Trial by Fear Main Story Event

Alexander took Aida’s devotion and repaid it with loyalty and compassion in kind. The girl knew that Alexander, like herself, had a fierce competitive spirit. After all, they had both ended up at this top-earner event for a reason. Both of them hated the concept of giving up, but after what had happened, the spirit of the competition had been shattered. What would a win even mean in such a broken system?

As Alexander looked Aida in her violet eyes, she felt the full weight of her months of toil and torment bearing down on her. Day in and day out, Aida lived in training for the moment she could fulfill her promise to Alexander. That she became a top earner was a mere reflection of how hard she fought to be ready. All the blood and the burning, the tears and the bleak exhaustion… it was all for this spirit in his green eyes. This was why she fought for him. Though he didn’t state his opinion about the trial itself, she knew this boy and he knew her better than anyone. Aida’s sixth sense felt it before he ever spoke the words. The trial was nothing compared to how they understood each other and the depths they would go to fight for one another.

Leaving with Alexander unless stopped.
@Alexander Varellion

Gingerly, the towel was taken from Nicos slender fingers. Xailah slid the bit of cloth between her own gloved hands, wiping off any of the sticky, red substance that might have sprayed on them. She walked while she did this, following after whoever else was moving ahead of her. When done with her hands, she flipped the towel onto a cleaner side, and used it to wipe her face. Sweep under the chin- make sure to get behind the ears- a swift swipe over the hair; and bam, she was surprisingly clean. So clean in fact, if someone was to stand very, very close to her, they would hear her sparkle. Her dark mane wiggled happily. During this time the Prefect and Caretaker duo had finished their explanation on why the towels were effective, and excused themselves so that they could talk about... whatever event organizers talked about. They disappeared into the nearby tent, with their vampiric volunteers trailing close behind.

They returned to view after a few minutes, Xailahs interest sparked once she saw that Kit wore a sobered expression. When the man began to speak, it became clear as to why he chose a more solemn look. He had something important to say. Something serious. But oh, had he known that everything he said, would cause a domino effect of sudden outcries? Xailah stepped up to collect the token she and some others had been rewarded. A cute green bat dropped into her cupped, cloth-lined hands. She cradled the thing, admiring it. That was where things should have ended. But no. Something had to go wrong at some point. Someone clearly fed up with everything, had opted to walk away. Xailah might have admired the act, if not for the fact that it was uncalled for. It was a shame really. Why go this far, only to drop out over a misunderstanding? To walk away, was to refuse to understand. Refusing to understand only hurt everyone. Xailah did not know about the tension between the Ravenclaw and Thomas, but had she known, she might have been more understanding of the girls choice to leave. Not that it mattered. Xailahs opinion was irrelevant. Dealla's quitting, sparked a chain of upsets- even two other departures. Those who did not have the balls to leave, chose instead to preach of unity, and unfairness- to explain what was and wasn't sick. They were right in their own way.

But see, there was a problem. The test had not been about unity- not once had the word been mentioned or even implied. Had they not listened? The test prior, had been about unity. This test was about trust. And while the two might have gone hand in hand, they certainly did not mean the same thing in the end. People could be united, but that did not mean they had faith, or even remotely cared for each other. The students were unified under one name- the name of their school. But did they trust one another? Their reactions spoke clearly. No they did not. They hadn't even considered trusting the two young dhampirs. And yet they had the audacity to complain- to point their little fingers at the ringleaders of this circus, and call them clowns. Please. They failed to realize that when they called out the organizers, they were also calling out the dhampirs. Nico and Howard had agreed- volunteered- to help with the test. Had they missed that part? Further victimizing the half vampires did not help them. At all. Nor did criticizing an attempt to call attention to an issue. It. Did. Not. Help. One of the boys must have seen this- or understood that they were overreacting at least. Nicholas McCowan, the tiny Gryffindor from the Owlery spoke up. Told them to get off their high horses. Poor boy was going to get himself beat up one day for speaking his mind.

Xailah could not completely understand why anyone was getting all worked up. Perhaps she was simply insensitive. Was it the "blood"? That must have been it. If the substance had been something else, maybe everyone would have been laughing. It was the blood, wasn't it? The execution of trial had been in poor taste, yes, but the end reactions from the participants were downright foul. If they felt fear, shame, humility- they deserved it. Each of them. Now they could get a taste of how the Dhampirs felt after the release of that nasty article. It didn't taste nice did it? Bitter right? Those that spoke, those that cried out against the organizers had taken the bait. They failed the test before it had even concluded. There was of course, no clear right or wrong in this situation- no clear stance to take. Both sides were just as right as they were wrong. It all came down to interpretation- the understanding of the reality behind a subject. It was a topic that Xailah had tried her best to explain to Pericles, when he once asked if vampires found vampiric fiction offensive. The metamorphs answer, as she would now find out, not only applied to that one memory; but could be applied here as well. Switch a few words around, change a couple phrases; but all in all, the meaning was the same. Not everyone could be pleased, someone would always find something to be upset about. Funny how the only ones seemingly undisturbed by the whole thing, were the dhampirs. Hm. Disappointed in the handling of the test, but mostly how it was received by her competitors; Xailah made her way to the next trial at her own pace, her little bat token wrapped securely in a fist. If the trial by fang upset them, she could only imagine how well they would handle a trial by fear.

Action: complain but willing to give Kit and Thomas another chance to make things right

The Gryffindor was a little frustrated, even mad at this whole scenario and no matter whether they had a good intention with this trial, Alan could only end up seeing the bad sides of this outcome. He could see no unity and he didn't believe it for one second, that this could have been the spark all of them needed. He didn't believe in this and some little voice urged him to follow after Dee, he believed in her and didn't like these trials one bit. But he felt like walking out on this and leaving a bunch of students behind was also somewhat irresponsible. "I'm not happy with this and I don't believe this made any sense at all," he declared truthfully. "If it were to spark a sense of unity you could have done so by building compassion and taking away from the underlying fear many students feel; people fear what is unfamiliar by their instincts as its what made them survive and I don't think wanting to survive is such a bad instinct! Rather than dulling this sensation and pointing fingers you should make it a task to educate about this and to stop fighting fire with fire and rather extinguish the prejudice. You can't force unity but you can very well try to highlight and educate about truth!" Alan argued as he stood up straight and sent an unsure glance to @Howard White, in case he was still around to watch this go down.

"Sure I trust them not to attack me, that doesn't mean this won't make them uncomfortable. And what with those who had reacted badly or afraid? You just played into their hands, were they attacked? 'course not, but they definitely haven't been calmed either? What in this situation has been in any way educating? Just because you learn not to give in to temptation, doesn't mean it doesn't tempt you or makes you uncomfortable and I simply don't think this was a valuable lesson at all." he explained as he continued to wipe off any residue of the blood lollipops. He trusted Howard and Nico and Neculai, who were the only dhampirs he knew in the school and if there were more he'd likely trust them too and he trusted himself, but he didn't believe in using fear and worry as a medium to teach. "If anything this method could have backfired greatly, not because anyone lost control but because you highlighted our differences rather than what unites us, they are part human and they feel and think just like we do and they don't deserve the prejudice or being limited to their diet and taste for blood, I didn't like this one bit. so if you don't want me to turn around and leave, you better think of a better trial this time around. And what if someone had lost control, perhaps someone with a weaker mind or less control? Does them not losing control is the only way to prove they belong? This is just a small part of their life and challenged they face and it shouldn't define their entire self, so what if someone isn't in perfect control of what they do, or who they are.... how they appear?" he said in a huff as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his eyes flickering between darker shades of green as if proving his point, making his argument more personal than originally intended, his voice growing weaker as he reached the end of his tirade. His hands shook slightly, so he balled them into fists. Alan, pocketing none but one of the tokens; what could he say the bat one simply looked beautiful. However he hoped he had proven his point, made sure they understood that this was not how to proof yourself, that life was all about learning to discover yourself and adapting to the challenged thrown at you. And now he hoped that it was their turn to learn that their methods had been flawed, so he'd give the caretaker and Thomas but one more attempt to turn this trial around as he believed in giving second chances and in learning, but he also would have felt uncomfortable just walking out on them, knowing they had probably put a lot of thought into this, even if they messed up bad in the last so called trial. If the next trial didn't sound any better than this hidden one, he'd follow Dee's example and hand in his tokens minus the one that actually looked very pretty. "They'd have gotten detention if they pulled this as a prank on any dhampir and got caught, this pretty much is the definition of blood-baiting even if there was no actual blood," he muttered under his breath, quieter now as he walked up to @Piérre Marchonné and shook his head with a sigh. He didn't exactly agree with the younger student and how he naively interpreted this a joke, ignoring what serious topic lay beneath. "I don't think it was funny, but I do want to believe their intention was pure even if their method was an awful way to prove a point," he said for only Pierre to hear, as he gave the boy a softer smile. The Gryffindor has grown protective of his fellow students and friends and he felt it was part of his being to try keep them safe, if he could.

Note from the moderator: It’s no secret this event did not materialize quite as planned. Please accept my apology for how it has gone down, and the delay in providing closure for all of you. I completely understand if you opt to leave the trial. But you are welcome to return and participate in this final act. If you have any questions or feedback, please reach out to me directly.
~TL

One by one, the trial participants would vocalize their feelings on a similar consensus: This trial was immoral. Initiated by an impassioned Dealla Prince, handing off her tokens in intended departure. She was not alone, soon followed by Aida and Alexander. No longer wishing to take part in what she described as sick. Who could argue, the fake blood looked and felt real enough. As Dealla handed off her tokens in intended departure, the caretaker would offer a nod with no intention to counter.

Others would attempt to justify it as a competition, confounded by the insinuation that we could never solve the problem of discrimination with one little game and chat. They were not wrong either.

”I must say, you’ve all surpassed expectations. Unifying against this immoral trial with little to no purpose. I beg to differ, as you’re all unifying against it. There is value in the conversation, and I ask all of you to carry this conversation into every place you go. Of course not of hostile nature, but to acknowledge the problem.” The tokens previously handed out(unity trial only) would dissipate, becoming no more than black ash left to drift off into the wind. “The purpose of the trial is to have the conversation. As you can see, Howard White and Nico Shymane are just as flawed. Perhaps Howard simply did not like your face.” Kit would offer a subtle smirk, nodding towards the students that were not awarded a token for this round. ”They’re no less humans than any of us.”

”I acknowledge your feedback, those of you who spoke out. You are not wrong, and I’m proud to see the fight in all of you.” Kit’s eyes traveled towards Thomas Lestrange, who remained stoic off to the side near the third tent, intended for the final trial. Kit’s eyes narrowed in disappointment, though holding his tongue. ”I think we can all feel a little more secure to see such impassioned leaders on the field tonight. Please, if you would…our spectators, give them a hand!”

Kit would motion to the crowd, likely made dull by the sour turns of this trial. As if watching an athlete suffer a major injury on the field.

Kit’s voice was underlined with anxiety, as he came to realize something that nobody else would. The blood was never in the plan. A tampered trial from the beginning, as the dhampirs were only meant to join their trial participants in an open discussion about unity. Behind the scenes, with the help of silent watcher, @Morgantha Lear, Thomas added the fake blood geysers in attempt to dismantle the trial, attempting to inspire a violent outburst. Kit Paine understood this was his doing, but made no mention of it. Opting to deal with the troubled boy in private.

”For those of you that wish to depart, I will not stop you. Our token count remains the same after the fire trial. There’s still a prize to win here, for those of you that wish to see this through. Please join Mr.Lestrange at our final tent, forming a line in front of him. Thomas will brief you one by one as you enter the tent to face something…most familiar to you. I wish you all luck.”

After the students reach the final tent, Thomas would only brief one by one, shortly before they enter. ”The goal of this trial is to remain in the tent as long as you can. You will face something in there that may inspire great fear, but I urge you to remember it is not real.”

Upon arrival, they would find an empty tent with a closed chest on the ground. A soft mist up to their knees with an all black interior. After entrance, the chest would activate on it’s own, a boggart emerging.

Moderation note: This trial is primarily for character development, as you can explore the greatest fear for your character at this time. I encourage creativity, and there will be a roll to determine duration. Though you can operate as your character would. For example: Your character storms out of the tent seconds after entering. The boggart will automatically reset after each user, so you can describe the interior of the tent as I did above.

Interacting:@Rose Moon | @Kit Paine
Mentioning: @Thomas Lestrange | @Piérre Marchonné | @Xailah Alptraum | @Nicholas McCowan | @Alan Vanes | @Elena Jangleton | @Katrina Walker
Languages: English | French | Italian | Arabic | Russian
Outfit+jeans

Iit was worse than she had thought staring at the hosts of these supposed 'trials' with a look of disbelief on her face. "You can't be serious." She muttered more to herself than anyone else wondering if this school had really finally lost it's marble. It was like a bad joke but it wasn't a joke at all because the topics they were talking about had the potential to raise more than just a few hairs. It had been expected for them to react this way, to 'unify' as he put it against something like this so in Elena's eyes, it had been somewhat of a manipulative gesture if nothing else and that was what angered her. Above all else, they knew what they had been doing and played their cards right and Elena right along with everyone else had played right into their hands, a digusting truth to fathom and she was half-tempted right then and there to throw down her stupid tokens and waltz off the pitch.

"Give us a hand for what? Making a contest out of something like this?" A sarcastic laugh slipped from her lips as she shook her head, this just got more interesting by the second but if there was one reason the brunette remained, it wasn't because she had any more interest in participating the trial, it was to prove a point that she wasn't doing this for any sort of acknowledgment or whatever you wanted to call it, it was to show the organizers of this entire thing that these things had no meaning. You could have as many converstations as you wanted, elect as as many leaders as needed or hold these sick games, it wouldn't change the reality that was facing them now joining the line forming in front of the tent wondering just what horrible and tragic thing they would have to face now. From what she'd seen so far, it defintely wasn't designed for the faint of heart so she could only hope Merlin was on her side with this one.

Before long, her turn came as the Gryffindor took slow steps lifting the flap of the tent and stepping inside glancing around. It seemed to be relatively empty and eeriely quiet save for a chest in the center. The misty ground made it diffcult to see as she approached peering. "Hello?" Elena said tentatively as if wondering what she was supposed to do, her wand hand tensed but as she got closer, her eyes shifting this way and that before landing on a figure on the floor. A man to be exact perhaps a few years older than her and she got closer, the face loomed out at her instantly recgonizable, his eyes wide open, pale-looking and cold to the touch as she realized what she was looking at.

"D-Darren?" Her voice cracked as she stared down. He seemed so devoid of life, so stricken, the look of utter shock and defeat on his face as she knelt, the wand slipping from her grasp rolling off to the side. "Darren? Say something, please." Elena had seen this imagery only once but in her bad dreams but this was not a dream but at the same time, it couldn't be real, could it? She was at Hogwarts, surely she would know if her brother had been.., the brunette shook her head side to side refusing to accept what she saw in front of her.

You could have done more.

This is your fault.

Traitor.

"No..I'm not.." Her voice croaked as the thoughts ran through her echoing with her brother's voice yet he lay there, so helpless, so unmoving, the one person that she feared losing was gone, that protective aura no longer with her as her entire body shook refusing to accept this. "You're not! Please!" It was a mixture of sobs and forced tension that coated her words as she clutched her head, the inner voice more stronger and powerful now than she had ever experienced. It was the same voices she heard in those bad dreams.

How could you abandon me?

Leave. Get out.

A bone-chilling scream left her, a scream of grief if not anything else as the words lashed out at her like a weapon as the brunette folded into a ball, tears running down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..please..I just.." Elena had gotten the inkling she was dealing with a boggart but this had been a shock. It had peeled back her quiet and reserved nature and put her most inner flaws on full display and it was piercing her with those fears over and over again in the surrounding darkness as she clambered a few feet away or tried to at least.

"You're not real, it can't be." It was mostly denial, her hands shaking as she felt around for her wand, for anything that would give her comfort.

There was enough self-righteousness present that it was a minor miracle that the students and caretaker weren’t drowning in it. Perhaps drowning would require such absolute, unwavering certainty in one’s own sense of right and wrong that the immensity of the hubris would cause it to thicken and take liquid form. Whatever the case may be, it seemed that they would be spared from death by a thousand complaints and justifications. If only that salvation would dare extend to the speeches. Nicholas could not help himself, could not abate the unconscious reaction that overtook his faculties like a flood. His eyes rolled, and the sigh that escaped his lips wasn’t entirely subtle. Mr Paine had insisted on defending his trial, the oddities and alleged discriminatory tests apparently a part of some greater plan to instill a sense of comradery amongst the participants. Henry, and many others with him, clearly did not hold the same sentiments. Maybe the ongoing debate was important, maybe it was a conversation that needed to be had, truthfully, Nicholas did not care. Non-human discrimination, be it real or imagined, was so far from his lived experience that it did not even begin to cross the threshold into his active thought processes. Furthermore, this was a game being held at a school, ham-fisted and ridiculous approaches were to be expected. After all, it was little more than make believe, competitions and so-called trials in which schoolchildren competed against one another for imaginary bragging rights. Bragging rights that had until that point escaped the first year’s grasp.

“Christ…” The utterance was all that left the boy’s lips as he waited patiently for his own turn, not bothering to listen to whatever was being said. It did not concern him, nor did he intend for it to.

There was a task at hand, the final trial, almost certainly the most important one thus far. He was not proud to admit it, but Nicholas was nervous. His performance so far had been entirely inadequate, nowhere near his demanded standards. Already, he was horrified by the prospect of making himself appear an even greater fool. The words spoken so ominously by the prefect did little too lessen those worries. Not real, he couldn’t have used more ominous language had he set out to do so.

Nicholas turned pale as a sheet, already light-coloured skin reducing in tone so drastically to turn white, but he nodded solemnly in any event. He wasn’t a quitter, not like so many of the others who had declared the trial beneath them. Maybe they had nothing to prove, Nicholas McCowan always had something to prove. He breathed deeply, the sweet elixir of life entering his lungs, and centring him ever so slightly. Fear and anxiety welled in his core, the deepened breath only barely lessening their fatiguing presence. He didn’t realise that he’d paused for a few moments too long before entering, nor did he realise that he had clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth threatened to splinter upon one another.

Nicholas McCowan stepped forth into the tent.

Immediately he was met by pitch-blackness, the swelling of mist at his knees doing little to assist with visibility. The boy’s nerves commenced teetering on the brink barely a moment after he had entered, the atmosphere, when combined with the forewarning, was more than enough to create such a deep-seated sense of unease that the first-year could not begin to shake it.

Then the chest opened.

Nothing happened. Not at first. Then the mist began to rise. Whereas it had once sat lazily at the base of his legs, lapping against them with all the surety of the tide, its form and shape altered with the speed and surety of a wave, darkening and flowing in and onto itself. The mist poured, endless in its swelling shape, covering the face of the boy and sending a deep chill into his throat as he struggled to inhale.

Nicholas coughed, violently, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of the darkness. For it was not a mere absence of light, it was a vicious sheet of blackness, moving and changing in its shape and disposition, oppressive and thick in its presence. The boy stretched his hand before him, and found that he could not see it. Worse, he could not feel the motion, the chill of the liquid-like gas had rendered his body almost entirely numb.

He panicked, and made as if to swear out and into the void, but he made no sound. The sensation of speaking was in his throat and upon his lips, but he could not for the life of him hear what he may have said. Not a sound pierced the veil, the thickening black mist had coalesced around his ears, rendering them near useless.

He was alone, senseless, trapped in the blackened void.

Nothing.

He was nothing.

Tears streaked down his face, the water staining his cheeks, but he could not feel them. Somewhere, in the back of his conscious mind, he knew where he was, he knew he was in the tent and that the entrance lay not a few metres back from where he stood. Logically, he knew that he could turn and run, he merely had to push into the absolute nothingness that surrounded him.

No, the nothingness that had become him. He had been foolish to think that he was ever alive, that he was ever worthy of the gift of life. This was his natural position, a complete and utter failure, an objectively miserable wretch. One day, he would die, and with him so too would his memory. There was not a thing that he could hold to his name, not a single achievement that raised Nicholas McCowan to the status of a footnote in history. He was less than worthless, he was irrelevant, a non-factor upon the stage of not only the world but his own life. McCowan, he was a disgrace to the old and wizened name, a disgrace to his family.

And those thoughts would keep him company for eternity. He would be trapped in the blackness forever, without sight nor touch nor sound, with only the endless knowledge that he deserved it to keep him from going insane. He was to be a prisoner, his actions senseless and illusory, naught but a cruel mockery of when he had possessed use of his limbs and his senses.

His conscious understanding that it was all an illusion lingered in the back of his mind, screaming at him to run, yet to run was to be human. How could he claim to be worthy of the title?

Action: Final Task

The guy congratulated them. Rose felt uneasy. They kept contradicting themselves, and she really wanted to trust them, but she just wasn't sure what to believe. Okay, so this had been a test, indeed. The test results had been testing them. Rose was really confused. Rose's cool bat token was suddenly gone, disappeared. She frowned. Even if she hadn't really agreed with the way that the tokens were given out, she still thought they were really cool.

Henry was stumbling over his words, correcting himself quickly while pretending that he wasn't a werewolf. He hadn't said it out loud, of course, but when he talked about non humans he would refer to himself, and then correct himself, talking about others instead. He seemed angry and frustrated, and Rose wanted to hug him and tell him that everything was okay. But another part of her told her that Henry needed to do this. He needed to let this out. He couldn't keep it inside forever, knowing that some people he told would think of him differently. Knowing that if a rumor spread about how many werewolves there really were, he would suddenly have a great decrease in his classmates, and the classmates that were still left would leave a wide girth around him as he walked in the hall.

Even if people didn't know it, there were prejudices against everyone you meet. A werewolf, a part-goblin, human or only partway, colored or white, pure-blooded or muggleborn or anywhere in between. Male or female, cisgender or transgender, non-binary, genderfluid, heterosexual, homosexual, asexual. Every label came with stereotypes. It was their job as people to rise above those stereotypes and see people for who they really were. This wasn't just a problem for people of magical races. This was a problem for marginalized people all around the world, in every school, workplace, and community that existed.

There would always be dumb people. It was your job to be a smart person. A decent person.

The last trial was called the Trial by Fear. Of course, she wouldn't be actually hurt. Then, it would be the Trial by Danger or something. But this was meant to make her scared without actually hurting her. It was all fake, whatever was in there, she reminded herself.

Rose stepped into the tent, holding her chin high. The mist on the floor seemed to materialize into a path, each leading up to a place. One, her own home, the one she had been living in forever. One was Hogwarts. One was the Bernthold Manor. On the steps of each place stood people. Henry and her teachers on the steps of Hogwarts. Her siblings and her parents by her home. Her grandparents and her cousins and her aunts and uncles by Bernthold Manor. Rose was confused. This wasn't that scary.

She stepped forward, attempting to go up to Hogwarts, to join Henry up there. A gate materialized in front of her, stopping her way.

You don't belong there.

No, but that was Hogwarts! She was a student of Gryffindor House! She belonged... she belonged!

She stepped towards her home, and another gate clanged into existence, blocking her way.

You don't belong there.

Rose stepped towards Bernthold Manor, but was stopped by another gate. She stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet and catching herself with her hands.

You don't belong there.

You don't belong anywhere.

Little voices whispered, and if you listened you could hear what they were saying. Rose listened, trying to make sense of it all, sitting on the floor, blocked by a gate, unable to reach everything and everyone she loved.

You don't belong anywhere.

They repeated that, over and over. The voices were familiar. They mirrored the people on the steps, and even some others. Her mother. Henry. Solomon Lear. Her grandmother. Drew. The Sorting Hat, even. Everyone was whispering, taunting her. She didn't belong where they belonged. She didn't belong anywhere. She didn't belong at Hogwarts, in Gryffindor House. She didn't belong within her own family. She would always be an outcast.

You don't belong anywhere.

Rose curled up, hugging her knees to her chest and holding her head in her hands. The whispering voices were getting louder, overlapping. Her heart and her mind throbbed.

You don't belong anywhere, they continued to taunt. You're nothing. You'll never be enough.

"I'm Rose Moon," she whispered softly.

You don't belong in your family. Anyone can see that.

"I- I'm a Gryffindor..."

You're not brave. You have never been brave.

"I'm a witch! I'm-"

You'll never be good enough for that. You don't belong there.

Rose was running out of things to say, truth to say about herself. Her breath quickened, though she tried to take deep breaths. How long could she sit here, lies being injected into her brain, before she started to really believe them?

For Moderation-
These are second year stats and abilities, since this happens in Rose's second year canonically

Action: doubting herself, over analyzing, doing the Trial by Fear

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

Katrina couldn’t help the sick to her stomach feeling she was experiencing. Something between stress, disgust, and overwhelming exhaustion. She continued to stay seated on the ground, not trusting herself on her feet just yet. One by one, nearly every participant shared their displeasure with the turn of events, some up and left, others just explained their feelings. It was all too much for Katrina and she found herself zoned out for most of it, trying to understand what was even going on at that point. It was probably the worst timing for her to be not able to focus but it wasn’t like it was intentional.

Her focus returned as the Caretaker finally spoke up against everyone’s accusations. Speaking in lofty terms about how their unity against the trial was the real trial and to keep the conversation going and all that garbage. The tokens that some earned from the so-called ‘unity trial’ dissipated. Really? What was the point of this whole trial anyway if they were just going to discard all of their other achievements. Katrina knew it was childish to be concerned about the tokens when there was a whole debate about race happening but she found herself to be feeling that exact way.

He continued on with an attempt at a joke and how none of their feedback was wrong. Then the Caretaker asked the spectators to give them a round of applause for speaking out and Katrina suddenly felt much worse. Her priorities were so superficial. Katrina stood up at some point during the applause, looking around at the other participants trying to gauge their reactions. Were they buying the Caretakers speech? Were they anywhere near as lost as Katrina was? And there was something about the Caretakers tone, something off, but Katrina only cursorily noticed it and chalked it up to the oddness of this whole thing.

--quick content warning feel free to skip if you are sensitive about minorly-descriptive death. Themes of loss and grief will be pretty strong throughout. Just a little warning < 3—

The line slowly shortened, people entering and exiting the tent at varying lengths. Katrina was busy trying not to freak out as it quickly became her turn. Before she entered, Thomas gave a little brief, an emphasis that it wasn’t real but was going to be scary. So they are actually putting a bunch of students in a tent with a boggart. Great.

The tent enveloped the girl in darkness. Her eyes adjusted quickly to find a chest on the ground in the center of the tent. Streams of mist filled the dark tent up to Katrina’s knees and that clammy feeling spread to her entire body.

The boggart formed itself in a new way than it had last time, the first time she had faced a Boggart in DADA.

“It’s all your fault”

Katrina flinched despite herself, turning around in the darkness trying to find the source of the accusatory voice. It was a familiar voice, sort of, it was a voice she’d never heard so hardened. What looked like Bridget appeared out of the mist. But this wasn’t the Bridget she was used to, her hair was mangled, face covered in scratches, face twisted in a scowl. An accusatory arm pointed at Katrina, a trembling wand in it.

“[color=BF8080]What? What did I do?[/color]” The sensible part of Katrina’s mind was reminding her it was fake, but she couldn’t help herself.

“It was you!”

Katrina took a step closer to Boggart-Bridget and looked down to what she was now looking at. Bridget’s form dissipated and her brother’s dead body was on the ground now. Katrina’s breath caught in her throat, her heart started thudding harder, the world seeming to spin around her. No, not again. This can’t be happening. Liam is alive. Its not my fault. It’s not me. Katrina felt weak, about to collapse. All she could imagine is her parents dead, her brother dead, everyone she cared about. It was her fault. She kept pretending to be fine, trying to forget the gut-wrenching pain and sorrow but it was unshakable. As soon as she thought she was fine, that she was normal, something like this would happen. Now Liam was dead. No not dead. This is fake.

Katrina looked at Liam’s dead body. His skin was off-color, lackluster, dead. His eyes were open, unfocused, staring past Katrina at something she couldn’t see. He lied sprawled out on the ground, still looking in pain even though he was dead. Katrina wanted to look away, tried as hard as she could to closer her eyes, leave, but she couldn’t.

Katrina didn’t know how long it was. Had it been a few seconds? Had it been minutes? Longer? Should she leave? Could she? Katrina stood paralyzed, staring at her brothers dead body. Dead. Her fault. How much longer could she take this?

TLDR; Overthink some more, face a dramatic boggart

For Moderation:

Reducio

Action: Line up at the tent

Inventory: Wand, Three tokens

Abilities: Perfectionist [Crit-Fail Zone reduced by 1] | Healing Sage [+25% on all magical healing] | Charmer [-1 acc for all opponents]

Stats: Stamina 9 | Evasion 8 | Strength 3 | Wisdom 11 | Arcane Power 9 | Accuracy 6

Interacting With: her own troubled mind

Mentioning: All The Other Contestants
@Dealla Prince, @Scarlett Aden, @Rose Moon, @Elena Jangleton, @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood, @Henry Knight, @Alexander Varellion, @Alan Vanes, @Xailah Alptraum, @Nicholas McCowan, @Piérre Marchonné, Nico and Howard

Open to Interactions: Please do!

@Kit Paine & @Thomas Lestrange

The boy felt a cold chill run through all of his nerves when their final task was made clear; to confront a Boggart in the tent before them.

In essence, to confront their deepest darkest fears. What else was to be expected of a trial of Fear? It mafe perfectly logical sense. Why hadn't he seen this coming a mile away?

Well, because he was a second year. And second years had not yet been taught the proper spell to banish their boggart.

He didn't even know what his boggart was let alone how to make it humorous enough to let it not affect him!

But. This was in the name of Unity. This was in the name of facing fear and proving that everyone had something that they were afraid of. Glancing around at his fellows, the boy couldn't help but imagine what other people were afraid of. The dark, perhaps? Spiders? Boogiemen? Being alone?

So many possibilities... And he would soon discover his. If he... If he had one.

Truth be told, the boy liked to imagine that he was fearless. He liked to think that he wasn't much for being scared of people or of things. Being scared was part of life, part of the human [or part-human] condition. It was something that was necessary, if a little terrifying.

So why was it that when he took his first step towards the unknown his foot hesitated before hitting the ground? Was it the fear that he did indeed have a fear; a fear buried so deep that he was frightened of digging it up? If so, what was it?

Not of death, for death claimed everything. There was no changing that.

Not of people, for they would always be who they were, regardless of your attempts to change them.

Not of creatures, for they were created and intended for a purpose.

Not even of this school, for the same reason he was not afraid of death. Nobody could have predicted the things which came of this school, the things which prompted this trial.

Hand parted the flap of the tent, and green eyes peeked in at the darkness. Chewing on his lip as he glanced around, Piérre spared one more glance at the outside world, waving brightly with a beaming smile to boost his fleeing confidence as he finally permitted himself to step into the darkness and let the flap gently flutter shut behind him.

The Boggart
Warning: Putdowns and Verbal Abuse

Reducio

He traced his fingers through the knee-high mist, which curled around the area ominously. Well, at least they got the atmosphere right. In another situation, this experience may have been kind of fun; playing with the dark mist, that was.

“Hello, Mr. Boggart...” Piérre whispered softly towards the direction of the chest in the middle of the room.

It banged around suddenly, causing the boy to leap back as his heart raced a bit. After recovering, he dared to take another step forward again, his face now thoroughly white. “I'm Piérre Marchonné... But you probably already knew that, huh?”

Another step.

“So... I'm supposed to face you for as long as I can... even though I don't know your counter. Crazy, right?” A nervous laugh.

He was within a few feet of the shadowy outline of the box now, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides.
His heart was in his throat. What was his greatest fear?

The lid slammed open, causing the Britalian to jump again. Another one like that and the boy swore he would have a heart attack.

He froze where he stood, waiting for the creature to reveal itself to him. Or... Was he supposed to walk up to it?

Maybe there just wasn't one! Maybe... But he had seen some of the others come running out faster than a bat out of hell. Piérre doubted that his feeble hope was very likely. More than likely, he was just delaying the inevitable.

“H-hello?” He whispered again, looking into the box.

As of on cue, something exploded out of the chest like a possessed Jack-in-the-Box, a blurred mess of limbs and a great, big, cheshire smile.

"HI THERE!" It shouted, leering down at the little boy who had roused it from its place. A wide smile split across its face and bright green eyes glittered in the dark.

Piérre gawked for a second, unsure of how to react, before he slowly began to piece together and recognize the eerily familiar facial features; the slightly sunken cheeks, shockingly bright eyes, tousled brown hair...

And ears which tapered to an unusual point.

This "greatest fear"... Was a doppelganger of... himself? Piérre almost snorted with laughter at the absurdity of it. What reason had he to fear himself? He knew himself better than anybody, and he knew that he wasn't scared of himself.

Wasn't he?

Boggartérre tipped its head, watching its prey and biting its lower lip as it curled spindly fingers about the box it had once been enclosed within. "What? You think that because you have no sense of shame you have no fears? Please. Nobody knows us better than ourselves." It picked itself up out of the box (Piérre would have also used the word 'slithered' as a synonym for the fluidity of the movement,) and prowled closer to the Britalian. Instinctively Piérre took his own step backwards and a way from this not entirely human version of himself.

"For example, we known that deep inside, we're just a bastard. And we don't mean that in a figurative way, do we?" Those eyes hungrily bored through the other. "We know that in the grand scheme of things, were we to drop dead tomorrow or vanish into the unknown, nobody would remember, let alone care. They're too busy worrying about themselves, or trying to devour each other whole; they don't stop. They nEvEr StOp." A small lunge.

Piérre threw up his wand, though he knew it would be of little use without the proper spell. “St-stay away! I'm- I'm warning you!" His hands shook as he clenched the yew wood in both hands, scared he would drop it... Scared that he was right.

Boggartérre glanced down at the wand with a look of disgust. "Ew... You think we deserve to hold that implement, let alone cast magic? We don't even know who your parents are. We don't even know how to repel me. We don't know when to stop talking, stop being a fool, stop letting people step all over you. We don't know how to realize that we are worth nothing in the eyes of this world." It leapt forward, eyes glistening with tears. "We can't even recognize that we are the antagonist. Nobody wanted us around to begin with, remember?!"

Piérre shook his head slowly, then quickly as he continued backwards with the wand pointed at his darker half. He had to find his way out of this tent. He had to escape this twisted carnival. The creature continued to advance, doubled over and crouched. A laughter, Piérre's own bright laughter now twisted into a mockery of its usually carefree tone rang in his ears, along with the whispers of its cutting words. "The definition of insanity; doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. We are insane. We never learn."

He couldn't move but to search for the tent flap... He couldn't stop it... Himself.

"We never learn!
WE NEVER LEARN!"

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

*One is filled with water

Emotional Status & Persona: Shaken (78%) | Embodying the Wonka
Action: Entering tent and Fearfully Confronting Fear