uhh don't mind me popping back in here and adding André to a sport...
NPC Name: André Alarie
Link: link to NPC page
Year: 4th year
Extracurricular: Quidditch player[First string Chaser]
Trunk Coding:

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[quote][center][b]Beauxbatons NPC Trunk | First String Chaser | André Alarie[/b][/center][/quote]
[quote][center][b]Stats[/b]
Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 10 | Strength: 6 | Wisdom: 11 | Arcane Power:  10 | Accuracy: 8
=53
fourth years stats with +3 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=16311&start=40#p263918]duel win 1[/url] | [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=18480&start=80#p332858]duel win 2[/url] | [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=19516&start=60#p392629]duel win 3[/url]

[/center][/quote]
[quote][center][b]Abilities[/b]
Perfectionist | 1st year ability | wc: 418
[sub] You have a reduced critical failure chance range by 1.[/sub]
[reducio]André was a perfectionist, he refused to settle for less. He wanted things to be perfect; he wanted things to be in order and neatly and nicely. Like when he made his plans, all detail filled and clearly done by someone logical, but then you'd ask for his backup plans. And he'd lay it out simply, . He had none. His plans were perfected for quite some time each so he had faith they'd work, they had to go perfectly, if they didn't it was an insult to everything he'd ever done so far, everything that went flawless, that was perfectly perfected that there was no way things couldn't go his way, it was an insult to his skills. Every spell he were to ever learn, every potion he were to ever brew, everything he ever did was perfected down to a tea, a simple equation of how it worked and why it did, because if he were to ever need to make use of these things in the future he wanted them to be perfect, his skills for it perfected, and everything.

He took pride in his good grades, and bad.[ If it was on purpose and his own doing] He took pride in his perfect handwriting which he'd told everybody that it 'just came naturally', when in reality he'd spent days perfecting it because he couldn't stand how it looked. If he was ever going to anything it was going to be perfect and he was going to get it right, this didn't mean it had to be right away, it just meant that in dear time in had to be perfect. Like his strategy for chess. It took months to perfect, but in the end it was all worth it, especially because of every bet that were made if he won, it benefited him and was worth all his hard work. Him being the perfectionist he was, was useful, but from time to time he wished he didn't need things to be as perfect, that maybe sometime he could let loose, adding to this the boy also set quite high standards for himself, and got upset every time these standards weren't met, he could make everything perfect and flawless but apparently not himself.

He going to have to learn someday that he was just human, and made mistakes like everyone else, but for now he was going to pretend he was perfect, flawless, and unable to ever make a mistake, like everything else he did.[/reducio]Charmer | 2nd year ability | wc: 485
[sub] -1 accuracy to all of your opponents (as defined at the start of the instance regardless of later betrayal)[/sub]
[reducio]André was good looking, there was no way to deny that. From his hair, to his eyes, and his lips, he was a sight for sore eyes. André honestly didn't see it. He didn't think he was that good looking, but he had to admit he had a way with people, a certain charm, almost like a magnet that attracted them to him.

His manners towards the people he wanted to charm were enough to leave those who'd experienced his wrath left to gawk. I mean, who did he think he was? Getting into fights, ignoring certain authorities, and upsetting foster families so much they had no choice but to send him away. But yet finding a way to charm the socks off[Metaphorically speaking] every girl and guy he met. Surprisingly, there were even moments André found a way to charm himself out of trouble with his teachers at muggle school. He had to admit it, his unique talent... was useful. And very beneficial to the boy. Even his case worker after hearing everything he's ever done had to admit the boy was polite and sweet, even if he was a handful.

When André realized he had this effect on people, his efforts started small. Like the one day seven-year-old André wanted a treat before bed. Now usually his parents weren't one to give treats and sweets to the boy, especially before bed, but that night seemed to be the exception as he turned his charm up to the max. He then used it to his advantage to get friends, and even at times get them to do what he wanted. His 'friends' like many other people in this world, were just stepping stones on his way to get to his actual goal. From friends it then went to the teachers, they all loved him, he was definitely a favorite student among the kids at his muggle school. And then to 'love interests' when the boy turned ten he noticed every so often girls would point his way, they'd whisper to their friends and when he'd confront the girl or sometimes even boy, about it, they'd blush. It left André with a sort of tool or power over them.. one he had to decide how to use..

By the end of his first year at Beauxbatons he made his choice. He would use it to his advantage, since he had no feelings towards any of the people he was doing this too. It only made the most sense. Sometimes he'd flirt with people for that factor, not caring at all how they feel, and sometimes he made sure to know how they'd feel, he'd flirt with the person for a bit, wait till he's being asked out, then reject them in the most harshest way possible, to keep control of the things around him.

It was true, he was a terrible person, but a charmer nonetheless.[/reducio]Healing Sage | 3rd year ability | wc: 503
[sub]+30% healing done with potions and spells.[/sub][reducio]Life had been quiet for André. Coming into his third-year he was beginning to feel settled in at Beauxbatons. Playing into roles and routines, he was getting used to a peaceful life. It was perfect grades than one wrong question on an assignment, always to check his control, over life, himself, and the things around him. It wasn't too long ago when he found out he had certain charm when it came to other people. 

While toppling over people, using them as stepping stones to get to the top, he would find himself in rather unusual sets of circumstances. A problem which needed to be solved and dealt with immediately. You see, he'd grown rather attached to a few of the stepping stones. Andre had always known the dangers of having genuine relationships with people, though he tried to prevent it as best as he could, a few annoying pests were going to slip through the cracks. 

In the past he recognized the problems of genuine relationships as the weakness and vulnerability you have with those people, your more easily influenced by them than others, you'd be more willing to do them favors, at points if they're a mess of a person, they are now your mess of a person to deal with. The list went on. What he had not recognized or taken to account was what happens when the stepping stones get hurt. With genuine connections comes empathy, and feelings other people's pain. One day during class he noticed one of his stepping stones get a paper cut. As much of an overreaction as it may have been, it sent the young man into a downwards spiral. You can lose people, they can effectively get hurt. It hurts when people hurt, and it hurts when you lose them. The stepping stones he was attached too were like leeches, he couldn't get rid of them to solve this problem. His next best solution? 

Studying healing spells and potions. Magic that could save him from this sort of problem. Andre worked tirelessly on it. Filling his weekends, and anytime he had in between school on it. Like each and every one of his new obsessions to master he became hyper-fixated on it. He would not let himself move on with his life until he'd become at least adequate in the art of healing spells and potions. At school he had become a sort of 'underground healer'. Don't want to go to the real healer for whatever reason? Then come to him! Sure his spells and potions were essentially only as good as a first-aid kit, but that's all anybody needed when they came to him anyway. 

Whether you tripped over the root of a tree and scrapped you knee, or perhaps got into a scuffle or two. He offered his free healing services. Despite the fact he had a concerning lack of care for the 'patients' that came in, the set-up worked out well for everyone, Andre got experience, they got... uh... semi-okay medical care.[/reducio]Rapid Reviver | 4th year ability | wc: 422
[sub]Once per thread, you are able to bring back an unconscious person to wakefulness. No roll is required, just physical proximity. They have 1HP. If the user of this ability also has Healing Sage they are able to use this skill twice in a thread.[/sub][reducio]André had gotten better with healing magic. He knew what he was doing. The rumors were true, his 'underground healing' had sort of become a big deal, at least in his own groups and cliques. The rest of the school could have likely cared or less. It wasn't the point. The point was... In the same way some people were good at music, art, or even chess, André had begun to realize he had a certain affinity for healing people. He was good at it. The perfectionist in him was always bothered by the fact he wasn't perfect, but he resolved to remind himself that it took years for muggle doctors, and even healers to learn their skills. While André had taken a step back from learning how to heal people at top priority, it filled his weekdays before and after school. Before Andre knew it, his third year had come to an end and summer started. He was sent home, it was lucky he had a few [i]friends[/i] from school who lived near him. They were the outdoorsy type so he and them spent quite a few of the first days going into summer. They went to the woods and climbed trees. Seeing who could reach the top of the tallest tree.

It couldn't have been more than a few days since summer started, him and his [i]friends[/i] were heading out to the woods once more. They were going to climb to the top of the tallest tree. The same thing they did everyday. André was in the lead, the other were close and a few were struggling to catch up. There had been a storm the other day, lightning, so André should have assumed lightning may have hit a branch or two, and he did. He just thought they would have fallen. Well, a [i]friend[/i] grabbed a lightning hit branch, it looked sturdy but it was a lie and they fell.

Everybody raced back down. André climbed down, checking the kid's injuries from what he could see. Tending what he needed too with what he had on him. And gently shaking him to see if he would get a response and make sure the other was okay. André had no idea what happened that day, all he knew was, one second the kid wasn't responding(unconscious), and then he was(conscious). It could have been luck, or Andre's quick response. He was rather thankful for whatever it was, the kid's mom didn't like him he preferred not to get on her bad side.[/reducio][/center][/quote]

Approved

Name | Cassie Heather McGregor-Martin
Link | ta-da
Year | Third -> Fourth
Stats |

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Stamina | 10
Evasion | 8 -> 10
Strength | 8 -> 10
Wisdom | 7
Arcane Power | 4
Accuracy | 10 -> 11
Total | 47 -> 52

All rest is the same (just updating stats for now because i forgot to write an ability app whelp)

Approved

Please mark where the extra stats are coming from in future apps. it is hard to track where things have come from.

NPC Name: Raphael Aveline
Link: Doot
Year: Currently third, applying for the changes for Y4 + additional stat point from duelling win (x)
Stats: Sta 6, Eva 15, Str 12, Wis 5, Arc 0, Acc 15
Abilities: Evasive Maneuvers II | 439 words

Reducio

Three years after Raphael had started attending the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, he still felt kind of bitter about it. More than bitter... cheated, that was probably the right word. Forced into a world where he constantly felt out of place, worse than he had before.

He had never been good at making friends, and with the loss of all his known relationships, his approach had changed more towards… actively avoiding. It had not seemed worth putting in the energy, the thought was exhausting. Hence, more than ever, Raph had started spending his time focused on sports. Broom racing, Quidditch, those thankfully did not require magic, and soon enough Raphael spent more of his waking time on a broom than on solid ground. Last summer, for lack of alternatives, he had picked up running as a sport he could do both at home and at school, and it had quickly turned into a habit.

That had come with an unexpected side-effect of social relationships… kind of sneaking up on him. He would not call them friends, exactly, more slightly less annoying acquaintances, maybe. That he enjoyed doing sports with, and did not mind hanging out with generally. But no, definitely not friends.

After all, he obviously only spent time with them because there was a tangible benefit. It was hard to play football by himself, and only dodging trees by himself, without competition, and without unexpected attacks coming from the side, got too easy after a while. Clearly, training himself to dodge incoming balls quicker, more effortlessly, more instinctively, was the only reason he kept asking Cassie to play with him, and that during one of their many morning runs, he had finally also asked Ye-jun if he was interested in playing some football every now and then.

It was not wrong, of course. Training with Cassie, playing with Ye-jun, it sharpened his reflexes. More than once, a small smile snuck onto Raph’s face when Cassie exclaimed in surprise after he had shifted his broom to the right just enough to escape an incoming projectile that he could not possibly have seen coming. It even evolved into a game of Cassie randomly throwing things at him, trying to catch him off-guard… with a surprisingly low quota of success. The intended effect was definitely there. Yet, if he was honest, the more time passed, the more the (very effective) training became an excuse, to see Cassie, to hang out with Ye-jun.

Well. No matter the reasons, excuses or not, by the end of his third year at Beauxbatons, Raphael had uncanny dodging abilities… and possibly even a friend or two.

Mentions of Lee Ye-jun and Cassie Heather McGregor-Martin approved by @Eun-ji Lee Hunt and @Lucia Fox.

Extracurricular: Still a racer!
Trunk Coding:

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[size=150][COLOR=#9c7749]S[/COLOR][COLOR=#916f44]t[/COLOR][COLOR=#86663f]a[/COLOR][COLOR=#7b5e39]t[/COLOR][COLOR=#6f5534]s[/COLOR] [COLOR=#644d2f]&[/COLOR] [COLOR=#59442a]A[/COLOR][COLOR=#4e3c25]b[/COLOR][COLOR=#43331f]i[/COLOR][COLOR=#382b1a]l[/COLOR][COLOR=#2d2215]i[/COLOR][COLOR=#211a10]t[/COLOR][COLOR=#16110a]i[/COLOR][COLOR=#0b0905]e[/COLOR][COLOR=#000000]s[/COLOR][/size]

ꕤ

[b]Sta[/b] 6 [COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR] [b]Eva[/b] 15 [COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR] [b]Str[/b] 12 [COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR] [b]Wis[/b] 5 [COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR] [b]Arc[/b] 0 [COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR] [b]Acc[/b] 15

The Muggle Condition [COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR] Fearless [COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR] Evasive Maneuvers I + II
[COLOR=#9c7749]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#987447]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#947145]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#906d43]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#8b6a41]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#87673f]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#83643d]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#7f613b]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#7b5e39]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#775a37]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#725736]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#6e5434]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#6a5132]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#664e30]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#624b2e]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#59442a]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#554128]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#513e26]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#4d3b24]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#493822]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#453420]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#40311e]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#3c2e1c]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#382b1a]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#342818]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#302416]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#2c2114]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#281e12]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#231b11]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#1f180f]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#1b150d]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#17110b]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#130e09]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#0f0b07]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#0a0805]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#060503]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#020201]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#020201]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#060503]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#0a0805]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#0f0b07]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#130e09]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#17110b]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#1b150d]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#1f180f]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#231b11]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#281e12]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#2c2114]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#302416]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#342818]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#382b1a]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#3c2e1c]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#40311e]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#453420]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#493822]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#4d3b24]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#513e26]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#554128]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#59442a]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#5e472c]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#624b2e]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#664e30]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#6a5132]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#6e5434]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#725736]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#775a37]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#7b5e39]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#7f613b]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#83643d]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#87673f]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#8b6a41]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#906d43]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#947145]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#987447]ᚐ[/COLOR][COLOR=#9c7749]ᚐ[/COLOR]
Broomracer[/center]


The Muggle Condition [size=75][412 words][/size]
[reducio]Growing up, Raphael hadn't cared about many things. 

School was boring, it was hard to focus on learning dry things from books while locked into a room with twenty-five other kids and a bunch of stale air. More often than not, his gaze strayed from the numbers on the page in front of him to the window and the blue sky beyond. If only they'd let him [i]move[/i].

People were boring, with their endless drama and demands, asking of him things he didn't want to do, hadn't cared to do. The squabbling of other kids over whose pen this was, who got to sit next to who, who was invited to which birthday. Raphael usually didn't want to go. They were boring.

What he did care about, though, were sports. Any kind of sports was good - PE classes at his school saw him excelling in athletics, although he preferred ball sports - but from the moment his father took him to a local club's match, Raphael's true love proved to be football [size=75](the British football, not the American kind)[/size]. The football field was where you could see his usually impassive expression change for one of excitement, where you would see him passionately chase after a ball - where he felt like himself. There were evenings spent on goal practice alone, satisfaction rushing through him when he managed to aim the ball in the exact corner he wanted, a smile on his face that was rarely seen. The football field was where Raphael was most at home.

It was where his father would find him at 8 pm when the sun went down and he'd missed supper, and where he would have gone in the mornings if not for that pesky thing called school. (He'd tried. His father hadn't been pleased.) An avid fan of Liverpool F.C, Raphael was already dreaming of his career as a professional player... until that invitation to [i]l'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons[/i] came and threw a wrench into his plans. No football there, no sir, just more time spent sitting in classrooms, trying to do things he wasn't good at, the magic he was supposed to learn failing more often than it should and not powerful even when it obeyed.

At least they had other sports, and all that time spent ducking between two opponent players trying to steal the ball from him, or burying the ball into the net, paid off there, too. Still... it wasn't the same.
[/reducio][center]ꕤ[/center]Fearless [size=75][403 words][/size]
[reducio]Growing up, Raphael hadn't cared about many things. 

He hadn't had to. Born into a storybook family - father, mother, him, and a little sister five years later. Wealthy enough to not lack anything he might want, talented enough to slip through the first few years of school without getting into trouble for his lack of investment. Life had been easy, free of worries, things that broke were easily replaced. For the first few years of his life, Raphael had been as carefree as a butterfly, chasing after things that were colourful and interesting, never worrying about falling for he could fly.

It didn't hold though, few things as happy do. After his mother left when he was a boy, something changed. What had been simple [i]carelessness[/i] grew into something more. Where things hadn't fazed him before, now they didn't interest him. Unconcern turned into apathy. You might expect that his mother leaving when he was young, but not so young as not to realise the implications, might have left Raphael with a fear of separation, a constant worry that his father, his sister, his friends would leave, too. That things that broke would be gone for good. For Raphael, it did the opposite.

It had taken a while for his father to notice, longer than it should have, perhaps, but when he did, he grew concerned. He could not remember the last time Raphael had come to him with something that excited him, worried him, much less frightened him. This was an eight year old boy who didn't fear the dark or needles at the doctor, did not flinch from dogs, stared down a fifty metre drop without blinking. He got rid of spiders by himself, mostly because his sister asked him to, was not intimidated by teachers, and showed no sense of self-preservation when facing fire. It was worrying for more reasons than one.

People often use the word "fearlessness" to describe "bravery", but in truth, the two are very different. Fear is something natural, something healthy, often, that keeps us alive. Warns us to stay away from things that might hurt us. Bravery is conquering those fears when they are unwarranted, or when there is a reason that defies self-preservation. Fearlessness, on the other hand, means that there was no fear to begin with, and it is not usually something that should be pursued. 

Raphael was not brave. Raphael was fearless.[/reducio][center]ꕤ[/center]Evasive Maneuvers [size=75][437 words][/size]
[reducio]Growing up, Raphael hadn't cared about many things. 

Sports and his sister, those ranked at the top. His friends and father were somewhere up there, too. That was mostly it. So when Raphael had started attending Beauxbatons, three of those four things had suddenly been out of reach. Not completely, of course. He could send his family letters, and could have asked them to deliver messages to his friends, too, although he could not explain why he had suddenly left to attend a fancy boarding school. Or where that school was, or what it was called. Really, most of his friendships didn't hold for very long after that.

He still kind of kept up with his favourite sports teams via a radio that was somehow enchanted to function around magic, and could thankfully be set to receive Muggle radio channels as well. As for playing, Raphael threw himself into the sports that Beauxbatons had to offer. Duelling relied too much on magic, and not enough on physical activity, but broom sports, those were fun. (Not as good as football, but who could ask for that?)

And so, rather than spending his free time on football fields, Raphael started spending his free time on brooms. Dodging bludgers. Dodging obstacles. Dodging other players trying to crash into him. Dodging spells aimed at him. Dodging magical beasts that were added to the broom racing courses because apparently, in the magical world, no sport was complete without the very high risk of serious injury. Not that football players did not get injured frequently, but at least the rules tried to prevent rather than encourage this.

There was a learning curve to it, of course. You didn't just sit on a broom for the first time and magically have perfect control. Well, unless you were Harry Potter, maybe. But Raphael did have a knack for sports, and the determination to make up for his lack of experience. More of the latter than the former, if you asked him.

He supposed you couldn't really spend that much time playing wizard sports without at some point developing reflexes that were borderline supernatural. It was hard to explain, really, what set off his instincts. The whistling of a ball coming closer at a speed that threatened to break bones, the odd draft of air, the sounds of a mumbled incantation, sometimes just the feeling of hair standing up at the back of his neck, an inexplicable sensation telling him that [i]something[/i] was coming, and Raphael moved to evade, in a swerve or a loop, dropping a few feet or rising up to dodge what was coming.[/reducio][center]ꕤ[/center]Evasive Maneuvers II [size=75][439 words][/size]
[reducio]Three years after Raphael had started attending the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, he still felt kind of bitter about it. More than bitter... cheated, that was probably the right word. Forced into a world where he constantly felt out of place, worse than he had before.

He had never been good at making friends, and with the loss of all his known relationships, his approach had changed more towards… actively avoiding. It had not seemed worth putting in the energy, the thought was exhausting. Hence, more than ever, Raph had started spending his time focused on sports. Broom racing, Quidditch, those thankfully did not require magic, and soon enough Raphael spent more of his waking time on a broom than on solid ground. Last summer, for lack of alternatives, he had picked up running as a sport he could do both at home and at school, and it had quickly turned into a habit. 

That had come with an unexpected side-effect of social relationships… kind of sneaking up on him. He would not call them friends, exactly, more slightly less annoying acquaintances, maybe. That he enjoyed doing sports with, and did not mind hanging out with generally. But no, definitely not friends. 

After all, he obviously only spent time with them because there was a tangible benefit. It was hard to play football by himself, and only dodging trees by himself, without competition, and without unexpected attacks coming from the side, got too easy after a while. Clearly, training himself to dodge incoming balls quicker, more effortlessly, more instinctively, was the only reason he kept asking Cassie to play with him, and that during one of their many morning runs, he had finally also asked Ye-jun if he was interested in playing some football every now and then. 

It was not wrong, of course. Training with Cassie, playing with Ye-jun, it sharpened his reflexes. More than once, a small smile snuck onto Raph’s face when Cassie exclaimed in surprise after he had shifted his broom to the right just enough to escape an incoming projectile that he could not possibly have seen coming. It even evolved into a game of Cassie randomly throwing things at him, trying to catch him off-guard… with a surprisingly low quota of success. The intended effect was definitely there. Yet, if he was honest, the more time passed, the more the (very effective) training became an excuse, to see Cassie, to hang out with Ye-jun. 

Well. No matter the reasons, excuses or not, by the end of his third year at Beauxbatons, Raphael had uncanny dodging abilities… and possibly even a friend or two.

[right][size=75]Mentions of Lee Ye-jun and Cassie Heather McGregor-Martin approved by [mention]Eun-ji Lee Hunt[/mention] and [mention]Lucia Fox[/mention].[/size][/right][/reducio]

Approved Adoraable.

NPC Name: Ye-jun Lee
Link: HERE
Year: Currently 3rd → 4th
Stats: Sta 8, Eva 9, Str 10, Wis 9, Arc 7, Acc 8 +1 for duel win
Abilities: Impartial WC:545

Reducio

Ye-jun used to be jealous of others. Not just the pretty ones either... Even the ordinary looking people were like a thorn in his eye. He was not pleasant to look at as a child and unfortunately, many kids enjoyed reminding him at every opportunity. Due to this, the boy grew more and more insecure to the point where anyone with an ounce of presence made him feel tiny and just generally uncomfortable. Everybody seemed to have power over him without even trying. That was, until he moved to France.

Once his mother got a job a Louis Vuitton Headquarters, she'd insist to teach him how to take better care of his appearance. Social events filled with rich, fashionable and influential people became a huge part of her life and her son simply couldn't hide from them forever. Ye-jun was sceptical at first but it was a new start for him and so it made sense to at least give it a try. It was a slow process but the boy wasn't a quitter. His efforts to look better, paired up with all the sports he was doing and the family genes finally paid off at the age of ten. He grew into a pretty handsome young boy. Ye-jun should have realised this once he started attending Baubaxtons. All the signs were there. People seemed to be flocking around him without any particular reason and didn't even mind that he wasn’t very friendly. Considering his history, he was genuinely confused at first and wrote a letter about it to his mother. “Sweetheart...maybe try looking into a mirror for once? And I mean REALLY look into it, alright?” Was her answer. And so he did. Ye-jun stared in the mirror for so long his roommate had to huff in annoyance and comment on his behaviour. "Yeah...we all know you are very pretty. No need to rub it into our faces like that." For the first time in his life, Ye-jun smiled at his reflection. "Oh yeah...I am, aren't I?"

From then on, his confidence only grew. Not to the point where he would become vain or self-centred. He was always taught to stay humble yet he knew he no longer had to be jealous of anybody’s looks. Were there people that were more beautiful or handsome than him? For sure, but did he envy them? Not really. Too much of anything sounded like a magnet for trouble. He was secure with his appearance now and people were generally nice to him now. Girls especially. He also built his physical strength enough to know he would not be defenceless even without magic. His primary school demons were left in the past as they should be. Ye-jun figured he was plenty terrified back then and he didn't need to be now. Convinced himself that people with threatening aura were simply insecure. He still appreciated a pretty face here and there but his eyes didn't linger for too long. There were other things in the world he considered worth his time. Ye-jun was on both sides of the fence. He knew other people's value didn't lie in their beauty and he behaved accordingly. If someone wanted his full attention, he would have to do more than just look pretty..

Extracurricular: None
Trunk Coding: Just keep it as it is now please

Approved Thank you for linking your wins. An "Impartial Application" I can get behind.

NPC Name: Roberta Martin
Link: Here
Year: Fourth
Stats: +1 Sta, +1 Eva, +2 Wis, +1 ArcPow
Abilities:

Fearless WC (456)
Fourth Year

Reducio

It wasn't long after the champions for the tournament were chosen that Roberta managed to stop her sulking and recover her pride. It came as no surprise that this news was a major blow to her ego . That she hadn't been chosen to represent Beauxbatons as the school champion, at least not this year, so it sort of felt like she wasn’t worthy of the honor her family raised her to believe in. Still, there were many years to come and after much thought she considered that it was only a matter of time until she proved herself worthy. All of her fearful worrying about how she might be seen as a failure, and the feelings of the insecurity brought on by comparing herself to others, was ousted when she found herself once more. All that remained after sorting through the surface feelings was the deep doubt and trepidation that her time as a duellist had been wasted.

She would sit with her feet tapping the stone floors, eyes glazed over, while idly glaring into the contents of an unfinished letter half-written to home. She would conjure up the inner-resolve to honor her father's words, firm reassurances of a brilliant mind who'd taught his daughter to persevere during times of hardship. She would miss her mother's smile, the comforting warmth of her kind and gentle presence. The strength of her opponent, their popularity, the return to a noble tradition of competition. It was an incredible honor even to participate. She would be entering the first tournament of this kind between schools since the days of the second wizarding war. When she imagined the joy brought on by the good news she would be sending her family, fear itself was conquered. It wasn’t just the support of her family that encouraged her, but the strength she’d be earning along the way that motivated her.

Now resolute in her mind, she began to put the power of that bravery into the quill in her hand, writing her fears at length. By summoning her reserves of courage, she had finished writing the letter to home. She wrote of finding the strength to carry on despite her fears, of her father's inspiration, and of her mother's comforting smile. She wrote of courageously facing Dhampir, Half-Giants and Werewolves as equals. When she had finally finished the letter, she found that she was no longer worried how her comparison to others made her feel insecure. The only thing left worth being afraid of was refusing to let go of what held her back, and right now the only thing holding her back was fear of the unknown and she had very much just decided she had become invincible to all of it.

Extracurricular: Duellist
Content Changes: N/A
Trunk Coding: please add my new ability to my trunk

NPC Name: Maximilien de Fostoncy
Link: here
Year: fourth
Stats: sta 7 · eva 8+3=11 · wis 11+2=13 · str 2 · arc 7 · acc 11
Abilities: applying for Perfectionist II [WC 663]

Reducio

What was exactly obsession? Maxi was longing to know the answer. He’d looked for it in his grandfather’s library, polled a few classmates for their opinions, and pondered it while wandering through his family’s wine estate. That was, until someone told him that he was prone to obsessions. It was certainly a helpful clue, now all he had to do was look through his hobbies and things that piqued his interest to figure out the answer.

Lovely ladies? No, that wasn’t supposed to be an obsession. Flowers? Erm, he didn’t do much gardening to be honest. Spellcasting? Perhaps, he’d been practicing diligently and eager to know more about the art of combating magic, but he had already left the duelling team. In terms of extracurricular activities, earlier that year, he had switched from the Beauxbatons duelling team to broom racing. At the beginning he thought it was nothing than a mere impulse, only because racing sounded like the perfect combination of broom and spells, both of which he didn't want to miss. His grandfather was entirely supportive (how honourable for his grandson to be recognised on the track, and just think of the renown and scholarship!), as was his father, though the latter was slightly concerned that his son wouldn't be as dedicated to spellcasting as he had been previously. Maxi reassured Vincent that this would not happen, and he devoted himself into training without wasting any time. He started small, riding and avoiding obstacles and attacks. Day by day he got better, learning from experienced teammates and actively engaging in team practices. And he was certainly achieving things - he could target opponents moving fast on brooms as if they were on their feet, and he could as well ride through the wind and remain unmoved. Maybe that’s just what obsession was.

Oh, and there’s writing. Maxi did not forget about his little interest of writing, whether it was a poem, a fantasy, or a novella. People could dismiss this pastime as whimsical, especially when they come across the nymphs and nightingales written on the parchment, but Maxi adored them. It played a significant part in his life, and he made sure that he could write at least two poems and a short fable every week, no matter how busy he was. When he returned home for summer, Maxi secretly presented his mother his latest work as a gift without letting his grandfather or father know (they wouldn't approve of him writing this because it's “useless”, he knew it). A story about a well-educated young lady who overcame all hurdles with tenacity and pursued her dream career as an artist, despite her family’s opposition. When Mélanie read it, she couldn’t help but shed tears because the protagonist resembled her a lot but ended up realising her drea, unlike her. Impressive, she told her son tenderly, you really have a knack for this, my dearest little Maximilien, and I love it so much. Maxi smiled upon his mother’s comment, feeling that everything was worth it. Nobody knew how hard he had worked on the novella - how many times had he revised it? Seven? Eight? And at least two times were thorough amendments. When he was finally satisfied with his work, he transcribed the whole story in neat handwriting on fresh parchments, which took another three days to finalise. Indeed, he sure had some talent in this and writing the story did offer him much joy, but the effort paid also played a big part in making the whole thing perfect. Maxi never regretted it taking up his free time though, he knew perfecting the present for his mother was all he really wanted. Was that, by any chance, some kind of obsession?

He thought about many things, things that had, no matter briefly or chronically, once occupied his mind. After days meditating on the subject, Maxi thought he could now answer it. To strive for perfection. Maybe that’s what obsession really meant.

Extracurricular: broom racer (unchanged)
Content Changes: I would like to only state that Maxi’s of “average height” in his appearance section instead of accurate number for easier update in the future to reflect growth. The accurate height and weight are now listed separately underneath the description. The change is bolded below.

Reducio

From any aspects, Maximilien was a good looking boy. His eyes were of dark grey color like his mother, and were calm and intelligent. Sometimes his eyes were even shown as black in the darkness. His dark brown hair was almost black, and was actually curly, but somehow his grandfather managed to comb them smoothly that seemed his hair was straight. When he was young, you could identify the curls clearly, but in his teens, it was much more difficult. His height was of average, and the boy was of athletic built, since his grandfather had always wanted him to be the part of one of the teams in Beauxbatons. Fair, he was, just like everyone else in his family. Usually dressed in dark-coloured clothes, he had successfully inherited both of his parents’ advantages in their looks though more resembling his mother, especially in both hair and eye colours. Like what Vincent de Fostoncy, his father, had proudly said, “Nobody looks awful in our family, and my son is especially handsome among all of them.”

Current height| 168cm/5'5"
Current weight| 62kg/137lbs

also editing “the childhood” section in backstory. Deleting some repetitive paragraphs to make it shorter and revamping some sentences. New contents are bolded below.

Reducio

Maximilien came to life on a serene and beautiful night of March 10th, 2008. His full name was pretty long — Maximilien René Pascal Jacques Vincent Louis de Fostoncy. His birth was fairly welcomed by the pureblood society in France, as it meant that the noble house of de Fostoncy had successfully passed the blood down to the next generation.

The new boy’s name achieved the usual standards of the family - apart from the family name, six names in total. Maximilien, meant “the greatest”, as the heir of this honorable family should always be the best. René, meant “reborn”, in hope that the boy would bring new achievements like his ancestors did. Pascal, meant “Easter child”, since Mélanie had always had a strong belief that her son would be born sometime near the Easter holidays. Jacques, meant “he who supplants” - associated with victory. Vincent, his father’s name. And finally, Louis, his grandfather’s. It was a tradition to keep the heir’s last two middle names are the same as his father and grandfather’s first name - and that’s how young Maximilien had Vincent and Louis in his names. In his family he was strictly called “Maximilien” and only “Maximilien”, however he would introduce himself to peers as “Maxi”. Though don’t try to call him “Max”. The boy would get annoyed surely, as he disliked the masculine sound. It didn’t fit his rather skinny figure, he knew it.

From the outside, when someone first laid their eyes on Maximilien, they would say that he resembled his mother. With messy dark brown hair and dark grey eyes instead of the de Fostoncy family’s curly golden brown hair, he was more like a member of the Janvaque family. However his body built and face were somehow like his grandfather, and the boy was handsome. Almost exceedingly. As for the inside, Maximilien was quiet, and did more than say. He was a well-mannered child, and very loyal. Overall a good-natured child, Maxi was not difficult to get along with - yet he was a bit shy, so you’d better strike the conversation up before he fled the scene.

Maximilien was taught to call his grandfather “Monsieur le Comte”, a title Louis gave to himself (which was obviously cool and honorable in his mind) and his father “Monsieur le Chevalier” rather than “grandfather” and “father”. His mother, on the other hand, was forced to be called “Madame” by her son though she did not like it. Though tenderly loving each other, Maxi could not spend much time with his mother daily as he was expected to learn. His schedule was tight, and despite how hard he worked there were always tasks left for him to do before meeting his mother. Speaking of schedules, the family established a full set of rules for the young boy. He had to get up at seven o’clock in the morning, had breakfast in twenty minutes, then began his course of the day. Usually it was about spells, charms and potions, but his father would be glad to teach him some hexes and jinxes sometimes too. Maximilien never liked the dark arts, but if his father taught him, he could not refuse. Only, the boy might be secretly not taken the course fully in his heart. In the afternoon his tasks were to learn the pureblood etiquettes and physic training. Monsieur le Chevalier had always wanted his son to be part of the teams in Beauxbatons. In the evening, he mostly did some free reading. Though it was called “free”, muggle novels that his second cousins loved were strictly forbidden.

Monsieur le Chevalier seldom talked to his son except the essentials, being an aloof person of few words. Instead, he preferred to occupy himself with the family business and were often out in the vineyard. Madame wanted to speak with him, but she usually didn’t have the chance. Honestly speaking, she was a bit afraid of the consequence of taking up her son’s time learning - her father-in-law or husband would possibly scold her, seeing how strict they were with the boy. Monsieur le Comte on the other hand loved conversing with his grandson whenever he had the chance, but sadly Maxi usually wasn’t interested in this self-centred old wizard’s topics at all. Pureblood society? Wines? Dances? Ugh, young Maxi would rather avoid talking about those.

As a result, the boy grew up in a place that extremely lack family affections. Though the de Fostoncy wine estate was extremely large and comfortable to live in, Maximilien was not really happy. Daydreaming started to play a significant role in his life, imagination coming along and later on reflecting on the works he’d write when he was older. Despite growing to be a seemingly calm and unmoved kid like what his grandfather had expected, Maxi was actually remained naive and imaginative underneath. He seemed to inherit his mother’s knack for arts - he could paint well, sometimes sing, and above all write things excellently. Poetry and short stories helped him through the most difficult and lonely times, and Maxi knew that only when writing was he truly peaceful.

When the boy was five, he experienced his first magic. Monsieur le Comte decided that it was time for his grandson to attend some fancy balls, though he knew that Maximilien did not like large social events. He cried hard and was really angry for not wanting to go, but was forced by his grandfather. However, when his mother tried to put on the fancy clothes for him, something strange happened — although all the outfits were made according to his height and weight, they were just too big. They tried several times, but every time the outfit became ill fitting. Finally the adults realized that it was because their heir’s magic had surfaced. They gave up, and the boy was not taken to large balls until he was six.

Trunk Coding: it’s below!

Reducio

Code: Select all

[quote][quote][center][size=150][b][i]- TRUNK -[/i][/b][/size][/center][/quote]
[quote][center][size=115][b]| stats |[/b][/size]
[b]sta[/b] 7 · [b]eva[/b] 11 · [b]wis[/b] 13 · [b]str[/b] 2 · [b]arc[/b] 7 · [b]acc[/b] 11
[size=95]46/45 [+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=13594&hilit=&start=50#p215087]quidditch win[/url]][/size][/center][/quote]
[quote][center][size=115][b]| abilities |[/b][/size][/center][color=transparent]—[/color][b]year 1.[/b] lovely creature
[reducio][size=95]At the time Maximilien was born, he was considered handsome. It was not really a surprise, though, since his parents were all extremely good looking. Mélanie Janvaque was one of the most gorgeous girls in class in her school days, and Vincent de Fostoncy was secretly had a crush on by many students. Honestly speaking, no one in the family wasn’t good looking — from Louis to Maximilien.

Successfully inherited his mother’s eye color and hair color, the boy was fairly good looking. He had good the straight nose of the de Fostoncy family, and thin, pink lips. His eyelashes were long, and were of brown color. His mother regarded him as a doll when he was sleeping. Actually, even if the boy’s awake, he was like a gorgeous statue.

When walking on the streets in Lyon, Maximilien was looked attentively by many strangers. They stopped when he and his father passed by, and pointed at them secretly. Sometimes the boy’s ears would catch a few words like “handsome” “good looking” “lovely”. He was young at that time, and did not really take these things seriously. However his father was glad. Glad that someone had praised his son.

Attending fancy balls played a large part in the family. Louis de Fostoncy, the current count, especially loved these kinds of activities. Taking the beautiful Madame de Fostoncy, the handsome Chevalier de Fostoncy, and the young de Fostoncy heir was just extremely agreeable, since whenever and wherever the family of four showed up, they would earn applause and praises. People admired the wealthy family, but especially, envied their beauty. They dragged the young heir near them, and examined him carefully, hoping to point some flaws on his face out. However, they failed. Maximilien was too lovely to find out a flaw. If you had to point something out, you might say that he’s a bit chubby — but he was still a good looking child. The old ladies especially loved this pretty boy. They talked with him for hours, even if the boy got bored. 

By the time he was eleven, Maximilien had became even more handsome. He had mostly grew his chubby cheeks out, became taller, athletic built, and was always dressed in elegant dark colored clothes. The boy was still admired and envied by many others, and the future count of the de Fostoncy family was highly estimated. 

Without a doubt, Maximilien de Fostoncy was always a lovely creature.

WC | 405[/size][/reducio][color=transparent]—[/color][b]year 2.[/b] perfectionist
[reducio][size=95]Growing up, Maximilien had always been a perfectionist. Being stubborn, he wanted everything to be the best — which he would not regret afterwards.

From the age of four, his grandfather forced him to stay inside the house and study spells and potions for the whole morning. His father was his mentor — and to his surprise, Maximilien did everything extremely well. One day Monsieur le Chevalier taught him a difficult potion, and within hours, Maximilien could revise the recipe correctly. Vincent was surprised. But what he did not know is, after he had gave the book to the young Maximilien and left, the boy copied the recipe for seven times. It was really long, but he still did it.

Upon the time he was accepted into Beauxbatons, Maximilien was hard working student. He loved Charms and Potions, as well as Defense Against the Dark Arts. Most of his classmates had seen this boy working alone late at night in his dormitory, and many of them had seen him practicing spells in an empty classroom. The library was nearly Maximilien’s second home — he did not have many friends, so he visited there a lot during weekends. 

The boy wanted everything to be perfect. He studied hard, did physical exercises everyday, and kept a healthy diet. He was proud and stubborn, so it helped him to be perfect. Day by day, he continued to study in the library and his dorm. And as a result, he improved day by day.

He received seven Os in his examination. His grandfather and father was really glad, but they still lacked knowledge of how hard Maximilien had worked. Most things were perfect — and that’s exactly what Maximilien wanted to see. He was overjoyed to see his academic results, and the boy decided that he would even study harder afterwards. He wanted himself to be the best, though he had never spoken it out loud.

When it’s the summer before his second year, Maximilien spent tons of time reading in the library in the de Fodtoncy Estate. While his grandfather was busy showing off at friends’ houses, his father busy running the wine estate, and his mother busy visiting her own maiden family, Maximilien read, and learnt. He had briefly met his cousins for two days, and all they saw was the boy was reading whenever and wherever. Maximilien loved it, and decided to do everything well. 

His knowledge of spells and potions were extending every moment. It’s no surprise that he had already became a perfectionist — because, Maximilien de Fostoncy was just born as one.

WC | 424[/size][/reducio][color=transparent]—[/color][b]year 3.[/b] spell spread[reducio][size=95]Summer. Summer was always agreeable for Maxi, and especially this one. Monsieur le Comte had accepted the Duke Springhall’s invitation for him staying over for July, and thus Maximilien arrived at the Springhall Heights as soon as his schoolyear ended in Beauxbatons. The Duke welcomed him warmly, and he soon won the old wizard’s favour - who agreed to give him some lessons on duelling.

We would skip the part of how Maxi won this special favour, as even the boy himself was quite ignorant of the reason. Maybe it was because of his fine etiquette, compared to Edmund and Lindsey - or it was simply because that the Duke desperately wished to teach some young wizards the art of combating magic. Maxi knew that Edmund was nowhere near the title of a duellist, and Lindsey was on her house Quidditch team, and the Duke wasn’t very into that - somehow he regarded duelling as “the only sport that’s worth participating”.

But anyways, everything started within a week he arrived. Maximilien began to visit the Duke’s personal studio daily at 10 o’clock in the morning, and showed up as the very last one for tea. Finding his interests in the ancient English books about duelling, Maxi was more than happy to expand his knowledge. He was a perfectionist and wished perfection in everything, after all. Practicing always came after simple reading. It would be countless times every day, when Maxi raised up his wand and uttered the incantation out. The Duke would watch over every single spell he casted at the dummies (the Duke Springhall [i]did[/i] have one or two in his studio), and offered him some help. And then he would teach the young Frenchman some strategies and tactics, the latter found [i]everything[/i] fascinating, including the stern looking old wizard himself.

But no. None of these were as fascinating - as grand as what happened the other day, when he was about to leave in a few days. It was just like every other morning in York, cloudy and a little bit rainy. Facing two dummies and having the old wizard closely watching, Maxi raised his wand up. [color=#586d9d][b]“Flipendo!”[/b][/color] he uttered in perfect English, which made the Duke’s knitted brows smoothed. As what both the old and the young had expected, one line of blue light flashed out directly from the point of Maximilien’s wand. It was [i]perfect[/i]. Not the strongest version nor the most powerful one, but already ideal enough for a thirteen-year-old. Seeing the would almost certainly hit the dummy on the left, the Duke was about to say something, when -

It was all of a sudden, and it was unbelievable. But it was [i]true[/i]. As true as he was named Maximilien René Pascal Jacques Vincent Louis de Fostoncy. The spell split in two and targeted both of the dummies. Both were knocked over, and Maximilien stood there with surprise, wand still raised up in the air. The Duke was just as silent as the boy was, sitting there motionlessly.

[color=#5c5c5c][b]“Nice work, young man.”[/b][/color] the old wizard finally started, nodding approvingly. [color=#5c5c5c][b]“Few wizards can achieve that…only those who are truly talented…”[/b][/color] Lowering his wand and stepping forward to right the knocked-over dummies, Maxi smiled at the old wizard. [color=#586d9d][b]“Thank you, Monsieur le Duc.”[/b][/color] he said softly, while slowly raising his wand up again at the dummies.

He utilized his left days in the Springhall Heights to practice and get tutorials from the Duke - who helped him to learn to control his split spell. Maximilien knew that a grander spell meant a higher chance of failure. So he had to practice hard, like what a true perfectionist would do. Day by day his skills improved. And although backfiring still happened occasionally, he was far more better than what he had done the very first day he when discovered his skill. 

When he packed his things to leave for the Hogwarts Summer Camp on July 31st, it was raining outside. James Kingsleigh, the Duke’s clerk, offered to take him to the York train station, where he could set off for London. Maxi accepted this gratefully, and the two walked together silently in the rain, luggage in hand. James regretted not taking his wand with him, as they would only be able to conjure one umbrella using Maxi’s wand - instead of two, and Maxi shook his head. [color=#586d9d][b]“I believe it’s alright, Mister Kingsleigh.”[/b][/color] he smiled, while reaching for his wand. [color=#586d9d][b]“Pluvia Velo.”[/b][/color] 

James watched the the young French boy conjuring two umbrellas and passing one to him in surprise. However, he remarked nothing. Just a simple, grateful nod, and the two continued their walk in the rain with two umbrellas. No one was going to get wet. The skill was useful - thought Maxi. Indeed.

WC | 798[/size][/reducio][color=transparent]—[/color][b]year 4.[/b] perfectionist II[reducio][size=95]What was exactly [i]obsession[/i]? Maxi was longing to know the answer. He’d looked for it in his grandfather’s library, polled a few classmates for their opinions, and pondered it while wandering through his family’s wine estate. That was, until someone told him that he was prone to obsessions. It was certainly a helpful clue, now all he had to do was look through his hobbies and things that piqued his interest to figure out the answer. 

Lovely ladies? No, that wasn’t supposed to be an obsession. Flowers? Erm, he didn’t do much gardening to be honest. Spellcasting? Perhaps, he’d been practicing diligently and eager to know more about the art of combating magic, but he had already left the duelling team. In terms of extracurricular activities, earlier that year, he had switched from the Beauxbatons duelling team to broom racing. At the beginning he thought it was nothing than a mere impulse, only because racing sounded like the perfect combination of broom and spells, both of which he didn't want to miss. His grandfather was entirely supportive (how honourable for his grandson to be recognised on the track, and just think of the renown and scholarship!), as was his father, though the latter was slightly concerned that his son wouldn't be as dedicated to spellcasting as he had been previously. Maxi reassured Vincent that this would not happen, and he devoted himself into training without wasting any time. He started small, riding and avoiding obstacles and attacks. Day by day he got better, learning from experienced teammates and actively engaging in team practices. And he was certainly achieving things - he could target opponents moving fast on brooms as if they were on their feet, and he could as well ride through the wind and remain unmoved. Maybe that’s just what obsession was.

Oh, and there’s writing. Maxi did not forget about his little interest of writing, whether it was a poem, a fantasy, or a novella. People could dismiss this pastime as whimsical, especially when they come across the nymphs and nightingales written on the parchment, but Maxi adored them. It played a significant part in his life, and he made sure that he could write at least two poems and a short fable every week, no matter how busy he was. When he returned home for summer, Maxi secretly presented his mother his latest work as a gift without letting his grandfather or father know (they wouldn't approve of him writing this because it's “useless”, he knew it). A story about a well-educated young lady who overcame all hurdles with tenacity and pursued her dream career as an artist, despite her family’s opposition. When Mélanie read it, she couldn’t help but shed tears because the protagonist resembled her a lot but ended up realising her drea, unlike her. Impressive, she told her son tenderly, you really have a knack for this, my dearest little Maximilien, and I love it so much. Maxi smiled upon his mother’s comment, feeling that everything was worth it. Nobody knew how hard he had worked on the novella - how many times had he revised it? Seven? Eight? And at least two times were thorough amendments. When he was finally satisfied with his work, he transcribed the whole story in neat handwriting on fresh parchments, which took another three days to finalise. Indeed, he sure had some talent in this and writing the story did offer him much joy, but the effort paid also played a big part in making the whole thing perfect. Maxi never regretted it taking up his free time though, he knew perfecting the present for his mother was all he really wanted. Was that, by any chance, some kind of obsession?

He thought about many things, things that had, no matter briefly or chronically, once occupied his mind. After days meditating on the subject, Maxi thought he could now answer it. To strive for perfection. Maybe that’s what [i]obsession[/i] really meant.

WC | 663[/size][/reducio][/quote]
[quote][center][size=115][b]| extracurricular |[/b][/size]
broom racer[/center][/quote][/quote]

NPC Name: Vivienne Beaumont
Link: x
Year: First moving up to Second
Stats: +5 from graduation
Stamina: 8
Evasion: 7
Strength: 7
Wisdom: 4 --> 6
Arcane Power: 4 --> 5
Accuracy: 5 --> 7
Abilities: Calming Presence

Reducio

Vivienne came to realize that people usually felt quite relaxed and calm in her presence. It was quite unusual, but she didn't mind it. In fact, she was almost glad. If someone was crying, hurt or upset, she would just have to sit down beside them and offer some words of encouragement and they would visibly appear instantly better. She had supposed she just had a real knack for cheering people up. It was the most logical explanation, as she was always smiling, happy and always tried to find the best in everything and everyone. Truthfully, Vivienne was the sun if it was a person.

It became clear one day whenever Vivi and her younger brother, Louis, were playing out on the beach together. They were playing a classic game of tag, but Louis had ended up tripping and cutting his knee on a rock in the sand. Vivienne whirled around at the sound of her brother's cry to find him sat on the sand cradling his knee, tears welling up in his eyes. "Louis!" She had said, rushing over to him, "It's okay, it's okay, mama will put a plaster on and you'll be all healed up! Don't worry! It's only a little scratch!" She rambled, pulling Louis into a hug, careful not to hurt his knee.

Despite the younger boy seeming visibly distressed moments before, the tears stopped as soon as Vivienne had sat down beside him. He wiped his cheeks while sniffling, "You're right, Vivi," Vivienne didn't think anything of it as they went to find their mother who put a plaster on his knee. Their mother thought it was quite weird, as Louis would usually scream and cry until his throat hurt whenever he hurt himself, but Vivienne had just played it off as her being really good at comforting people.

That certainly wasn't the first or last time people had calmed down as soon as Vivienne was around. Even in school if her friends were worried or distressed, maybe they had forgotten to do their homework or had gotten into trouble and they were worried about the repercussions, it didn't really matter what the cause of their distress was, because all Vivienne had to do was say a few words of encouragement, "It'll be fine, don't worry!", "Everything will work out in the end,", "You really shouldn't stress about that," and they would calm down. Even the most anxious and worrisome people would miraculously calm down around Vivienne, and some of her friends had even jokingly called it her superpower which she definitely didn't mind.

Word count: 431/400

Extracurricular: Broom Racer
Content Changes: N/A
Trunk Coding:

Code: Select all

[quote][center][quote][b]Broom Racer?[/b] YES [color=transparent]-------[/color] [b]Quidditch Player?[/b] NO [color=transparent]-------[/color]     [b]Duelist?[/b] NO[/quote][/center]
[quote][center][b]STATISTICS[/b]

Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 6 | Arcane Power: 5 | Accuracy: 7[/center][/quote]
[quote][center][b]ABILITIES[/b]

Year 1: Fearless
[reducio]Vivienne Beaumont did not seem to be afraid of anything. She was adventurous to a fault, and being adventurous always usually comes with being reckless. She loves the adrenaline rush she gets when she tries something new and slightly scary. The drop in your stomach, the scream that gets caught in your throat, Vivienne loved it all. 

The day her parents realized their daughter was practically fearless was the day the family had decided to go bungee jumping when they were in vacation in Australia the summer Vivienne was 10. Louis had outright refused to do it, claiming that he was 'too amazing to die' and 'had so many more comics to read'. He would climb up a tree, but not bungee jump, which Vivienne did not really understand (even though they were on two different levels of risk taking). [b]"I want to do it! Oh can I do it upside down? [i]Pleaseeeeeeeeee![/i] I really want to go upside down! It'll be really fun!"[/b] She pleaded, jumping up and down in front of her mother who was looking at her in shock.

[b]"Now Vivi, sweetie, are you sure you want to do it upside down? That will be very scary."[/b] Her mother said her words slowly, as if coaxing a wild animal, practically pleading her daughter to not do something so terrifying and silly. Yet Vivienne insisted, and she went bungee jumping upside down. Her parents had expected her to be shaking in fear after it, but instead she was smiling possibly the brightest smile they had ever seen.

[b]"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh that was so fun! I want to do it again! Can I do it again? That was AMAZING!"[/b] It was safe to say, she had likely given her mother 20 heart attacks that day.

Then there was the day that she went swimming with sharks. That's a slight exaggeration, as it wasn't actually in the ocean and was instead at an aquarium her school had went to for a school trip. There was an option to dive with sharks, and most of her classmates outright refused. But of course, Vivienne was at the very front of the line, begging to be able to go first. Who wouldn't want to swim with sharks? That sounded awesome to Vivienne, and she really didn't understand why her classmates didn't want to do it. The girl loved it, and it was one of the best experiences of her life.

So, it was safe to say that Vivienne was nearly fearless. Of course she still had some tiny fears, especially spiders. They were a big no. But adrenaline causing or risky things that many others would find terrifying? A piece of cake for Vivienne. Rollercoasters? One of her favorite things. The adrenaline rush she got when doing something risky would never get old to Vivienne. 

[b]Word Count:[/b] 470/400[/reducio]

Year 2: Calming Presence
[reducio]Vivienne came to realize that people usually felt quite relaxed and calm in her presence. It was quite unusual, but she didn't mind it. In fact, she was almost glad. If someone was crying, hurt or upset, she would just have to sit down beside them and offer some words of encouragement and they would visibly appear instantly better. She had supposed she just had a real knack for cheering people up. It was the most logical explanation, as she was always smiling, happy and always tried to find the best in everything and everyone. Truthfully, Vivienne was the sun if it was a person.

It became clear one day whenever Vivi and her younger brother, Louis, were playing out on the beach together. They were playing a classic game of tag, but Louis had ended up tripping and cutting his knee on a rock in the sand. Vivienne whirled around at the sound of her brother's cry to find him sat on the sand cradling his knee, tears welling up in his eyes. [b]"Louis!"[/b] She had said, rushing over to him, [b]"It's okay, it's okay, mama will put a plaster on and you'll be all healed up! Don't worry! It's only a little scratch!"[/b] She rambled, pulling Louis into a hug, careful not to hurt his knee. 

Despite the younger boy seeming visibly distressed moments before, the tears stopped as soon as Vivienne had sat down beside him. He wiped his cheeks while sniffling, [b]"You're right, Vivi," [/b]Vivienne didn't think anything of it as they went to find their mother who put a plaster on his knee. Their mother thought it was quite weird, as Louis would usually scream and cry until his throat hurt whenever he hurt himself, but Vivienne had just played it off as her being really good at comforting people.

That certainly wasn't the first or last time people had calmed down as soon as Vivienne was around. Even in school if her friends were worried or distressed, maybe they had forgotten to do their homework or had gotten into trouble and they were worried about the repercussions, it didn't really matter what the cause of their distress was, because all Vivienne had to do was say a few words of encouragement, [b]"It'll be fine, don't worry!"[/b], [b]"Everything will work out in the end,"[/b], [b]"You really shouldn't stress about that,[/b]" and they would calm down. Even the most anxious and worrisome people would miraculously calm down around Vivienne, and some of her friends had even jokingly called it her superpower which she definitely didn't mind.

[b]Word count:[/b] 431/400[/reducio][/center][/quote][/quote]

Pending The coding you provided me with does not give you any stat gains despite you applying for it.

Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 4 | Arcane Power: 4 | Accuracy: 5

I can't technically mess with coding when you specifically have code.

Approved

NPC Name: Amaury Favreau
Link: here!
Year: fifth, will be sixth in July
Stats: STA: 6 | EVA: 12 → 14 | STR: 1 | WIS: 11 → 12 | ARC: 14 | ACC: 14 → 16
+5 for graduation, total 63 (+3 from Quidditch wins with PC)
Abilities:
Application for SPELL SPREAD [sixth year ability] | wc: 483

Reducio

No one living in the Favreau Manor ever did anything small. Go big or go home, that was their way. There was no room in such a rich, Pureblood lifestyle for moderation. From pranks to parties, lush extravagance and profligacy were always at the forefront of a planning committee’s minds in the Favreau Manor. Everything, everything was over the top, ostentatious, showy. And Amaury was no different, particularly when it came to his strongest suit: duelling.

Amaury was no stranger to powerful spells… or a little underhanded trickery to give him a leg up. Not that he needed any sort of crutch, because he was perfectly capable of winning a duel with sheer talent alone, thank you very much. But that didn’t mean that a few tricks up his sleeve wouldn’t help, or, y’know, just look cool as hell. And he was all about looking cool as hell as he knocked his opponent out cold. And this trick he learned was, indeed, something to admire.

It was only for the most powerful spellcasters, this skill. Those who are just a bit reckless, just a bit too powerful for their own good, those who are perhaps lacking a bit concerningly in self-preservation. Splitting one spell into two distinct beams of light, capable of hitting two separate targets– it was a wild, unpredictable force that took great talent and concentration, and a little bit of sheer luck. It was perfect for Amaury.

Amaury was reckless. He was reckless enough to perhaps one day stumble upon this spell-splitting technique by accident one day. But he had heard tales, read tales, of the great wizards who could control the magic, summon immense power, and split their spells into equally powerful fragments. It was no accident that the boy had developed this skill. He sought it out.

Amaury had been burnt before in his boundless quest for knowledge and power, literally at times. He had scars to show for it. But although he had learned lessons, sure, never before had the boy managed to learn the proper lesson that should be taken away from these injuries. He hadn’t learned that attempting skills above his age level seemed to always end in some sort of disaster– no, he had just learned that he needed to try harder next time. And this was what he did. Again. And again. And again. Because although the young Favreau was a mere sixteen, the great wizards of the past were no match for his sheer stubbornness and determination. And so Amaury, just a child, learned to wield the power, splitting his spells into two distinct beams of light on command. It was still unstable, sure, and never had he managed to get it more than a few times in a row without it backfiring on him, but he had done it. He had conquered the spell spread.

Extracurricular: Duelling
Trunk Coding:

Reducio

Code: Select all

[quote][quote][b]Broom Racer?[/b][size=83] NO[/size]
[b]Quidditch Player?[/b][size=83] NO[/size]
[b]Duellist?[/b][size=83] YES[/size][/quote]

[quote][b]STATS |[/b]
[size=87][b]Stamina:[/b] 6 | [b]Evasion:[/b] 14 | [b]Strength:[/b] 1 | [b]Wisdom:[/b] 12 | [b]ArcPower:[/b] 14 | [b]Accuracy:[/b] 16[/size][right][size=75][i]total 58 (+3 for Quidditch wins)[/i][/right][/size][/quote]

[quote][b]ABILITIES |[/b]
[size=95][b]YEAR ONE |[/b][/size] [size=83]LOVELY CREATURE[/size]
[reducio][size=87]Amaury drew looks; this, he knew well, because his own looks were fit for a king. And lucky that was, because amongst their French community, the Favreaus were royalty-- at least, so they assumed of themselves. Never did they shy away from parties, showing off their children, or splurging on the latest fashion trends, and Amaury was more often than not on the receiving end of these luxuries. Their appearance reflected their status-- that was what their parents had told them, what their parents’ parents had told them. Fashion was not for the lowly, the commoners. And so Amaury had been styled, primped, and preened since the day he was born, always prepared to be shown off like the righteous Pureblood he was. God forbid he make a complete embarrassment of the family by appearing in unfitted clothing or, god forbid, [i]wrinkles.[/i] Their reputation would be scorned for eternity-- there would be no recovery from a fashion faux pas.

Of course, it helped that the Favreaus and Beauforts were, and always had been, a family of good genes, and not just the wizarding ones. Lucille Favreau was gorgeous, and Aldéric was stunningly handsome. It was no surprise, then, that Amaury and his twin inherited the genes they did. And there was no question where Amaury got his genes from. The sharp jawline, the fair skin, and the full lips were all traits passed on from his mother, although his stature, dark hair, and deep brown eyes were all very clearly inherited from his father. His often quite intense stare and the way he held himself with poise and presence, often set people off, but nonetheless was oddly compelling, almost magnetising. It was not difficult, then, to charm the crowds-- they followed him blindly, entranced by his beauty and wiles. 

His dress, too, was something to admire. It wasn’t as though he was [i]fashionable,[/i] per se-- he didn’t go shopping for new outfits, and he certainly didn’t play dress-up in the mirror-- he simply always looked his best. With his hair meticulously styled to look as though it wasn’t styled in the least; clothes perfectly tailored to fit his tall, slender frame; and a jacket that likely cost more than his entire private tuition, although it wasn’t as though he himself had paid for it; Amaury’s bouts into the town never failed to draw a few stares-- primarily from the ladies of the town, but amongst the onlookers, there was no shortage of men as well. 

wc: 419
[/size][/reducio]
[size=95][b]YEAR TWO |[/b][/size] [size=83]CHARMER[/size]
[reducio][size=87]Amaury could do nothing if not charm a room. The family name was simply too important to disgrace with a misspoken word or half-hearted compliment. It was all or nothing for Amaury’s family, and as such, from the moment he could talk and walk, his parents would teach him the ways of the world alongside his brother and sisters-- social etiquette, manners, and, of course, manipulation. By the time he was seven, he knew how to ballroom dance. By nine, he could host a small party, greeting his guests with a firm handshake, eye contact, and a sickeningly sweet smile. And by the ripe age of eleven years old, his charm was simply intoxicating, leaving none immune to his childish smile and thorough manners. Though he matched the mannerisms of his family when they were alone-- cold, quiet, and aloof-- by the time he left home for Beauxbatons, he was adept at covering up his intimidating demeanor and plastering on a manufactured smile within a moment’s notice. He was unstoppable when he paired his easy smile with tossing a few well-timed compliments and flattering the enemy-- for, of course, to the Favreaus, they were all enemies. And the Favreaus lived their life by keeping their enemies closer. 

And close, they were. The Favreaus had a particular penchant for throwing parties: dinner parties, tea parties, cocktail parties-- if there were drinks, there were Favreaus. And the extravagant amount of parties in the Favreau manner were, of course, the perfect outlet for Amaury’s charm. By the time he was ten, he knew just how to play the room, using an equal mix of diplomacy and flattery to get his way. He held himself with an air of grace, hoping to impress his elders and impress upon them the fine stature of the House Favreau. The Favreaus were not unworthy hosts; they were not mere wizards; they were not just some family. No, they were Purebloods-- affluent and dignified, and their behavior, naturally, must reflect such eminence.

And where Amaury went, his charm only followed. Beauxbatons was not ready for 115 pounds of pure charisma, and Amaury was completely ready to use that to his advantage. For he had realised that smiles were not only useful for upholding the family’s reputation; his wiles could also be particularly useful in social manipulation, buttering up his mark until he was ready to make a move. While he spent his off-time practicing charms and jinxes rather than on his assignments, he would simply beseech them to write it off, or struck a deal with his professors that often worked out better for him than it did for them. For, even the most wiley of professors were not immune to the charms of one Amaury Favreau.

wc: 459
[/size][/reducio]
[size=95][b]YEAR THREE |[/b][/size] [size=83]PERFECTIONIST[/size]
[reducio][size=87]Amaury couldn’t stand to lose. He hated the feeling, hated the judgement, hated everything about it. He wasn’t a sore loser, of course-- he took his defeats with grace, putting on a show of sportsmanship. Only a disgrace to the family would throw a fit over losing-- but then, only a disgrace to the family would lose in the first place. He would fight to the ends of the earth to secure a victory, as his siblings well knew. But as competitive as Amaury was at home, it was nothing remotely comparable to his attitude on the duelling stage. 

From the moment the boy was introduced to the respectable yet aggressive sport of magical duelling, early in his first year at Beauxbatons, Amaury was absolutely enthralled-- caught hook, line, and sinker. The admirable sport had all the thrill and bragging rights of traditional fisticuffs, and the competition and victories of broom racing, but with none of the physical aggression and the stupid outfits. No, when duelling, Amaury could fight, legally and acceptably, with his favorite weapon-- his wand, and magic.

And so Amaury, from the moment he got his hands on a spellbook, threw himself in, head-first, to duelling. It was perhaps nearly an obsession, but absolutely nothing would be allowed to stand in the way of him and his sport. And although he wasn’t much for school, he found a passion in learning new spells, jinxes, and hexes he could use to destroy his opponents. He perused anything he could get his hands on-- mostly textbooks, old and new-- long into the night, evading the responsibilities of his assignments. They weren’t worth his time anyway, he told himself, as he read just one more chapter under the covers.

Magic came easily to him, he realised as spells flew from his wand without a hitch time after time. But nonetheless, he practiced. He practiced, and practiced, and practiced until he thought his wand might break, at which point he stopped, because Merlin knew his wand was the most valuable thing he owned. He practiced at home, he practiced in class, he practiced in between classes. He expected nothing less than absolute perfection and, soon, so did his family. He took it upon himself to become a world-class dueller, for nothing else would suffice. Not a single spell would fail; not a single spell would miss. That was the expectation, and that was the undeniable result of Amaury’s hard work.

wc:409
[/size][/reducio]
[size=95][b]YEAR FOUR |[/b][/size] [size=83]EVASIVE MANEUVERS[/size]
[reducio][size=87]Amaury had a tendency to get in over his head. Always reading ahead in his spell textbooks, practicing charms and hexes that were perhaps a bit too difficult for a wizard of his young age. Nevertheless, warnings from friends, professors, family, against such activities, warnings in his best interest, still would not deter him from building his arsenal of spells, one large step towards becoming the greatest dueller of his time. And so he would practice such spells perhaps a little recklessly, such spells much too unfit for such a young wizard to know in theory, let alone use in practice. 

And of such unprotected and advanced practice came predictable, yet unavoidable disaster. A poor combination: an old book, a difficult incantation, a backfired curse. Disaster; a searing pain slicing through Amaury’s arm, fuzzing his brain, his vision; red, warm, wet. Pain in his knees as he dropped to the stone floor. Black, quiet, then light again, and a scream, an incantation-- [i]ferula.[/i] A servant or a parent, Amaury didn’t know, couldn’t tell. Bandages flew around his arm, cinching tightly to hold in the blood seeping out. Black again. Light again, but this time he was on his back. A ceaseless sting of beratings from his parents, his sister’s face, his brother’s face, his twin’s face. A burning pain in his right arm, his forearm. Bandages still cinched tightly around the area. Black again.

Two years later, the scar still remained. A thin, faint line of raised skin, stretching six and a half centimeters down the inside of his right forearm. It was hard to notice unless one looked closely, although Amaury never let anyone get close enough to quite make it out clearly. But even if it wasn't obvious to outsiders, Amaury was painfully aware of its presence, taking it as a warning. The warning, though, was not of getting ahead of himself, of biting off more than he could chew. No, contrary to expectations, the warning was this: to stay on his toes. To stay on his toes to know his abilities, know his limits. To stay on his toes to avoid stray spells, or non-stray spells that were specifically aimed at him. 

Although his façade claimed he could take a hit, he was fully aware of his weak and lean stature, so he relied on his quick dodges and powerful spells to keep him standing. And as he duelled, as he practiced, he only got quicker, faster, lighter on his toes-- his dodges became more anticipated, his evasions became more fluid, and he was nearly untouchable.

wc:431
[/size][/reducio]
[size=95][b]YEAR FIVE |[/b][/size] [size=83]FEARLESS[/size]
[reducio][size=87]Amaury never intended to find himself in an illegal duel during the short days he spent at the Hogwarts castle, but the enthusiastic Russian boy who accosted him one autumn afternoon seemed to have other plans. Duelling was the topic of conversation, one Amaury knew plenty about. The other boy, too, seemed similarly interested, and Amaury couldn't resist delving into the topic with a fellow duellist, however frivolous he may seem. And although Amaury feigned apathy at the Durmstrang student's suggestion that the two have a "fun" practice session, he couldn't help but be intrigued. Duelling was duelling, no matter the opponent, and Amaury was simply eager to get back on the stage-- so to speak.

It was truly a shame, Amaury thought as he made his way towards the location the two had agreed upon, that a boy so optimistic had set himself up for failure at the wand of Beauxbaton's finest dueller-- at least, in Amaury's eyes. He stood across from the boy, wand at the ready, as his competition raised his own.

Amaury knew people. He knew what they would say, how they would react, what topics made them tic.  Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the onslaught that bubbly little Maksim Preobrazhensky released from his wand that afternoon. The boy seemed to morph into a different person, smiles and small talk replaced with intimidation and concerningly colorful insults. The spells came towards Amaury at a furious speed, a deadly glare in Maksim's eyes, unlike anything Amaury had seen before. This was the face of a boy who had nothing to lose, the face of a boy who knew what he wanted, who could send Amaury to the infirmary with just a look.

Amaury saw death in this boy's eyes as they slung their spells, all ground rules and forethought out the window. This was a fight for his [i]life[/i]. He seemed to shrink as he shot his spells with the same intensity that usually came naturally but now felt forced as he simply held his ground and waited out the storm. There would be no risky, offensive moves today. The typical cocky confidence that held his head high and ego higher slipped away, until it all suddenly... stopped. 

The smile sat comfortably on Maksim's face, as if it had never disappeared. As if not one minute ago he was targeting Amaury as the victim of his deadly slew of spells.

Amaury left Maksim, feeling shaken yet determined. He had felt, standing across from the other boy, [i]helpless.[/i] Perhaps even... scared? Neither were feelings Amaury was particularly familiar, or comfortable, with. So, determined. Determined to take the stage with an air of confidence, and leave the same way, [i]every single time.[/i] None of this fear nonsense. There was no one in this world who could stand up to Amaury now-- why should they? He had faced God today, and dammit, if he wasn't going to come out the other side stronger, better, and unafraid of Death himself.

wc: 504
[/size][/reducio]
[size=95][b]YEAR SIX |[/b][/size] [size=83]SPELL SPREAD[/size]
[reducio][size=87]No one living in the Favreau Manor ever did anything small. Go big or go home, that was their way. There was no room in such a rich, Pureblood lifestyle for moderation. From pranks to parties, lush extravagance and profligacy were always at the forefront of a planning committee’s minds in the Favreau Manor. Everything, everything was over the top, ostentatious, showy. And Amaury was no different, particularly when it came to his strongest suit: duelling.

Amaury was no stranger to powerful spells… or a little underhanded trickery to give him a leg up. Not that he needed any sort of crutch, because he was perfectly capable of winning a duel with sheer talent alone, thank you very much. But that didn’t mean that a few tricks up his sleeve wouldn’t help, or, y’know, just look cool as hell. And he was all about looking cool as hell as he knocked his opponent out cold. And this trick he learned was, indeed, something to admire.

It was only for the most powerful spellcasters, this skill. Those who are just a bit reckless, just a bit too powerful for their own good, those who are perhaps lacking a bit concerningly in self-preservation. Splitting one spell into two distinct beams of light, capable of hitting two separate targets– it was a wild, unpredictable force that took great talent and concentration, and a little bit of sheer luck. It was perfect for Amaury.

Amaury [i]was[/i] reckless. He was reckless enough to perhaps one day stumble upon this spell-splitting technique by accident one day. But he had heard tales, read tales, of the great wizards who could control the magic, summon immense power, and split their spells into equally powerful fragments. It was no accident that the boy had developed this skill. He sought it out.

Amaury had been burnt before in his boundless quest for knowledge and power, literally at times. He had scars to show for it. But although he had learned lessons, sure, never before had the boy managed to learn the [i]proper[/i] lesson that should be taken away from these injuries. He hadn’t learned that attempting skills above his age level seemed to always end in some sort of disaster– no, he had just learned that he needed to [i]try harder[/i] next time. And this was what he did. Again. And again. And again. Because although the young Favreau was a mere sixteen, the great wizards of the past were no match for his sheer stubbornness and determination. And so Amaury, just a child, learned to wield the power, splitting his spells into two distinct beams of light on command. It was still unstable, sure, and never had he managed to get it more than a few times in a row without it backfiring on him, but he had done it. He had conquered the spell spread.

wc: 483
[/size][/reducio][/quote]
[quote][center][size=87]All mentions of Amadea Campbell’s iNPC, [i]Sylviane Favreau,[/i] have been approved by Amadea.[/size][/center][/quote][/quote]

Approved

NPC Name: Viola Tempete
Link:
Year: 3rd moving onto 4th
Stats: Stamina - 6 | Evasion - 9 | Strength - 6 | Wisdom - 11 | ArcPower - 7 | Accuracy - 11
Abilities: Spell Spread (Word count: 494)

Reducio

Viola was fully aware of her talent as a spellcaster, but it was hard not to want to chase further power, especially with her upbringing. Magic flowing her was something that made her feel strong, something that made her feet feel perfectly grounded. Runners had runner’s high, alcoholics had their moments before the hangover hit, adrenaline junkies had the rush of energy that came with risk, and Viola had magic.

She was an earnest learner, a fact remarked upon by all her tutors, magical and non-magical alike, and she learned fast. So when, over the holidays, Viola discovered yet another show of magical prowess, she was quick to want to discover and try it for herself. The ability to split your spells in two, hitting two targets at the speed and energy of one? Viola needed to learn how.

She cast possibly a hundred Flipendos in their house’s training room, recording her observations and occasionally getting her tutors to come in and give notes. She tried getting an understanding of her existing skill, and the skill needed to achieve her goal. Her spells were accurate and careful, sure, but they weren’t big enough. They had to become stronger. She had to have all the grandeur in the world, and that meant making sacrifices, so she began focusing less on accuracy and more on pure force.

It took weeks before she produced any effects around the calibre she was hoping for. It wasn’t enough, because nothing had ever been enough for Viola Tempete, but it was something and she couldn’t help but be excited. The practice was paying off, that much was abundantly clear. Still, there was more work to be done.

Slowly she began sacrificing the rest of her studies for it. Of course, she never let herself fall too far behind (any significant falls of performance would result in the contact of her mother, and Viola really couldn’t have that, especially not while she was so, so painfully close to reaching the splendour she oh-so-needed), she never would, but it was clearly noticeable; soon she found herself met with strange, concerned looks from her tutors, asking her whether she was okay and when she had last slept.

Maybe she was getting a little obsessed, but she was naturally ambitious; after all, determination was part of a package deal with her surname. If she fell slightly behind, and began skipping out on some meals and events, it wasn’t anything of the level her parents would notice, so it was alright.

She still regretted not being able to record the exact time her hard work paid off. It hadn’t happened at the click of a button, rather a result of pain and practice and almost-quitting for over two months, and she hadn’t realised when, but she had gotten it. Practising with dummies, she could set two on fire with a single Incendio Duo, and the feeling consuming her couldn’t be described as anything but glee.

Extracurricular: Quidditch player
Content Changes:

Personality

Reducio

Before Viola is Viola, she is a Tempete. There are many expectations that come with that surname, and she spends every waking moment attempting to fill in the shoes her parents have so-carefully designed for her. Tempetes are intelligent and powerful and command attention without effort. They're ambitious and take any means to achieve their ends. They exude elegance, charisma and confidence. There are many things a Tempete is, meaning there is many thing Viola must be.

However, without the influence of her family name, Viola hasn't had many opportunities to develop her own personality. If you sat her down and asked her who Viola was without her family, she would have no answer. She's smart and competitive and social and confident, but how much of that identity can she call her own and not her parent's, she cannot be sure.

She's kinder than her parents, although she's gotten used to repressing that side of her around them, and she gets confused if she considers their ideals of superiority or tradition for too long; she finds it easier to indulge the idea that her family is better than others instead of questioning why. She likes reading, studying, spellcasting, fashion, playing the harp and- at least whenever her parents aren't watching and her art tutors feel like indulging her- sculpting. She’s terrified of her parents but needs their approval before she needs air or water or food. She's curious and earnest and observant (and a little spiteful sometimes, just for the fun of it), but all that is Viola, and once again, Viola is a Tempete before all else.

Updating because I felt like the personality I was writing Viola with didn't really match her current description. When I first wrote it, the ideas I had were kind of vague and I don't think I expressed them well.

History - 493 words

Reducio

Viola was born in a hospital in Bordeaux, France, on a late afternoon the 23rd of August, to parents Lucien Tempete and Lola Thorne. Even as a child, she had a lot of pressure put on her to be the very best, by both her family and everyone else. The Tempetes were old-money and owned the largest wine business in all of Europe, and her mother was the founder of a major perfume and jewellery business. Although both the Tempete and Thorne families were purebloods, they found that their individual businesses thrived in muggle environments. Despite this, neither families held respect for muggles, seeing them to be inferior to wizards. They also discriminated against anyone whose blood they declared impure, meaning Viola was raised in a majorly “pro-pureblood, anti-everyone-else” household. Viola's views on the topic are vague and undecided, and although she desperately wants to agree with her family, her personal research shows that there is no reasonable reason to find non-purebloods to be inferior. She pretends to hate them to keep her parents happy; in a family like hers, sacrifices have to be made.

Before she turned 11, Viola was homeschooled for the whole of her education by the most prestigious tutors. They taught her about magic theory, magic history, quidditch and magical creatures, as well as muggle history, economical studies, maths, French, science and languages, ranging far from English to German. Viola did outstandingly in each subject.

However, that was not enough. Her entire life, she was pushed to be good enough to carry her family's name. She had to live up to the successes of her parents. Her mother’s life had been a typical rags-to-riches story, going from living in a tiny apartment in Normandy with her parents and two sisters to starting her own largely successful perfume and jewellery company, leading to her being one of the richest women in the country. Lola had spent her Beauxbatons education bypassing all her peers in grades and playing as the seeker of the school’s Quidditch team. Lucien had inherited the family business and estate, and since having done so, tripled their profits. Much like Viola’s mother, he had been an overachiever at school, and a prefect.

Viola showed her first instance of magic earlier than her peers. She was grateful; she was too young to know how disowning worked, but she knew her parents wouldn’t appreciate a squib child. She had been 2, and so did not remember it well, but her parents loved to brag about it to others, so she had a vague idea as to what had happened. According to her parents, she had found a flower she had liked and had made it float and change colours. The truth was that her parents had locked her in a room with the flower for multiple hours until she had finally exploded open the locked door, but Viola had been two at the time. However could she have known?

Updating mostly to change grammar/spelling and the way I wrote things, but also there are some changes to small details or added details, like Lola being from Normandy and her family and Viola not studying 4+ languages because she's 11, but that's pretty much it.

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Reducio

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[td][quote][center][b][i][u][size=150]TRUNK[/size][/u][/i][/b][/center][/quote][/td]
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[td][quote][size=85][b]STATISTICS[/b][/size]
[i]stamina [/i]- 6
[i]evasion [/i]- 9
[i]strength [/i]- 6
[i]wisdom [/i]- 11
[i]arcpower [/i]- 7
[i]accuracy [/i]- 11[/quote]
[quote][size=85][b]ACTIVITIES[/b][/size]
[i]broom Racing[/i] - No
[i]duelling[/i] - No
[i]quidditch[/i] - Yes[/quote][/td]
[td][quote][size=85][b]ABILITIES[/b][/size]
[table][tr][td][i]year one | [/i]
[indent][indent]charmer[/indent][/indent][/td]
[td][reducio]Viola is charming. She knows when to smile at he right time, when to speak, when to not, she knows how to take someone's attention and keep it. She has to; it's not like she has a choice. For years she's been groomed to become the perfect daughter, conversationalist and business owner. To achieve her full potential, Viola must be charming.

She mustn't speak unless she has something good to say. She mustn't express her opinion if others do not agree with it. She must smile and be polite and respectful. She must hold up the family reputation. She must be a Tempete. To do this, she must be charming.

Thankfully for her, it comes naturally to Viola to create the illusion of charm, and if it takes a bit of manipulation, sacrifices must be made. She knows how to keep someone hooked, and she's not afraid to do so.
She is flirtatious when she has to be and it would be a lie to say she does not enjoy it. She can be flattering and has mastered the art of manipulation and how to tell people exactly what they need to hear.

She knows how to watch people and see what they react best to, and she knows how to display these things. She can seem charming, respectful and polite, and she is pretty good; it makes sense, considering she's been taught how to do it for years. It was one of the things her tutors taught her. How to charm. It is important to be persuasive, likeable and agreeable. It is important if she is to truly be a Tempete. And that's all she's ever wanted.

Her natural beauty only adds to her charm. She knows she is aesthetically appealing, and she's long learned how to use that to her advantage. She takes good care of her skin and hair, and chooses clothes which do nothing but complement her looks, discomfort or not.

Her charm promises future opportunities, and she is not afraid to use it to get what she wants. Although she's never really had a crush- good grief, she is too emotionally distant to care about people in that way- if she ever did, she would turn their heads around.

After joining Beauxbatons, the extends of her charm have rarely been put to use, as she only needs to put enough charm to have a consistent reputation amongst her fellow students. A time where her charm was fully put to use would be before she joined the school, when she was younger. She used to come to some of her parents' business meetings, as a way of creating emotional appeal.[/reducio][/td][/tr]
[tr][td][i]year two | [/i]
[indent][indent]lovely creature[/indent][/indent][/td]
[td][reducio]Viola is conventionally attractive. To her, this is a weapon and a tactic.

Her long, brown hair is silky in texture and is well-cared for. Viola spends about 45 minutes on it every day, which could be used for other things, but it pays off. Her hair is always in good condition and she is often complimented on it. Her large, baby blue eyes are a nice contrast to her fair skin, which lacks acne due to a methodical, consistent and complicated skin care routine. Her nose is small and fits nicely with the rest of her face. She often wears perfumes produced by her mother's company, which means she smells as good as she looks.

Viola's mother often had her model some of the jewellery produced by her company. This began when she was 6. As a child, this made Viola curious. Why was she modelling when her mother could simply employ someone far older who would actually be paid? It just didn't make sense. It was bad for business to have children work, or any workers be unpaid. One would be child labour while the other would be slavery. Both would be unethical, and could be the cause of a significant lawsuit. Viola knew this only because she had learnt about it in her economic studies class.

Her mother replied dismissively, [b]"Look, darling, you're young and you're beautiful. Your skin is clear, your hair is smooth. We use your beauty to attract customer. Easy. And they cannot see your face, or your entire body all at once; nobody will be able to tell that you aren't an adult employee."[/b]

That was a lot of things to unpack for Viola. First of all, "you're beautiful" had been the first time Viola's mother had ever complimented her. Second, it rose the idea that you could break the law and ignore basic ethics as long as it met your goal. Ambition and determination was key. Third of all, and possibly the most important point, it brought up the idea of using her beauty, a gift, as a weapon, a tactic.

Soon, she began realising that a lot of people thought she was aesthetically appealing. And she began wondering how she could use it to her advantage. It's how the flirting began for the precocious young child. It's how she realised she could use her beauty to use people. It's how her manipulation began.

Because she was a lovely creature, and not using that to her advantage could be damned.[/reducio][/td][/tr]
[tr][td][i]year three | [/i]
[indent][indent]perfectionist[/indent][/indent][/td]
[td][reducio]You remember when you were seven years old.

Your defensive spell-casting teacher scowls at you as he waits for you to get your wand movement right. He tells you you're doing it wrong. He refuses to explain how you can do it right. It should make you feel angry. It certainly makes you feel confused. But you keep trying, because that's just the way things are.

Honestly, your defensive spell-casting teacher is better than your potions one. He never raises his voice, for example. But you've grown among aristrocrats, so his passive aggressiveness strikes in a way that's almost worse. You asked to view his credentials when he became your tutor. His career and education was far greater than the potion tutor's. But the more you feel his glare burning into your arm, the less you care.

You're not even casting real magic. The thing you're holding, although it could be confused for one, is only a realistic replica of a real wand. You're too young to be casting real magic. If anything makes you feel angry, it's probably that. You've always been a dutiful student, though, and you do enjoy theory in most cases. But you know too much about magic to never have used it, and you have to admit that makes you angry sometimes. It took you a while to identify the emotion, but that's what it is; anger. Hesitant, tentative, but anger nevertheless.

Mother tell you that when you get angry, you should keep quiet, and observe. Everyone has weak spots, she tells you sometimes. When you're angry at them, you find their weak spots and make them regret ever angering you. You're not sure what you should do about this anger though, because it's not really directed at anyone. Your tutors are only doing their job, following orders, and if you got angry at that, you'd be a hypocrite. Your parents are not the ones to direct your anger at, because they're your parents. You know they only want the best for you.

So, you push the anger deep down, and you concentrate. You try to remember the way your tutor talked about the wand movement of the spell. You stop fully, thinking through every flick of his wrist, the way his hands held the smooth wood of his wand. You're almost certain you hear him take that passive aggressive tone again after the confusion at your lack of movement fades away, but you can't be sure. You're not concentrating on him.

You take a deep breath, four counts in, five out. You adjust your grip on the wand, and you try again.

You think you did it correctly, but looking at your tutor's expression, you did not. He mutters a word underneath his breath that you vaguely recognise as a word your father told you was not "fit for a Tempete." It is a matter of horrid luck that this is when your mother decides is the best time to check in on you. She does this with your lessons once every week, and it frustrates you that you excel in all classes and she has seen you during the one time so far in the entire week when you have been struggling.

She takes your tutor aside for a quick chat about your progress. Your tutor explains dutifully, with a look of admiration and worship in his eyes. He looks like he's mildly afraid but fully respecting of your mother, like she is a god in his eyes.

Is that what you look like?

Your mother is a woman who commands fear, admiration and respect. It's as if she rules every ground she steps on, and the charm that oozes from her presence makes everyone act as if that where the case. One day you will be like her.

She strides up to you, her expression transformed from a generally content to a neutral one. She strides, because your mother's name is Lola Thorne, and Lola Thorne doesn't walk, she strides. And it's because you have grown up with Lola Thorne as her mother that you know a "neutral" expression is not one of indifference, it's one of seething rage. Maybe that's also the reason you feel the sudden need to run and never look back. But you won't even entertain that possibility, because it's not one worth entertaining.

[b]"Mr Vermeulen, could you please leave my daughter and I,"[/b] you know better than to interrupt and correct her grammar, [b]"and wait outside? We should only be a moment."[/b]

Your tutor nods with more force and intensity than you think someone of his age should. You don't say that though, because it would be rude, and you're too busy trying not to leave with him. You want nothing more than to leave, or at least look down, look away, look anywhere but at your mother's eyes, for in them lies disappointment. But you're a Tempete, and Tempete's make direct eye contact, and don't run away. Tempete's establish authority.

You don't feel particularly authoritative right now.

The moment your tutor is out of the room, your mother snaps to you.

[b]"Darling, you must understand, this cannot happen. You cannot struggle, you cannot fail. You are a Tempete, and that is a privilege, but not a right. You have not earned that right yet, and if you continue like this, you never will. You realise your father and I only wish the best for you?"[/b]

You've done it. You've messed up the single rule. There's nothing much to what you have to do. Just two things; live up to the Tempete legacy, and never disappoint your parents. It's not that hard! You achieve the second when you achieve the first! It should be easy! Why isn't it easy?

[b]"Yes, mother. Of course."[/b]

[b]"Then you must understand that when we want the best for you, we expect the best from you. Anything below the best is failure, and Tempete's are not, and will not be, failures."[/b]

You nod, because you think that if you talk, you might scream.

[b]"And if you're a failure... Well then, are you a Tempete at all?"[/b]

You freeze, and you know you would drop dead if your breath left your body, but maybe you should double check that, because you're fairly certain it just did. Your mother turns without so much as a second glance, pausing as her hand touches the door handle.

[b]"I love you, dear. But I love this family too, and I will not tolerate anything that risks its fall."[/b]

You nod, and your mind is blank but too full at the same time, and it hurts. And you realise who you're angry at. You realise who you should be angry at. Yourself. Perfection is reachable if you try hard enough, so you're clearly not trying hard enough. It's like the piece has clicked, and you feel a certain satisfaction. If the problem is you, then it can be controlled. So you'll control it, and you'll be perfect, and you'll live up to the Tempete name, and mother will never have to say 'darling' with a mix of disgust and disappointment.

So you do that. For years, and years, and years. You push yourself. Failure has never been an option for a Tempete, and the moment it becomes an option is the moment you know you'll never be enough to carry that name. One could call you an overachiever, a perfectionist.

You'd rather just call yourself Viola Rhea Tempete.[/reducio][/td][/tr]
[tr][td][i]year four | 
[indent][indent]spell spread[/indent][/indent][/i][/td]
[td][reducio]Viola was fully aware of her talent as a spellcaster, but it was hard not to want to chase further power, especially with her upbringing. Magic flowing her was something that made her feel strong, something that made her feet feel perfectly grounded. Runners had runner’s high, alcoholics had their moments before the hangover hit, adrenaline junkies had the rush of energy that came with risk, and Viola had magic.

She was an earnest learner, a fact remarked upon by all her tutors, magical and non-magical alike, and she learned fast. So when, over the holidays, Viola discovered yet another show of magical prowess, she was quick to want to discover and try it for herself. The ability to split your spells in two, hitting two targets at the speed and energy of one? Viola needed to learn how.

She cast possibly a hundred Flipendos in their house’s training room, recording her observations and occasionally getting her tutors to come in and give notes. She tried getting an understanding of her existing skill, and the skill needed to achieve her goal. Her spells were accurate and careful, sure, but they weren’t big enough. They had to become stronger. She had to have all the grandeur in the world, and that meant making sacrifices, so she began focusing less on accuracy and more on pure force.

It took weeks before she produced any effects around the calibre she was hoping for. It wasn’t enough, because nothing had ever been enough for Viola Tempete, but it was something and she couldn’t help but be excited. The practice was paying off, that much was abundantly clear. Still, there was more work to be done.

Slowly she began sacrificing the rest of her studies for it. Of course, she never let herself fall too far behind (any significant falls of performance would result in the contact of her mother, and Viola really couldn’t have that, especially not while she was so, so painfully close to reaching the splendour she oh-so-needed), she never would, but it was clearly noticeable; soon she found herself met with strange, concerned looks from her tutors, asking her whether she was okay and when she had last slept.

Maybe she was getting a little obsessed, but she was naturally ambitious; after all, determination was part of a package deal with her surname. If she fell slightly behind, and began skipping out on some meals and events, it wasn’t anything of the level her parents would notice, so it was alright.

She still regretted not being able to record the exact time her hard work paid off. It hadn’t happened at the click of a button, rather a result of pain and practice and almost-quitting for over two months, and she hadn’t realised when, but she had gotten it. Practising with dummies, she could set two on fire with a single Incendio Duo, and the feeling consuming her couldn’t be described as anything but glee.
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Approved

I already answered in a separate owl but you can make this change but you need to d so before updates close (which they are in a few hours). So please papertrail if this is what you wish to do.

Also, please please please give me a link in the future so I can update your stats. It adds a lot of work for me to manually update this when i have to also find your thread among the hundreds of others.