida was recognized now for her hard work and performance, it was only because the one thing Aida had left was honing herself, as if she could become a force of nature by sacrificing dreams and comforts on a ritual pyre. The three voices in her head seemed to ask for one thing, but the avalanche of Aida’s devotion needed a direction. The letter’s call for trials rang in her ears with the whisper of power: this was a special opportunity for her to learn how to pound herself into a more perfect weapon. She would attend this event, fire in her eyes, knowing that her friend Alexander had also been recognized for his efforts. Thinking that Alexander would be there filled her with hope. Aida had not heard about Dealla’s invitation, though Aida would love to see her there if they happened to meet. If any of them were to be pitted against each other, Aida had no knowledge of this.

Stepping out amongst the flickering flames, Aida grasped the shaft of a blue-flamed torch and smiled for the first time in weeks. Ascending the stage, Aida’s violet-blue eyes scanned the crowd for one golden-haired Slytherin and she pondered how they would be tested today.

Mentioning: @Alexander Varellion, @Dealla Prince

Abilities: Blindvision, Sixth Sense

Character Stats (41 total):
Stamina✵ 4, Evasion✵ 6, Strength✵ 1, Wisdom✵ 10, Arcane Power✵ 10, Accuracy✵ 10

Inventory: the pocket knife that appears in all Aida's main story threads, her black Mayhaw wand

Nicholas McCowan felt out of place, and for good reason, he was no warrior, he was barely an adequate student. For almost his entire tenure at Hogwarts, and said tenure had not even lasted a year, he had seen fit to be relegated to the background. Even as his housemates were cast asunder in the horrific train crash in January, the young Northern Irish boy had been safe and sound. Thus, as he cast his eyes at the other gathered students, he knew damn well that he was the least experienced of them all. Fear bubbled up inside his chest, threatening to overflow from his gut and into his mouth. Not for the first time that night he longed to unleash a tirade of slurs in his native Scots. But he held it back, the cold grip of fear trapped deep in his core by a darker, icier force.

Frozen rage ripped through Nicholas, every inch of his body pouring with the emotion. How dare they look down on him? Did they not know who he was? Who he was to be? His inexperience be damned, he deserved his shot at greatness, and he was going to seize it. As it had done for the eleven years of the boy’s life, pure determined rage filled his very soul, overthrowing the self-defeating attitude that threatened to consume him.

His appearance must have been quite puzzling, the boy couldn’t help but think, his dark brown eyes flickering between rage, fear and confusion, and then all three all at once. Still, even in his mental state, a state that could be described as startled at its most generous, the boy held himself with a certain dignity. His posture was stiff, but solid, and he found himself raising to his full height.

The letter had betrayed nothing as to the nature of the trials, only that they were to take place and that he had been offered a spot, a spot that he had every intention of making the most of. As he had done many times before, he dared not speak as he approached the quidditch pitch with the rest of the gaggle of students, spectators and participants both. His aloofness may have appeared as a deliberate coldness, but truthfully, he was merely terrified of making a fool of himself before the event had even begun.

The path to the stadium was illuminated by twelve torches, coloured for the particular houses of the students who had been invited to participate. Most burned red, as did Nicholas’s, the scarlet of Gryffindor unmistakeable against the night sky. He made a beeline toward it, his once downcast eyes now firmly aimed at the beacon of light and of warmth. Only once he gripped it with his bone-white knuckles, did the boy truly know how terrified he was of what was to come.

Still, he moved forward, and he carried the newly acquired torch with pride. Jaw clenched, eyes darkened, and steps deliberate, he could not tell if he appeared as terrified or determined. At this stage, he cared not what the other students decided to think. He had earned his place, and he damn well would claim it.

He was flagged down rather promptly, the torch serving as all the proof that the students he didn’t recognise needed to herd him away from the spectators, and toward the stage. The first year approached, the beginnings of a snarl forming under his lips, he would not be cast asunder, regardless of what the other participants wished for his fate to be.

Perhaps they would be kind, welcoming even, he hadn’t bothered to investigate to find out who else would be competing. But the mind was a fickle thing in setting preconceptions, and as rigid as iron when it came to keeping those thoughts in place. Regardless of what was to come, Nicholas knew that he would have to claw for what was his by right.

Stats: STA: 7 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 4
Abilities: Foulplay

Open To Interactions
Interacting: @Nicholas McCowan
Mentioning: @Scarlett Aden|@Rose Moon|@Logan Baird | @Katrina Walker | @Piérre Marchonné
Languages: _{English | French | Italian | Arabic | Russian}
Outfit

@Pericles Dralt, @Henry Knight, @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood & @Nicholas McCowan
Open to Interactions

Reducio

Rolled a d4 to determine House Color!
1: Hufflepuff
2: Ravenclaw
3: Gryffindor
4: Slytherin

Number Rolled: 1
Hufflepuff

The letter had said that the only things that they needed to take was their wand and keen mind. If there was something that the Britalian knew better than anything else, it was ‘expect the best, prepare for the worst’. That was why he had brought a bit more than what he was supposed to. Besides, this was something to test their scrappiness and ensure that they had ways to protect themselves against things that were going on currently. As it was, if he could have, he would have brought Luciana for mobility and speed, but decided against it because he certainly did not want to have his loyal broom confiscated from him.

Yes, he had brought his wand, but it was sheathed in a crude holster on his left hip, hidden among a belt of three oddly shaped small glass potion vials which had nothing within them other than one which contained water. Just enough to make someone wet, to soothe a dry throat, or cause them to wipe their eyes, though, not even enough to extinguish a flame. In his right sweatpants pocket, four Knuts were kept for handiness and fidgeting alike. And of course, there was his mind, empty of worry for the moment, having been cleared of ADHD tendency for the moment, so that a sort of sagacious and almost dangerously cunning look was briefly visible on his face. He was watching, watching in a way that even Piérre himself didn’t like. A quick rustling of his hair, though, and a bright laugh had chased that silly and overbearing stare away, replaced instead by a lighthearted, perhaps a bit coocoo persona whose head was perpetually in the clouds.

His outfit had been designed about what little he knew of combat. He knew that his outfit had to be lightweight, slippery, possessing give and agility which would compliment his acrobatic background. That was why he had started with sweatpants which had a elastic waist and ankles. Yes, it would be a bit warm, especially with the upcoming weather, but it would keep him cool at the same time, wicking his sweat away from him and also providing great maneuverability. His shoes were the shoes he moved in the best, a pair of worn sneakers which he had had for three years. They were beginning to get tight with the initiation of the first growth spurts of which denoted puberty, but they were loose, and could be kicked off quickly if Piérre really needed to be attuned to the movement of the ground or of people around him. The shirt had been more difficult to decide upon, for the boy knew he needed to cover up as much of his skin as possible to protect himself from physical and area of affect harm alike. Eventually, the boy could not choose one, and instead, while he sacrificed a bit of movement by selecting his chosen article of clothing, a long sleeved black shirt with a tiny flipped up collar at his neck with a surprisingly large thread count (Piérre had been learning to sew his own clothes to make adjustments while growing), a generous protection was provided. In a final attempt to save his throat, Piérre snagged his trusty yellow and black striped Hufflepuff scarf, which was made of cotton and was very thick, wrapping it once loosely around his throat and then tucking what remained into the back of his shirt. The looseness of the wrap would make it easier for him to slip away if it was grabbed.

When he was ready, after pulling his hair back into a nape ponytail so that the piqued tips of his ears were startlingly easy to spot at a glance, Piérre set out, hands in his pockets as he buried his nose in his scarf, looking forward and keeping an eye on his surroundings as he made his way to the Quidditch Pitch, a place where he knew the sky by heart, but the ground not as much. As he passed by the seven remaining red torches, he took one. The light of the flame turned the yellow of his scarf a peculiar orange, but still maintained that this scarf was of the absent House’s prided colors. Piérre was one of the first to show up, but before taking his place, Piérre’s heart beat rapidly as he continued to keep his head held down with the torch in his right hand, scuffing his shoes at the grass and taking a couple of paces up and down the area, trying to remember it as best as possible for anything which had the possibility of happening.

Above all, Piérre hoped that he wouldn’t be alone in these endeavors. As it was, his worries were beginning to thicken the atmosphere around him, a tingling sensation which every individual who came to the pitch would feel. It was an exhilarating feeling, a sensation of both worry and inner calm to combat that worry. Piérre’s empathy was at work, cooling tensions and instating in place a common goal for everyone who approached to even so much as sensed him.

Looking down at his dearest Figaro, the eager silver Bengal who always seemed willing to follow his brother everywhere he went, Piérre scooped up the cat in his left arm, rubbing noses with the cat for a moment before letting Figaro down again. “Okay Figgy. I have to go, so you have to find someone, okay?”

The black tip of the bengal’s tail flicking back and forth, Figaro turned tail and dashed off like a streak of silver lightning. A certain eaglet, Pericles Dralt— a very good friend of Piérre’s— would be who Figaro recognized first. The silver Bengal would up at the pale boy, emerald eyes half closed, and let out a purring meow and then tagging along wherever the boy went.

Despite himself, Piérre smiled, looking up at the sunset and letting the rays hit his own slightly squinted green eyes. It was beautiful. Why couldn’t everything be as beautiful as this? There was a pale girl, who seemed made of snow herself; beauty in its unusual nature. There was a boy, a Gryffindor Piérre had caught fleeting glimpses of but never spoke to; beauty in acquaintanceship. Then there was Henry Knight, a boy that Piérre had met while walking Figaro in the dungeons, quiet, shy; yet there was beauty in the knowledge that quiet waters run deep. Not terribly unlike Piérre when he tried.

After purveying the grounds a bit to familiarize himself again, Piérre made his way to the stage, passed by and joined the threesome, smiling softly and waving at them all quietly.

“Beautiful night, hm?” He asked openly, keeping his voice down a touch. “Wonder what they’ve got in store for us.”

Wonder what have they got in store for us. Such an innocent statement, yet Piérre had much to muse about because of that deceivingly innocent thought. A boy who should perhaps be dead, a child who perhaps had some kahoots with some benevolent entity who had seen him remain alive for this long. Maybe he was simply lucky, the worst injury that he had suffered thus far being a broken nose, which was even now barely visible save for the tiniest, less than a millimeter bend to the right. Perhaps he was smart. Piérre liked to imagine that he was smart, the jester who should have no right to be alive or to practice his craft, yet still recites his poetry for the enjoyment of a crowd who in one moment praises the name of the fool, and the next calls for his beheading.

He had learned to repress, to take an aspect of himself and box it up to save for a later moment such as the memories of the Sectumsempra curse which still gave the lad some nightmares on the more anxious nights. His frightened self was one of them, reserved for a dramatic situation or for important moments, the one moment where his impish side fell away and his instinct to survive kicked in. His foolish side was always there, though, just below the surface, a harlequinned boy who used stupidity and ass-headedness as ways to get close and learn, who made jokes of tragedy and made tragedy of humor.

The Harlequin was awake tonight, and ‘irrationality’ had now become yet another tool in the Jester’s extensive arsenal. This was going to be an experience, in one way or another. Piérre’s concentration would be tested tonight, and despite himself... he was excited, ready to meet the challenge head on.

Stats: Stamina 3 | Strength 3 | Evasion 10 | Wisdom 10 | Accuracy 10 | ArcPower 5
Abilities:
Keen Eye | 25% chance to spot something
Calming Presence | Affecting Student Participants
Inventory:
Yew Wand | 4 Knuts | Some (3) small glass phials (school supply) | Quick Wit
Emotional Status & Persona: Stable | Embodying the Wonka
Action: Purveying the grounds | Entering

outfit
speech #bf0040
action entering
abilities prodigal charms leaner, fearless
stats stamina 7 | evasion 6 | accuracy 7 | strength 6 | wisdom 6 | arcane power 9
inventory fanged frisbee (bought ooc) + wand

────── ☆ ───────

@Thomas Lestrange @Kit Paine @Henry Knight @Nicholas McCowen @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood @Piérre Marchonné
[font=times new roman]S[/font]carlett did not say no to a challenge.

Scarlett especially did not say no to dangerous, prove-your-worth, fantasy-action-movie type challenges. Of course, she had no idea that the night would prove to be anything other than a flimsy and rather dull 'reward' for those who had done a ton of homework in March. The only reason she was here was because she had decided to pull through with her homework before and during Easter for once, so she didn't have to have the constant threat of assignments hanging over her like a fragile bomb. But, as fate decreed, her resolution to do her homework had thrown her into some random event with torches and spectators or whatever.

She had been rather surprised when she had received the letter. It seemed oddly formal for a prank. She had kept it in her mind, but eventually decided to go when the 'trials' had been officially announced after the students of Hogwarts returned from Easter break. She had pocketed her Fanged Frisbee she had bought from her absolute favourite shop - Weasley's Wizard Wheezes - and said goodbye to her feisty kitten, aptly named Sparta. Sparta had seemed to deduce something interesting was going on tonight, and Scarlett did notice her kitten skulk out to the Quidditch Pitch, trailing slightly behind her as she marched towards her incoming doom. Scarlett smiled. Even if none of the human spectators decided to support her, at least there would be a feline one.

Scarlett only hoped her Fanged Frisbee wouldn't be confiscated. It was more expensive than the Ever-Bashing Boomerang she had brought onto the train wreck, but it bit things. If the 'trials' required her to fight, she could just throw the boomerang at her enemies and voila!

She ventured onto the area, twirling her wand like a baton. From what she could see in the stadium, there were tents, a centre stage and snacks. Of course there were snacks. It was a shame that they were most likely for the spectators. Though Scarlett had already eaten dinner, she was rather thirsty.

Flaming torches lined the way into the stadium. The letter had said to take the one that was 'associated with your house colour'. Well, she was quite obviously taking one of the red ones. There were six red torches, signifying six Gryffindors to come, two who were already in the stadium. There was also one green torch and one blue one, but no yellow ones. No Hufflepuffs participating?

But Scarlett still had to feel a sense of house pride - most of the participants would be Gryffindors, people from the best house of course. She didn't know who else was coming, but she had quite a few friends in Gryffindor and Slytherin, so she was keeping her fingers crossed for some pre-made allies. If not, she could just talk to people.

Scarlett made a very dramatic show of sweeping up one of the red torches and marching into the stadium and towards the stage. She saluted the students who were sorting the participants from the spectators as she passed. As she clambered onto the stage with her torch - wand and frisbee safely in her robe pockets - she saw who else was on the stage. Three boys and a girl - well thank Merlin she was here to balance it out. The girl was pretty and had white hair - possibly an albino? Then there was a first-year Gryffindor Scarlett recalled as Nicholas something, as well as the bubbling ball of energy that was Piérre Marchonné, and finally, her childhood best friend Henry Knight. So these were the people who did their homework.

"Rather pretty yes," said Scarlett, announcing her presence on the stage, speaking in response to Piérre. She had to lower her voice a little to match Piérre's slightly quiet tone. "And I think everyone's wondering that. I can ask!"

She cast a glance at the two people who weren't carrying big flaming torches - some Slytherin prefect and the caretaker. An odd duo. Why would they be the ones hosting the event? "Hello," said Scarlett, to the two of them. "What exactly are we going to do here?"

────── ☆ ───────

_

_

Interacting with | @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
Glaring at | @Thomas Lestrange
Mentions | All previous arrivals

Dee hadn't been particularly surprised when she had received the letter, but her first reaction had been a scowl. Adequate display? She'd argue that she'd been nothing short of brilliant in March. While in February she had been playing catch-up on schoolwork after most of her time at the beginning of the year had gone into duelling, in March she had been back to her high, self-imposed standards. And then she had also recently been appointed prefect. Adequate? That was downright insulting.

Of course, she was still walking down to the Quidditch Pitch at the indicated time, a bounce in her step, eyes bright with excitement. There was very little chance she'd ever skip a competition, especially not one she'd been specifically selected for due to her adequacy outstanding performance (as long as it didn't involve broomsticks). Still, she was... slightly apprehensive, to be honest. Last time she'd gotten an invitation to a mysterious event without any further details, she'd been dragged into a fight club and prompted to beat up other students. Which she'd refused to do, but the point still stood. But no, this was a school sanctioned event. Officially planned and announced. Surely it would be completely safe. No, she didn't really believe that, but at least there would be people around to patch them up if need be.

Dee hadn't really made any concessions in her outfit to what might lie ahead. Simple blue jeans, sneakers, a light, silverish sweater that she didn't feel particularly attached to. Who knew if she'd catch on fire in the course of this evening, after all. Clothes that were easy to move in, would let her run if need be, and were unlikely to get caught on anything the way robes tended to. She doubted her outfit would be the deciding factor in whatever lay ahead. Reaching up to tie her hair into a ponytail - another small nod to practicality - Dee stepped towards the stadium.

The torches that had been mentioned in the letter lined the path, some of them already missing, and she scanned the remaining ones. One green. One blue - hers, then. None yellow, an overwhelming number of red ones by comparison. Her eyes narrowed slightly, bright in the setting sun. If there was any House she held prejudices against, it was Gryffindor. What in the world had they done to earn that many spots in this event? Was she to be the only representative of Ravenclaw, or were some of her house mates already inside?

Without hesitation, she picked up the single blue torch, pausing only for a moment to appreciate the dramatics of it, although she could not see any practical purpose to them so far. She did have a soft spot for theatricality, though, the way this would announce her as one of the few, the special ones, selected from the entire student body. Upon stepping onto the pitch, her eyes scanned the setup, taking in the tents and the stage, parts of it hidden from view. There were more students streaming in than the participants accounted for. Spectators then, coming in expectation of a show, which she could have expected after the announcement in the Great Hall. She didn't doubt they would deliver entertainment that was worth the trip. She also spotted the snack table, and her eyebrows quirked up in amusement. Wouldn't want the audience to go hungry while they watched their peers potentially risking their lives on the pitch, eh?

It was only when she came closer that she recognised some of the figures already on the stage. There was Kit Paine, the caretaker, who she hadn't really met yet (or had she?) But it was the boy next to him who made Dee stop in her tracks, head raised, staring upwards in disbelief. Her thoughts echoed quite closely what some had predicted. Seriously? Thomas Lestrange, of all people who could have been involved in this. It seemed like a joke, but his position, the fact that he was not carrying a torch like the participants - not that he would have ever been picked for something like this - made quite clear that he was at least partially in charge.

Dee had half a mind to just turn around and leave. While she was excited for the trials she'd been promised, the sense of competition already settling in her bones, and very confident she could take Thomas Lestrange in a fair (or even slightly unfair) fight, she had absolutely no faith in his sense of fairness in an event that was controlled by him. Or in his general ability to keep people safe. She'd probably feel safer if the event had been organised by the giant squid.

For a split-second, she thought she might really go - but then her gaze flickered past the Slytherin prefect, towards the other students on stage, and she sighed. Aida. Aida was here, and that meant that she couldn't just leave, because who would keep her safe, then? So instead of turning on her heel, Dee shot Thomas Lestrange a distrustful glare from narrowed eyes, and bounded up onto the stage, towards her friend, torch in hand.

"Aida!" she called, a genuine smile spreading on her face despite it all, her expression softening. At least there was someone who would have her back. "I didn't know you'd be here, too, but I'm happy to see you." She scanned the other participants in passing, recognising and categorising. Henry received a scrunched up nose. Suddenly she doubted the standards of this thing. There were two Gryffindors she didn't know, although the girl looked familiar, and Piérre, who had been one of her tentmates in summer camp - she mostly remembered him for the Periculum thing.

Well, this should be... interesting.

Stats
Sta 5 | Eva 9 | Str 3 | Wis 10 | Arc 6 | Acc 8
Evasive Maneuvers | Charmer

Allies | All student participants except Henry Knight

Inventory | Wits & Wand

_

By SK

_

It was practically late and Alan was a little confused at the fact that there would be a school activity outside, so close to the forest at that kind of time. Especially since the kidnapping happened there; he had heard of it but did not know many of the details or any at all. He was however sure that this was somewhat a liability of safety, then again so were most of the events held at this school at least to some extent and he was aware that this one was an official event so how bad could it possibly be? He had to stretch a little as he pushed himself off the desk in their dorm, before he began to get ready. He was still quite a bit confused as to what exactly was supposed to happen that day but decided that he should probably just go with it. He should be alright, right?

As he was about to leave the room he would call over his cat, he had ever since the he was just a kitten practiced recall and it worked marvelously. He would bend to pick up the feline and be on his way outside. He could see a couple of students who made their way down to the Quidditch pitch from various houses which only again reassured him that this was something official and not like the last Blossom Ball. Speaking of Blossom Balls he knew that there was one that was supposed to come up in a bit of time, or at least it was about time for one to happen so he should put some thought into getting an outfit for that eventually. If not he would simply go with the one he had been wearing the previous year and somewhat enchant it to fit his own form. Though he would rather wear something new and interesting.

He could already see the lit up quidditch pitch from afar, it was decorated with torches and respectively Alan would grab one of the red flamed torches upon arrival at the pitch and hold it carefully to not singe anyone's clothing as he looked around to find a familiar face among the students. He would find several and greet those that he knew with a smile. @Dealla Prince & @Piérre Marchonné

Ultimately however the fourth year would walk over to Dee and gave a slight nod, as he came to a stop in her proximity. Of course he would therefore also greet @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood someone he personally did not know well but remembered from the Duelling Club room, who was currently being addressed by Dee. "Hey, I assume the two of you also got that note?" he inquired curiously, his voice sounding light and without complaint though his face showed a bit of confusion at the event altogether, perhaps a bit excitement as well? He still held Tiger in one of his left arm whereas he carried the red torch with his dominant hand as he stood there waiting for something to happen. He kept an eye on the opening to see if anyone else he was familiar with would arrive as well.

Inventory | Wand and Tiger

Rose read the letter over and over and over again.

What?

She was in her dormitory when she received it. She didn't understand most of it. What kind of contributions to the month of March had she made? House points? That was the only thing she could fathom that could be her "adequate display." And also, what kind of "series of trials" would this be? The staff at Hogwarts wouldn't let her die or anything, but this was Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake. There was magic and hags and stuff. Dangerous stuff happened. She could get hurt, or see other people get hurt. This might reappear in her dreams.

She had a creeping feeling it could be a prank, and if it was, maybe she should just sit this one out. But what if it wasn't? What if it wasn't a prank and was something actually important and she ended up just passing on it? She wouldn't ever forgive herself. What if this was something she needed to do? What if this was something she had to do?

But why her? She wasn't brave or anything. She wasn't even super smart, either. She wasn't strong or fast or some kind of special race. She was just a human. Just a girl. Just Rose Moon. She didn't really deserve this, did she? Why was she being chosen? And who else was being chosen? What were the requirements for this? Why her? Why Rose?

Rose Moon was no coward, though, so she made the choice- she was going to these trials at the Quidditch stadium. She neatly folded up the letter, and placed it on her bed. The redhead got dressed in a very simple outfit- jeans and a black t-shirt. She took a gray hoodie and tied it around her waist, and pulled on her converse.

She grabbed her wand and the letter and headed for the door when she felt some fur on her ankles. She looked down to see her cat, Chaska, looking up at her. Rose was willing to go to this thing and risk it, but she was not willing to risk Chaska. No, not ever. She crouched down, taking her kitten's face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Princess. You can't come with me today. I know you could help, but I don't want to put you in danger." She did care about her cat a lot, too much to even let her come with her. Chaska meowed at her, and Rose stood up, closing the door on her cat. She felt a little guilty not letting her come, but she would rather be safe than sorry.

She stuck her wand and the letter in her back pocket and made her way down to the Quidditch stadium. On the way, she reached up and braided her auburn hair into a dutch braid. She would need it out of her face. Once she got to the stadium, she paused and took it all in. The stage. The people. She saw the people who had gathered on the stage. From here, she could see Henry and Scarlett, two of her very closest friends, and six other participants. A couple of them she recognized from some of her classes [Dealla Prince, Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood, Piérre Marchonné], and one of them [Xailah Alptraum] she remembered from Frog Choir auditions. She didn't know how many students were invited, but she was the ninth so far. And then there was the caretaker, Kit Paine, as well as another student who seemed to be with him. Questions came up in her mind. Rose forced herself to keep walking and grab a torch, then onto the stage.

God, she hated stages. Well, it wasn't that she hated stages. She just hated being on stages. With all those people looking at her. Rose would never say it out loud, and nobody would be able to tell by her appearance- the way she looked, the way she walked, and her facial expression were all neutral- but she was terrified. Between the stage and the people, and whatever was going on with this "series of trials," she was scared. But nobody would be able to tell, as she was mindful of her expression and every single move she made.

Once she came onto the stage, though, she moved towards the gathered students, specifically Henry, standing next to the Slytherin. "Hey," she murmured. She relaxed a little due to Piérre's Calming Presence. She wasn't alone in this. Well, unless they were competing against each other. She sure hoped they weren't. Some of these people looked like people that Rose didn't want to be her enemy. She wanted to know the whys of all of this, and wanted it to just start already.

For Moderation-

Action: Entering, standing by Henry Knight

Allies: All student participants except Dealla Prince
Inventory: Wand
Stats:
Stamina- 6 | Evasion- 8 | Strength- 5 | Wisdom- 9 | ArcPower- 7 | Accuracy- 5
Abilities:
Keen Eye | Lovely Creature