DURMSTRANG iNPC

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Name: Margarethe Fransson Nickname: Greta Species: Human Age: 15 Birthday: July 22nd, 2008

Blood Status: Pureblood School: Durmstrang Year: Sixth Home: Flåm, Norway Nationality: Norwegian

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Taking after her father, Greta possesses the common Norwegian traits of fair skin and hair. Locks of honey gold fall to cascade in soft waves to the small of her back, as untamed as the forests in which she resides. Across her porcelain fair skin is a spattering of freckles that darken with the summer months and fade to little more than the barest hint during winter. From her mother, on the other hand, Greta — like her brother, Hanzo — acquired her petite stature, standing at a diminutive 5 feet and 2 inches. Her eyes are the seafoam green of the waters off the coast of her fjordic home. Her features are soft, rounded, her expressions often calm and unassuming and often bearing a smile upon her lips. Despite her demure stature, Greta carries herself with an assurance that befits her pureblood inheritance.

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Seen and not heard, the way it ought to be. Patient and humble, Greta is a girl of few words, often choosing instead to demonstrate her thoughts through purposeful action. Had she attended Hogwarts, she surely would have been sorted among the loyal and diligent House of the badgers. In spite of her hard-working nature, she's no stranger to fun. Greta is quick to smile, and even quicker to pad after her brother to accompany him on his many adventures, never much liking to be too far from her kin.

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Greta (née Margarethe) Fransson is the second child and only daughter to purebloods Astrid and Jakob Fransson; and younger sister to Hanzo (née Hans) Fransson. Born to midwives in the town of Flåm, Norway, Greta enjoyed a quiet and diligent upbringing on her family farm located near the coast of a rather fantastical little fjord. To many, it would be a vacation paradise. To her, it was — and still is — home.

It was a peaceful and somewhat reclusive upbringing. In part, this was due to family desire to ensure no muggles were made aware of their less-than-mundane existence. More so, however, their self-isolation from the nearby fishing village was fueled by parental notions of superiority and a distaste for those humans they deemed unworthy to be graced by their presence. This notion of blood superiority would bleed subconsciously into Greta's worldly understanding as she developed, prejudices to be played out without any true realization of their existence.

Born within a year's turn of her brother, Greta became essentially — whenever she was permitted to have her way — inseparable from him. As he labored, performing chores around the farm to tend to the various beasts raised by their father, so too did she; as Hanzo worked to assist his mother in sorting and preparing supplies for her wand-making, so too did Greta invest herself with focus and diligence; while her brother wandered the wild forests within the perimeter surrounding their home, not far would one find his little sister attempting to retrace the divots of each of his footfalls with those of her own. And when he began to return home after his stay at the muggle schools, Greta (who had chosen to remain home with their parents to be home-schooled rather than suffer the inapplicable studies of the muggles) would venture as close to the village as she dared to accompany him on his way home, pestering him with questions about his learnings every step of the way.

It came as no surprise, then, that Greta was overjoyed to receive her invitation to Durmstrang alongside Hanzo, and quickly shut down any alternative suggestion by her mother to attend Beauxbatons (not that such a suggestion ever did, or even would have, come). And when Hanzo expressed interest to join the school's Quidditch team, as too did Greta. Whether he liked it or not, she was his shadow, looking up to her brother as though he himself were a hero of their folklore and striving to be as courageous and free-spirited as he.

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• Chaser [#19] for the Durmstrang Quidditch Team

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C H A R A C T E R • I N F O R M A T I O N

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STA | 5‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ STR | 1‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ EVA | 15‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ WIS | 10‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ARC | 12‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ACC | 20

Reducio

+1 from Quidditch win vs. Slytherin (April 2020)
+1 from Quidditch win vs. Slytherin (Oct 2020)
+1 from Quidditch win vs. Ravenclaw (Jan 2021)
+1 from Quidditch win vs. Hufflepuff (May 2021)
+1 from Quidditch win vs. Hydra & Wixes United (Aug 2021)
+1 from Quidditch win vs. Hufflepuff (Oct 2021)
+1 from Quidditch win vs. Slytherin (May 2022)
+1 from Duelling win vs. Ravenclaw (May 2023)

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Calming Presence — An aura of calm. Allies (defined at the START of an instance regardless of later betrayal) gain a 10% chance to auto-hit their chosen target. This does not stack.	Reducio ────── R A T I O N A L E ────── Calm. Collected. Reserved. Children ought to be seen, but not heard. This was the way of child rearing for some time, and a sentiment still held by many a family, pureblood or otherwise. Strictly speaking, Greta's family did not quite hold tight to such a notion. Theirs was a relatively small and nuclear family with a proud, but modest living. A living that they were required to work to maintain. Her Greta's father had his breeding and husbandry, while her mother continued to master and expand her craft with wand-making. These were trades that would, in theory, be someday passed down to the Fransson children. In order to do so successfully, however, it meant that early rearing into the businesses would be required, alongside the careful cultivation of discipline and an appreciation for toil. This was more easily achieved with Greta, the younger of their two children, helped in no small amount by the fact that she had chosen to refrain from attending muggle school in the nearby town in favour of receiving an education provided by her parents that they tailored towards their family businesses and the wizarding traditions that had held to for so many years. That Greta took to their teachings and allowed herself to be moulded and crafted to their preference, so readily doing as she was told and ultimately playing the part of an ideal daughter instilled within her parents a great deal of comfort. In her, at least, they could rest assured that the wand-making — as that was the task to which she gravitated with more keen interest than the tending of the magical animals — would carry on in their line. Greta's demure and reliable nature went beyond her dedication to her role within the structure of home and family. Although it was no doubt an irritation at times for Hanzo, the fact that she took such an interest in his life and whereabouts was a comfort to their parents. Especially given his attendance at the muggle school, they couldn't watch over him the way they could Greta. Nor were they generally inclined to wander into the town proper more than necessary. Given her tendency to accompany him to and from his place of study, however, she could — and often did — serve the bridge between them, reporting to their parents his whereabouts and level of well-being, while also passively acting to curb any wild tendencies that might have arisen due to her incessant — nearly to the point of obsessive — need to be with him. More importantly, Greta always had Hanzo's back. Quiet and shy she might be, but she was every ounce of her a capable witch in her own right. Elusive, agile, collected and capable, she could support him in a duel if ever it came down to it. Plus, having grown up with him, she possessed an uncanny ability to read her brother's intent, able to react accordingly in an instant without the need for lengthy discussion. She dedicated herself to her studies at Durmstrang, proving herself to be a quick study with spells, and an above-average mage with wicked aim. And even on the pitch, the team could always rely on her to net them a few goals. She was reliable. All those who knew her well and she considered within her circle could rest assured that her presence, regardless of the situation, would contribute positively. Word Count: 566
Perfectionist I — You have a reduced critical failure chance range by 1. In addition, you can counter up to 1 point of additional critical failure chances caused by abilities or spells (not potions).	Reducio ────── R A T I O N A L E ────── Excellence. Superiority. Consistency in everything. Concepts hardly foreign to many households, they held especially true within that of the Fransson's. Pureblood and proud, there was little room for any sign of weakness. As the yougner of the two Fransson children, Greta lived perpetually in the shadow of her elder brother and felt this keenly. This year, she had taken one step to differentiate herself. Or, perhaps the better explanation would be that where Hanzo had taken one, she had not. Or at least... hadn't intended to. Where Hanzo had drifted from his position as chaser and captain of the Durmstrang Quidditch team, Greta had meant to remain on the team. Influenced in part by her success on the pitch against Hogwarts, as well as her desire to remain playing alongside her friend, Ella, Greta had fought the urge to pad after Hanzo as he drifted towards duelling. Despite this, Greta's attention had drifted towards duelling in some capacity. There was little doubt that she could execute in the air upon a broom. Her presence as a chaser had been a commanding one, earning herself many a praising word, and even an admirer or two. But after the camp, there had been one event that had stuck with her, eating away at her self-confidence: the team-based duelling chess game. This was only furthered by parental pressure, which would ultimately prove the stronger. Quidditch was hardly a suitable pursuit when she was expected to invest in the family business of wand making. They were a family bound to the wand, not the broom. Although her performance had hardly been something to evoke a snide remark, neither had it been particularly impressive. For days afterwards, she had dwelled on the fact that, under pressure, her spells had failed her nearly as often as they had succeeded. As a student from a prodigious combat-oriented school, this had sat poorly with her indeed. She was the progeny of a wand-maker. Poor casting performance would never do. What was worse, her mother had somehow caught wind of her embarrassing performance, and the sight of her lips pursed in disapproval had nearly sundered the young girl's heart in twain. As a result, for the remainder of the summer, Greta had devoted herself to independent study, determined to make of herself a more worthy duellist. By the time school had started yet again, not only had she succeeded in drastically improving the consistency of her spell-casting, rarely failing a spell now; she had also gained better command of her wand. Unless circumstances were out of her control, it no longer back-fired against her. Something for which she was more than a little glad for all the balm and wrappings she had requested of her father in secret whenever her wand would act up in temperamental practice in her overzealous practice. She would do her parents proud. Or strive to at least. As unimposing as she was, all she could do would be to minimise her ineptitude. To practice those things she was capable of honing to perfection. Word Count: 510
Spell Spread — You can elect to reduce the accuracy of your spell by -2, increase the DC by 2 and the critical failure range by +1 to target a second user with your spell.	Reducio ────── R A T I O N A L E ────── Let it not be said that inaction flowed through the veins of the youngest of the Fransson's. While Quidditch had held a certain allure to the sport and the rush of wind to tousle her hair and the thrill of chasing down the quaffle were dearly missed, Greta fully accepted the change to her extracurricular career. From the moment she had joined the Durmstrang duelling team, she had been invested. While spellwork came relatively easily to the girl, good simply wasn't good enough and she had spent countless hours in the forest behind her home practicing her spellwork on unsuspecting vegetation. More than a few of the trees bordering their property sported the effects of her efforts. Deep gashes shimmered with dried sap where a flick of her wrist had sent a slash through the bark. Others found themselves adorned in the latest fashion of charcoal and ash where conflagrations had been allowed to catch and hold for a short time before being extinguished. Pock marks marred the ground where she had set up small objects to serve as target practice for various spells, their forms soon finding themselves flung free of their pedestals to land with a padded thud to fall into the loving embrace of the mossy forest floor. It had become something of her own little place of respite, as good as any to relish in her growing abilities while also loosing whatever frustrations plagued her. Such was how she'd found herself there again at the start of the summer. She did need to practice, that was true. There'd been rumour that perhaps they might be returning to Hogwarts even sooner than she might have expected. Really, it was almost as though the English school was becoming something of a second home. She'd thought perhaps the last occasion would be a one-time opportunity for her. Instead, staff had spoken about representing Durmstrang not only in air upon their brooms, but also with the wand. And that prospect positively terrified Greta. What if she failed? What if she lost? Not only would she dishonour her school, but her family as well. With her mother as a wandmaker, she had something of a name to uphold. A standard to strive for. It was as much fear of failure as it was ambition to win that led her to take her place among the foliage every morning and well into the day. With each day that passed, for every day that the competition drew nearer, her aptitude increased only to a point. Then, for whatever reason, it seemed to wane. Exhaustion, perhaps? Desperation? She found that where before, she could cast incessantly without fail, now her wand would falter nine times of ten. Even her accuracy seemed to falter, the spell sometimes seeming to divert of its own accord as though just to spite her. She couldn't have that. She couldn't. Her parents would have to be made proud. Durmstang as well. There would be no greater embarrassment than if it were because of her that her team were to fall short. Plus...An idea had occurred to her. If she could shine...maybe she could catch the attention of a certain someone, prove to him and their families that she could be a competent witch and a suitable match. This was when it had happened for the first time. Thoughts of Niche actually commending her abilities and the subsequent little fantasies that had followed had filled her with a sudden longing and thrill. The unleashing of the following spell had been explosive. Where she'd intended to carve a line into the trunk of the tree nearest to her, the sudden crashing and cracking of a small sapling nearby as it toppled to the ground revealed that her spell had not been isolated to only the one target. Somehow, it had split, mirroring itself to the second as well. Surprised but intrigued, she continued to hone that newfound power, replicating it until she could do so at a whim. Word Count: 672
Wandmaker — [Thunderbird Tail Feather | Larch | 28.6 cm | Springy] Once you reach 30% of your max HP, you gain +2 Arc, +2 Eva, and +2 Acc. If healed above 30%, these bonuses are lost.	Reducio ────── R A T I O N A L E ────── The family business. It was all Greta's parents seemed to care about for her. Her mother, Astrid, had made it her life's mission to develop and hone her ability as a wandmaker, earning the respect of many wizarding families in central Europe and abroad. For years, she had yearned to see Greta join her in that pursuit, with the plan for her to eventually take the business over when she had come into her own. And for years, Greta had resisted the (not so) gentle urgings, eager instead to follow after her brother in pursuit of whatever flavour of the month had captured his interest. For the longest time, that had been Quidditch. There had been a certain confidence that had gilded itself upon her heart during her foray of freedom amidst the clouds. Stature and lack of physical prowess meant little in the air and she was free to carve her own significance, learning to support her team in her own way. At least until her parents had pulled her from the team, spouting notions that it was savage, unrefined, and hardly befitting of a young girl such as her. Duelling, they had said, would be more appropriate. More applicable as well, in fact. And would offer an opportunity to showcase their family wands and demonstrate their superiority of quality and power. That had meant little to Greta at the time, but as it happened, it quickly became apparent that despite a very notable lack of stamina or physical presence, the Fransson sister had a talent for martial magic. Discipline honed from rearing beneath the expectant gaze of her parents treated her well. She had always been an able caster, but that talent flourished on the duelling team. Carving a certain paradoxical notoriety for herself at school, she even went on to play a significant role in an impressive victory against Hogwarts the past summer. And yet, despite her apparent skill, she would shrink away from independence. If a decision arose, she would reflexively look to her brother or parents; or an elder student or respected figure if they weren't immediately present. The idea of getting in trouble terrified her; and the thought of disappointing her family left her paralyzed. In a school where confidence was key and a moment of hesitation could mean her undoing, how could she possibly expect to excel as she was now? That notion was all but solidified during her last excursion to Hogwarts. She may as well not have been present at the ball at all for all the good she had done her peers. Her wand work had spared Theo any prolonged embarrassment, but he wouldn't have gotten into that mess in the first place if it weren't for her. She was useless. Less than useless. Her brother had finally rid himself of her. Her old friends had largely forgotten her. Ella wouldn't talk to her and Niche had probably only accompanied her to the ball that one time out of pity. Or maybe just convenience to keep an eye on his sister. She wasn't special. She wasn't anybody. And try as she might, she couldn't think of any way to change that, not as she was now. But there wasn't really anything she could do about that. Not really. What she could do, however, was distract herself. She wasn't sure when it had happened, exactly, but at some point she had gotten it into her head to make herself a wand. It wasn't hard, not really. She had helped her mother gather and shape the wood before, and sort and prepare the cores for insertion. The steps were known and the material familiar. She had simply yet to put it all together. And if they wanted her to take over the business eventually, why not start now? The more she thought of it, the more the idea anchored itself. In a way, this would be one stage of striking out on her own. Her wand had been a gift from her mother, something of her creation. Just like she was. Just like her name and the rules that she followed. If there was any hope for her to be her own autonomous being, she would have to discard it with the rest of her shackles. She had already adopted "Greta" ages ago. Margarethe had always sounded so stiff to her. An aged name from a bygone era. The wand would just be the next phase. She could make herself a wand. She would... Wood: Larch— Instilling confidence; that's what larch was well known for. It was one of the reasons that Greta had chosen it for her own wand. She had never felt confident. Not in herself, not in her abilities, not in her place among her family. If it wasn't her brother's shadow, then it was that of her friends. Or rather... those she would have liked to have been able to call friend. She wasn't sure if they considered her as such. How could they, really? She was just a little girl without a presence. She had to fight tooth and nail just to see over their shoulders or through the gaps between them. It was easier to stand on the perimeter and wait to be called. If they ever did. But that wasn't the type of person that she wanted to be. Not forever. Her mother and father, they had made names for themselves in their careers and in the magical community. Greta wanted to make them proud, to be able to stand her own ground, competent and capable of... something. Whatever that might have been. She wanted to be able to tell Niche how she felt. To talk to Theo without feeling like she constantly had to look back over her shoulder. She wanted not to cringe at the drop of a pin, or worry about what the others thought of her. And if there really was some hidden truth to Larch.. if it really could help her find her place and draw out some hidden depth of courage she couldn't seem to find on her own... why wouldn't she choose it as her base? Plus, it wasn't like it was a poor choice. It was strong and durable and pretty to look at. It had a warmth to its tone that helped to chase off the chill of the northern Norwegian Spring. It was as good a wood as any other. And maybe it could help... Core: Thunderbird Tail Feather— But what to use as the core? Now that was the real question. In preparation, she had spent time in her mother's store cupboard, handling each core (carefully) one at a time to see if she could detect any kind of connection. Admittedly, she wasn't sure if at any point she did or not. Some of them had left her hands feeling warm, or a fuzzy tingling feeling in her core... but then she couldn't reproduce that same sensation the next time she picked up the same core. There didn't seem to be any sort of consistency and she was left to believe it was all a doing of her own mind. And yet, time and again, she kept coming back to the selection of Thunderbird Tail Feathers. The one that she selected might not have been quite as handsome or pristine as the other, but it spoke to her in a way the others didn't. She wouldn't have known it at the time, of course, but the feather represented the storm that had start brewing inside of her. The values of her childhood bestowed upon her by her family were raging against those she was beginning to develop on those rare few excursions away from Durmstrang. Like the thunderbird core, there was a certain contrary side of her taking root, a nature that sought to rebel against the status quo and make her own decisions. But she would have to take care in doing so lest the urge present itself in a volatile delinquency better left to Yefim and the rest. Still, whatever caution she might have felt instinctually at the rise of independence could hardly stem her active desire for self-actualization. Thunderbird wands excel with complicated and large-scale transfigurations. What greater project than the self-actualization and reinventing of self? Of the caster themselves into a form best suited to the wand? One thing that could not ever be denied would be Greta's fighting spirit. As timid and docile as she might present herself under most circumstances, there was a little Valkyrie within her just yearning to take flight. It would come out now and then, showing its face during such times as quidditch and chess, when that black war paint would serve a mask to bring forth that which had been subdued and held down. It was a perfect fit, really, Thunderbird and Larch. Dangerous, even. It could pave the way for Greta to develop herself as her own individual, breaking from tradition and the binds of family expectation. Length: 28.6 cm— Mousy and timid, few would describe Greta as lively or dramatic. But those were the individuals who only knew her superficially. Beneath the surface and behind her anxious mask stood a girl brimming with life and adventurous spirit. Of course, too long would hardly do. Greta might have been easy to smile and fast to laugh but she wasn't exactly gifted in stature. She was to be wielding a wand, not a yard stick. Still, neither could it be too short. It needed to house a tail feather, after all, and those weren't exactly ungenerous of length. It would be as long as it needed to be. Flexibility: Springy— Ignorant of the realities of the world, Greta had always been a rather impressionable girl. Family values and parental ideals were, for the longest time, taken for face value. She upheld the notions of blood superiority without any reason to question it. Gullible and believing the best of everything and everyone, her beliefs were easily swayed and her path effortlessly redirectable. To say she was flexible would be an understatement. She was effectively without spine. It's a wonder she hadn't simply taken the nearest willow switch as her wand in the early days. But travel and exposure had a way of opening eyes and raising questions. Greta continues to remain flexible, but she is developing her own morality and beliefs and will learn to stand steadfast behind them. Word Count: 1745
Fearless — Fear effects such as a dhampir's aura, the ability terrible presence, a lycanothrope's intimidation or certain charms, potions and jinxes that would normally cause a fear effect do not work on you as you are immune to them.	Reducio ────── R A T I O N A L E ────── It hadn't been the easiest of years. As much as Greta had felt a sense of release after severing her bond with Hanzo in order to strike out to be her own person... well... it meant that she had to be her own person. Shadows seemed darker and whispers of sound more ominous when there wasn't someone behind whom she could immediately seek safe haven. Safety had been gained in many ways among her new family. It was hard not to feel well protected when a half-score of boys loomed overhead to leer at anyone who happened to look in her direction the wrong way. But they weren't always around. What was more, it was sometimes the case that she would have to make a stand for herself against them, something for which she would never have managed the courage at first. Over time, however, she grew accustomed to their habits and tendencies, and how those with the most intimidating exteriors had the softest hearts. Really, it was impossible not to grow accustomed. Not when Yefim and Mikael seemed to carry with them an aura deeper than any hag or giant. They had never been anything but kind to Greta, and yet she had never quite been able to shake the sense of unease that gripped at her whenever she found herself in their presence. As if any second the slightest insult could trigger...something. She was just grateful it was never really directed at her. Usually, anyway. But then there was the boot camp over summer. The gathering of the Durmstrang team in preparation for the Hexwizard events had been something she couldn't ever possibly have been prepared for. Nevermind pushing them past their limits in training and concentration, Yefim had employed unorthodox tactics to deliberately scare them and test their resolve. More than once, Greta had been reduced to tears. There were times she had been able to power through it, to hold her composure enough to complete whatever trial had been laid before them. Frequently, however, that was not the case. She wasn't like them. There was good reason they felt the need to protect her. As capable and deadly as she could be, it came at the cost of fragility, both of body and mind. The only time she ever felt any sort of fearless, reckless abandon was when she was in flight, naught but a broom below her. The sky was her domain, and in it, she felt untouchable. As soon as her feet hit the ground, however, it was another story entirely. And she hated it. She could feel the weakness and the way it held the others back. If they were constantly looking over their shoulders to reassure her, how were they ever supposed to be able to tackle the challenges laid before them? Every day that passed with another jolt to her heart from this student or that situation was another gouge to her confidence, but she was the only one that could do anything about it. Yefim had put the gears in motion that summer, and so Greta carried the torch into the year. For the duration of their stay at Hogwarts and once they had returned home again, she sought—and at times created—opportunities to test her will, to push herself to the limit. Navigating in darkness.. practicing trick maneuvers in the air at heights she might have shied away from previously.. interjecting herself into social situations.. exploring the castle dungeons.. Little by little, the flutters and muscle tensions were more easily abated. It was never truly gone, of course, and now and then it would catch her unawares and unprepared. But for the most part, she no longer let her fear hold her back. If anything, she had learned to let that feeling fuel her into action. Word Count: 642

I N V E N T O R Y

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Silver Arrow — +3 to every stat

A C T I V I T I E S

1| Is your character a Broom Racer?: NO
2| Is your character a Quidditch Player?: YES
3| Is your character a Duellist? NO