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[quote][quote][center][img]/images/upload/xdj12g.webp[/img][/center][/quote][/quote]
[quote][quote][center][size=115]C H A R A C T E R • I N F O R M A T I O N[/size][/center][/quote]
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[center]S[size=75]TA[/size] | [size=125][b]5[/b][/size]‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‎  S[size=75]TR[/size] | [size=125][b]1[/b][/size]‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‎  E[size=75]VA[/size] | [size=125][b]20[/b][/size]‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‎  W[size=75]IS[/size] | [size=125][b]12[/b][/size]‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‎  A[size=75]RC[/size] | [size=125][b]12[/b][/size]‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎  ‎  A[size=75]CC[/size] | [size=125][b]20[/b][/size]
[reducio][center][i]+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=9840&start=90#p157988]Quidditch win[/url] vs. Slytherin (April 2020)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=13593&start=150#p225180]Quidditch win[/url] vs. Slytherin (Oct 2020)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?f=40&t=15343&p=254406#p254406] Quidditch win [/url] vs. Ravenclaw (Jan 2021)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=269331#p2693319]Quidditch win[/url] vs. Hufflepuff (May 2021)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=286320#p286320]Quidditch win[/url] vs. Hydra & Wixes United (Aug 2021)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=306202#p306202]Quidditch win[/url] vs. Hufflepuff (Oct 2021)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=21161&start=70#p452628]Quidditch win[/url] vs. Slytherin (May 2022)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=738387#p738387]Duelling win[/url] vs. Ravenclaw (May 2023)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=28323&start=60#p766070]Quidditch win[/url] vs. Hogwarts (July 2023)
+1 from [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=29771&start=60#p893649]Duelling win[/url] vs. Ravenclaw (Nov 2023)[/i][/center][/reducio][/center][/quote]
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[table][tr][td][b][url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=7503&start=10#:~:text=to%20your%20stealth.-,Calming%20Presence,-Your%20presence%20simply]Calming Presence[/url][/b] — [i]An aura of calm. Allies (defined at the START of an instance regardless of later betrayal) gain a 10% chance to auto-hit their chosen target. This does not stack.[/i][/td][td]
[reducio][center]────── R A T I O N A L E ──────[/center]
Calm. Collected. Reserved. Children ought to be seen, but not heard. This was the way of child rearing for some time, and a sentiment still held by many a family, pureblood or otherwise. Strictly speaking, Greta's family did not [i]quite[/i] hold tight to such a notion. Theirs was a relatively small and nuclear family with a proud, but modest living. A living that they were required to work to maintain. Her Greta's father had his breeding and husbandry, while her mother continued to master and expand her craft with wand-making. 

These were trades that would, in theory, be someday passed down to the Fransson children. In order to do so successfully, however, it meant that early rearing into the businesses would be required, alongside the careful cultivation of discipline and an appreciation for toil. This was more easily achieved with Greta, the younger of their two children, helped in no small amount by the fact that she had chosen to refrain from attending muggle school in the nearby town in favour of receiving an education provided by her parents that they tailored towards their family businesses and the wizarding traditions that had held to for so many years. 

That Greta took to their teachings and allowed herself to be moulded and crafted to their preference, so readily doing as she was told and ultimately playing the part of an ideal daughter instilled within her parents a great deal of comfort. In her, at least, they could rest assured that the wand-making — as that was the task to which she gravitated with more keen interest than the tending of the magical animals — would carry on in their line.

Greta's demure and reliable nature went beyond her dedication to her role within the structure of home and family. Although it was no doubt an irritation at times for Hanzo, the fact that she took such an interest in his life and whereabouts was a comfort to their parents. Especially given his attendance at the muggle school, they couldn't watch over him the way they could Greta. Nor were they generally inclined to wander into the town proper more than necessary. Given her tendency to accompany him to and from his place of study, however, she could — and often did — serve the bridge between them, reporting to their parents his whereabouts and level of well-being, while also passively acting to curb any wild tendencies that might have arisen due to her incessant — nearly to the point of obsessive — need to be with him. 

More importantly, Greta always had Hanzo's back. Quiet and shy she might be, but she was every ounce of her a capable witch in her own right. Elusive, agile, collected and capable, she could support him in a duel if ever it came down to it. Plus, having grown up with him, she possessed an uncanny ability to read her brother's intent, able to react accordingly in an instant without the need for lengthy discussion. She dedicated herself to her studies at Durmstrang, proving herself to be a quick study with spells, and an above-average mage with wicked aim. And even on the pitch, the team could always rely on her to net them a few goals. She was reliable. All those who knew her well and she considered within her circle could rest assured that her presence, regardless of the situation, would contribute positively.
[quote][center][b]Word Count: [/b]566[/center][/quote][/reducio][/td][/tr]
[tr][td][b][url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=7503&start=10#:~:text=the%20Imperius%20Curse.-,Perfectionist,-When%20you%20cast]Perfectionist I[/url][/b] — [i]You have a reduced critical failure chance range by 1. In addition, you can counter up to 1 point of additional critical failure chances caused by abilities or spells (not potions).[/i][/td][td]
[reducio][center]────── R A T I O N A L E ──────[/center]
Excellence. Superiority. Consistency in everything. Concepts hardly foreign to many households, they held especially true within that of the Fransson's. Pureblood and proud, there was little room for any sign of weakness. As the yougner of the two Fransson children, Greta lived perpetually in the shadow of her elder brother and felt this keenly. This year, she had taken one step to differentiate herself. Or, perhaps the better explanation would be that where Hanzo had taken one, she had not. 

Or at least... hadn't intended to. Where Hanzo had drifted from his position as chaser and captain of the Durmstrang Quidditch team, Greta had meant to remain on the team. Influenced in part by her success on the pitch against Hogwarts, as well as her desire to remain playing alongside her friend, Ella, Greta had fought the urge to pad after Hanzo as he drifted towards duelling. Despite this, Greta's attention [i]had[/i] drifted towards duelling in some capacity. There was little doubt that she could execute in the air upon a broom. Her presence as a chaser had been a commanding one, earning herself many a praising word, and even an admirer or two. But after the camp, there had been one event that had stuck with her, eating away at her self-confidence: the team-based duelling chess game. This was only furthered by parental pressure, which would ultimately prove the stronger. Quidditch was hardly a suitable pursuit when she was expected to invest in the family business of wand making. They were a family bound to the wand, not the broom. 

Although her performance had hardly been something to evoke a snide remark, neither had it been particularly impressive. For days afterwards, she had dwelled on the fact that, under pressure, her spells had failed her nearly as often as they had succeeded. As a student from a prodigious combat-oriented school, this had sat poorly with her indeed. She was the progeny of a wand-maker. Poor casting performance would never do. What was worse, her mother had somehow caught wind of her embarrassing performance, and the sight of her lips pursed in disapproval had nearly sundered the young girl's heart in twain.

As a result, for the remainder of the summer, Greta had devoted herself to independent study, determined to make of herself a more worthy duellist. By the time school had started yet again, not only had she succeeded in drastically improving the consistency of her spell-casting, rarely failing a spell now; she had also gained better command of her wand. Unless circumstances were out of her control, it no longer back-fired against her. Something for which she was more than a little glad for all the balm and wrappings she had requested of her father in secret whenever her wand would act up in temperamental practice in her overzealous practice.

She would do her parents proud. Or strive to at least. As unimposing as she was, all she could do would be to minimise her ineptitude. To practice those things she was capable of honing to perfection.
[quote][center][b]Word Count: [/b]510[/center][/quote][/reducio][/td][/tr]

[tr][td][b][url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=7503&start=10#:~:text=the%20Charmer%20ability.-,Spell%20Spread,-You%20go%20big]Spell Spread[/url][/b] — [i]You can elect to reduce the accuracy of your spell by -2, increase the DC by 2 and the critical failure range by +1 to target a second user with your spell.[/i][/td][td]
[reducio][center]────── R A T I O N A L E ──────[/center]
Let it not be said that inaction flowed through the veins of the youngest of the Fransson's. While Quidditch had held a certain allure to the sport and the rush of wind to tousle her hair and the thrill of chasing down the quaffle were dearly missed, Greta fully accepted the change to her extracurricular career. From the moment she had joined the Durmstrang duelling team, she had been invested. While spellwork came relatively easily to the girl, [i]good[/i] simply wasn't good [i]enough[/i] and she had spent countless hours in the forest behind her home practicing her spellwork on unsuspecting vegetation. More than a few of the trees bordering their property sported the effects of her efforts. Deep gashes shimmered with dried sap where a flick of her wrist had sent a slash through the bark. Others found themselves adorned in the latest fashion of charcoal and ash where conflagrations had been allowed to catch and hold for a short time before being extinguished. Pock marks marred the ground where she had set up small objects to serve as target practice for various spells, their forms soon finding themselves flung free of their pedestals to land with a padded thud to fall into the loving embrace of the mossy forest floor. 

It had become something of her own little place of respite, as good as any to relish in her growing abilities while also loosing whatever frustrations plagued her. Such was how she'd found herself there again at the start of the summer. She did need to practice, that was true. There'd been rumour that perhaps they might be returning to Hogwarts even sooner than she might have expected. Really, it was almost as though the English school was becoming something of a second home. She'd thought perhaps the last occasion would be a one-time opportunity for her. Instead, staff had spoken about representing Durmstrang not only in air upon their brooms, but also with the wand. And that prospect positively [i]terrified[/i] Greta. What if she failed? What if she [i]lost[/i]? Not only would she dishonour her school, but her family as well. With her mother as a wandmaker, she had something of a name to uphold. A standard to strive for. It was as much fear of failure as it was ambition to win that led her to take her place among the foliage every morning and well into the day. 

With each day that passed, for every day that the competition drew nearer, her aptitude increased only to a point. Then, for whatever reason, it seemed to wane. Exhaustion, perhaps? Desperation? She found that where before, she could cast incessantly without fail, now her wand would falter nine times of ten. Even her accuracy seemed to falter, the spell sometimes seeming to divert of its own accord as though just to spite her. She couldn't have that. She couldn't. Her parents would have to be made proud. Durmstang as well. There would be no greater embarrassment than if it were because of her that her team were to fall short. Plus...An idea had occurred to her. If she could shine...maybe she could catch the attention of a certain someone, prove to him and their families that she could be a competent witch and a suitable match. 

This was when it had happened for the first time. Thoughts of Niche actually commending her abilities and the subsequent little fantasies that had followed had filled her with a sudden longing and thrill. The unleashing of the following spell had been [i]explosive[/i]. Where she'd intended to carve a line into the trunk of the tree nearest to her, the sudden crashing and cracking of a small sapling nearby as it toppled to the ground revealed that her spell had not been isolated to only the one target. Somehow, it had split, mirroring itself to the second as well. Surprised but intrigued, she continued to hone that newfound power, replicating it until she could do so at a whim.
[quote][center][b]Word Count: [/b]672[/center][/quote]
[/reducio][/td][/tr]

[tr][td][b][url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=7503&start=10#:~:text=the%20higher%20roll).-,Thunderbird%20Tail%20Feather,-Wands%20from%20Thunderbird]Wandmaker[/url][/b] — [[b]Thunderbird Tail Feather[/b] | [b]Larch[/b] | [b]28.6 cm[/b] | [b]Springy[/b]] 
[i]Once you reach 30% of your max HP, you gain +2 Arc, +2 Eva, and +2 Acc. If healed above 30%, these bonuses are lost.[/i][/td][td]
[reducio][center]────── R A T I O N A L E ──────[/center]
The family business. It was all Greta's parents seemed to care about for her. Her mother, Astrid, had made it her life's mission to develop and hone her ability as a wandmaker, earning the respect of many wizarding families in central Europe and abroad. For years, she had yearned to see Greta join her in that pursuit, with the plan for her to eventually take the business over when she had come into her own. And for years, Greta had resisted the (not so) gentle urgings, eager instead to follow after her brother in pursuit of whatever flavour of the month had captured his interest. For the longest time, that had been Quidditch. 

There had been a certain confidence that had gilded itself upon her heart during her foray of freedom amidst the clouds. Stature and lack of physical prowess meant little in the air and she was free to carve her own significance, learning to support her team in her own way. At least until her parents had pulled her from the team, spouting notions that it was savage, unrefined, and hardly befitting of a young girl such as her. Duelling, they had said, would be more appropriate. More applicable as well, in fact. [i]And[/i] would offer an opportunity to showcase their family wands and demonstrate their superiority of quality and power. 

That had meant little to Greta at the time, but as it happened, it quickly became apparent that despite a very notable lack of stamina or physical presence, the Fransson sister had a talent for martial magic. Discipline honed from rearing beneath the expectant gaze of her parents treated her well. She had always been an able caster, but that talent flourished on the duelling team. Carving a certain paradoxical notoriety for herself at school, she even went on to play a significant role in an impressive victory against Hogwarts the past summer. 

And yet, despite her apparent skill, she would shrink away from independence. If a decision arose, she would reflexively look to her brother or parents; or an elder student or respected figure if they weren't immediately present. The idea of getting in trouble terrified her; and the thought of disappointing her family left her paralyzed. In a school where confidence was key and a moment of hesitation could mean her undoing, how could she possibly expect to excel as she was now? That notion was all but solidified during her last excursion to Hogwarts. She may as well not have been present at the ball at all for all the good she had done her peers. Her wand work had spared Theo any prolonged embarrassment, but he wouldn't have gotten into that mess in the first place if it weren't for her. 

She was useless. Less than useless. Her brother had finally rid himself of her. Her old friends had largely forgotten her. Ella wouldn't talk to her and Niche had probably only accompanied her to the ball that one time out of pity. Or maybe just convenience to keep an eye on his sister. She wasn't special. She wasn't anybody. And try as she might, she couldn't think of any way to change that, not as she was now. But there wasn't really anything she could do about that. Not really. What she could do, however, was distract herself. 

She wasn't sure when it had happened, exactly, but at some point she had gotten it into her head to make herself a wand. It wasn't hard, not really. She had helped her mother gather and shape the wood before, and sort and prepare the cores for insertion. The steps were known and the material familiar. She had simply yet to put it all together. And if they wanted her to take over the business eventually, why not start now? The more she thought of it, the more the idea anchored itself. In a way, this would be one stage of striking out on her own. Her wand had been a gift from her mother, something of her creation. Just like she was. Just like her name and the rules that she followed. If there was any hope for her to be her own autonomous being, she would have to discard it with the rest of her shackles. She had already adopted "Greta" ages ago. Margarethe had always sounded so stiff to her. An aged name from a bygone era. The wand would just be the next phase. She could make herself a wand. She would...

[b]Wood: Larch[/b]—
Instilling confidence; that's what larch was well known for. It was one of the reasons that Greta had chosen it for her own wand. She had never felt confident. Not in herself, not in her abilities, not in her place among her family. If it wasn't her brother's shadow, then it was that of her friends. Or rather... those she would have liked to have been able to call friend. She wasn't sure if they considered her as such. How could they, really? She was just a little girl without a presence. She had to fight tooth and nail just to see over their shoulders or through the gaps between them. It was easier to stand on the perimeter and wait to be called. If they ever did. But that wasn't the type of person that she wanted to be. Not forever. 

Her mother and father, they had made names for themselves in their careers and in the magical community. Greta wanted to make them proud, to be able to stand her own ground, competent and capable of... [i]something[/i]. Whatever that might have been. She wanted to be able to tell Niche how she felt. To talk to Theo without feeling like she constantly had to look back over her shoulder. She wanted not to cringe at the drop of a pin, or worry about what the others thought of her. And if there really was some hidden truth to Larch.. if it really could help her find her place and draw out some hidden depth of courage she couldn't seem to find on her own... why wouldn't she choose it as her base? Plus, it wasn't like it was a poor choice. It was strong and durable and pretty to look at. It had a warmth to its tone that helped to chase off the chill of the northern Norwegian Spring. It was as good a wood as any other. And maybe it could help...

[b]Core: Thunderbird Tail Feather[/b]—
But what to use as the core? Now that was the real question. In preparation, she had spent time in her mother's store cupboard, handling each core (carefully) one at a time to see if she could detect any kind of connection. Admittedly, she wasn't sure if at any point she did or not. Some of them had left her hands feeling warm, or a fuzzy tingling feeling in her core... but then she couldn't reproduce that same sensation the next time she picked up the same core. There didn't seem to be any sort of consistency and she was left to believe it was all a doing of her own mind. And yet, time and again, she kept coming back to the selection of Thunderbird Tail Feathers. The one that she selected might not have been quite as handsome or pristine as the other, but it spoke to her in a way the others didn't. 

She wouldn't have known it at the time, of course, but the feather represented the storm that had start brewing inside of her. The values of her childhood bestowed upon her by her family were raging against those she was beginning to develop on those rare few excursions away from Durmstrang. Like the thunderbird core, there was a certain contrary side of her taking root, a nature that sought to rebel against the status quo and make her own decisions. But she would have to take care in doing so lest the urge present itself in a volatile delinquency better left to Yefim and the rest. 

Still, whatever caution she might have felt instinctually at the rise of independence could hardly stem her active desire for self-actualization. Thunderbird wands excel with complicated and large-scale transfigurations. What greater project than the self-actualization and reinventing of self? Of the caster themselves into a form best suited to the wand? One thing that could not ever be denied would be Greta's fighting spirit. As timid and docile as she might present herself under most circumstances, there was a little Valkyrie within her just yearning to take flight. It would come out now and then, showing its face during such times as quidditch and chess, when that black war paint would serve a mask to bring forth that which had been subdued and held down. 

It was a perfect fit, really, Thunderbird and Larch. Dangerous, even. It could pave the way for Greta to develop herself as her own individual, breaking from tradition and the binds of family expectation.

[b]Length: 28.6 cm[/b]—
Mousy and timid, few would describe Greta as lively or dramatic. But those were the individuals who only knew her superficially. Beneath the surface and behind her anxious mask stood a girl brimming with life and adventurous spirit. Of course, too long would hardly do. Greta might have been easy to smile and fast to laugh but she wasn't exactly gifted in stature. She was to be wielding a wand, not a yard stick. Still, neither could it be too short. It needed to house a tail feather, after all, and those weren't exactly ungenerous of length. It would be as long as it needed to be.

[b]Flexibility: Springy[/b]—
Ignorant of the realities of the world, Greta had always been a rather impressionable girl. Family values and parental ideals were, for the longest time, taken for face value. She upheld the notions of blood superiority without any reason to question it. Gullible and believing the best of everything and everyone, her beliefs were easily swayed and her path effortlessly redirectable. To say she was flexible would be an understatement. She was effectively without spine. It's a wonder she hadn't simply taken the nearest willow switch as her wand in the early days. But travel and exposure had a way of opening eyes and raising questions. Greta continues to remain flexible, but she is developing her own morality and beliefs and will learn to stand steadfast behind them.
[quote][center][b]Word Count: [/b]1745[/center][/quote]
[/reducio][/td][/tr]
[tr][td][b][url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=7503&start=10#:~:text=or%20other%20effects.-,Fearless,-You%20do%20not]Fearless[/url][/b] — [i]Fear effects such as a dhampir's aura, the ability terrible presence, a lycanothrope's intimidation or certain charms, potions and jinxes that would normally cause a fear effect do not work on you as you are immune to them.[/i][/td][td]
[reducio][center]────── R A T I O N A L E ──────[/center]
It hadn't been the easiest of years. As much as Greta had felt a sense of release after severing her bond with Hanzo in order to strike out to be her own person... well... it meant that she had to be her own person. Shadows seemed darker and whispers of sound more ominous when there wasn't someone behind whom she could immediately seek safe haven. Safety had been gained in many ways among her new family. It was hard not to feel well protected when a half-score of boys loomed overhead to leer at anyone who happened to look in her direction the wrong way. But they weren't always around. 

What was more, it was sometimes the case that she would have to make a stand for herself against [i]them[/i], something for which she would never have managed the courage at first. Over time, however, she grew accustomed to their habits and tendencies, and how those with the most intimidating exteriors had the softest hearts. Really, it was impossible [i]not[/i] to grow accustomed. Not when Yefim and Mikael seemed to carry with them an aura deeper than any hag or giant. They had never been anything but kind to Greta, and yet she had never quite been able to shake the sense of unease that gripped at her whenever she found herself in their presence. As if any second the slightest insult could trigger...[i]something[/i]. She was just grateful it was never really directed at [i]her[/i]. Usually, anyway. But then there was the boot camp over summer. 

The gathering of the Durmstrang team in preparation for the Hexwizard events had been something she couldn't ever possibly have been prepared for. Nevermind pushing them past their limits in training and concentration, Yefim had employed unorthodox tactics to deliberately scare them and test their resolve. More than once, Greta had been reduced to tears. There were times she had been able to power through it, to hold her composure enough to complete whatever trial had been laid before them. Frequently, however, that was not the case. She wasn't like them. There was good reason they felt the need to protect her. As capable and deadly as she could be, it came at the cost of fragility, both of body and mind. 

The only time she ever felt any sort of fearless, reckless abandon was when she was in flight, naught but a broom below her. The sky was her domain, and in it, she felt untouchable. As soon as her feet hit the ground, however, it was another story entirely. And she hated it. She could feel the weakness and the way it held the others back. If they were constantly looking over their shoulders to reassure her, how were they ever supposed to be able to tackle the challenges laid before them? Every day that passed with another jolt to her heart from this student or that situation was another gouge to her confidence, but she was the only one that could do anything about it. Yefim had put the gears in motion that summer, and so Greta carried the torch into the year. 

For the duration of their stay at Hogwarts and once they had returned home again, she sought—and at times created—opportunities to test her will, to push herself to the limit. Navigating in darkness.. practicing trick maneuvers in the air at heights she might have shied away from previously.. interjecting herself into social situations.. exploring the castle dungeons.. Little by little, the flutters and muscle tensions were more easily abated. It was never truly gone, of course, and now and then it would catch her unawares and unprepared. But for the most part, she no longer let her fear hold her back. If anything, she had learned to let that feeling fuel her into action.
[quote][center][b]Word Count: [/b]642[/center][/quote]
[/reducio][/td][/tr]
[tr][td][b][url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=7503&start=10#:~:text=through%20personal%20research.-,Lovely%20Creature,-You%20are%20so]Lovely Creature[/url][/b] — [i]You are very distracting to look at. This increases the Control DC of spells in duels and adventures by +2 as well as the DC for finding things in adventures or the DC for finding the snitch in a game of Quidditch. This ability does not stack.[/i][/td][td]
[reducio][center]────── R A T I O N A L E ──────[/center]
Greta had always been a rather unassuming individual. Pureblood parents had always insisted on strict adherence to what they dictated as acceptable behaviour. While her brother was praised for bold action and carving his own path, the same could not be said for the younger of the siblings. Hanzo had never expressed any intention of carrying on the family wandcrafting business, and so that responsibility was placed upon Greta's shoulders. Moreover, given their heritage, it was understood that her parents would one day establish an appropriate matrimonial match for her, if she did not provide an acceptable candidate herself. Sooner, rather than later. 

To these ends, she was monitored very carefully. Her parents dictated the classes she could take, the extracurriculars in which she could participate. They instructed her on proper decorum, how to dress, the ways to present and carry herself. Her diet was regulated; her appearance polished. All in the name of good breeding. Not that it ever really seemed to amount to much. Although bubbly and exuberant as a young child, the pressure of expectation and rigid lifestyle had left Greta meek and timid. Without room to spread her wings, she had cowed, bent, in the regime of her parents. 

Whether intentional or not, however, this only seemed to add to the appeal she seemed to exude. Through her brother's friends, quidditch, duelling, and her time on Durmstrang's hexwizard team, Greta managed to effortlessly, and quite accidentally, gather a group of those whom she would consider brothers (and the odd sister). The foil to their bulwarks, she retained a delicate character cherished by those surrounding her. Bright smiles came frequently and easily; large doe-eyes sparkled frequently with adventurous innocence; and her persona and wardrobe highlighted a femininity uncommon to the stereotypically dour Durmstrang throngs. She may not have been particularly pleasing to the eye, nor entrancing in her speech. No blood of a veela flowed through her veins to grant her an exceptionally charming appearance. 

Nevertheless, those who called her their sister would ever insist that hers was a beauty that was not at all skin deep, but rather a presence that could leaven a moment, bringing relief of light to even the darkest hours. And puberty... it could be a blessing or a curse. But for Greta, she was gifted with the former. Baby fat had gradually faded, her round face slimming to a delicate heart and eyes appearing larger by relativity. The yellow of her straw-coloured hair had faded to a matured ash-blonde, cheeks rouging naturally. Thanks to the interventions of her mother, her teeth were straight and white. And her figure had shifted from that of a twiggish girl, to an athletic young woman. Overall, she had become quite pretty, every image the valkyrie after which she had been monikered.
[quote][center][b]Word Count: [/b]642[/center][/quote]
[/reducio][/td][/tr][/table][/quote][/quote]
[quote][quote][center][size=115]I N V E N T O R Y[/size][/center][/quote]
[quote][center]── I N G R E D I E N T S ──────────────────────────────────────────

[i]n/a[/i][/quote]
[quote][center]── P O T I O N S ───────────────────────────────────────────────

[i]n/a[/i][/quote]
[quote][center]── I T E M S ─────────────────────────────────────────────────

Oakshaft 79 — [i]Antique broom, created in 1879 and used during the first Atlantic crossing back in 1939[/i][/quote]
[/quote][quote][quote][center][size=115]A C T I V I T I E S[/size][/center][/quote]
[quote]1| Is your character a Broom Racer?: NO
2| Is your character a Quidditch Player?: [b]YES[/b]
3| Is your character a Duellist? NO[/quote][/quote]

Code: Select all

[quote][quote][center][b][size=150]Johannes Ambroży[/size][/b][/center][/quote]
[quote][size=125][b]Statistics[/b][/size] [size=75][i](72/72)[/i][/size]
Stamina: 10
Evasion: 17
Strength: 10
Wisdom: 9
ArcPower: 8
Accuracy: 18
[right][size=75][+5 duelling wins ([url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=274740#p262610]1[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=294538#p294538]2[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=301552#p301552]3[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=743554#p743554]4[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=882009#p882009]5[/url])
+2 quidditch wins ([url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?t=21952&start=80#p465779]1[/url], [url=https://hogwarts.io/viewtopic.php?p=766070#p766070]2[/url])][/right][/size][/quote]
[quote][size=125][b]Abilities[/b][/size]
[reducio][b]Ability 1[/b] | Foulplay
[reducio]Save face, keep your cards close and do not trust anyone completely. Just a few lessons to be taught when business meets political relations meet possible personal ruin. Of course, when Alexander Manfred Sauer drilled those sentences into his young charge, he knew exactly what he was doing. Johannes is a Shakespearean fool by nature, with a trickster's heart.

Smooth conning was a family trait for the Sauers- they didn't gain so much money wholly legally after all, but then again, most high-ranking families had some ties with the unsavoury more often than not. The Sauers were just a bit more, how you say, unapologetic about it. Alexander Manfred's father had been deeply involved in the mafia as a highly influential capo, holding a very close friendship with the local don- as had his father's father, who had immigrated from Italy to West Germany under orders to spread the influence. Nasty business did they do, keeping their magic under wraps as they worked their way through the ranks generation at a time with blood and their lives on the line.

And for a long while, that was how things worked. They would pass on their skills early on and watch them blossom, under the safety blanket that was their position, and attempt to contribute as much experience and ability to the sect as they ducked in and out of the public eye. Alexander Manfred was a stray in terms of historical context- he had taken off into life just as proper as he should have, married a nice woman with good ties and affirmed their alliance, but the moment that the child was announced, the man had packed right up and moved off into Frankfurt. Leaving behind all that he knew- the role of the future capo to his younger brother, Anselm Wilhelm Sauer.

His only daughter Cesia would eventually leave for Poland to pursue a life with another. Mildly disappointing, for his darling clearly deserved someone better in his rightful opinion, even if the sweet suaveness passed down from parent to child did seem to skip over the next generation. Life went on. In time Asriel was borne into the world- a sneaky child he would prove to be in his beginning years any time that Cesia would bring the babe over, but a sneaky child with too little to hide and too much to say. It was worrisome, almost. Perhaps this was where things were to die out, in the middle of a pretty estate in green rural Poland.

And yet three years later after his first grandchild came another. There was a spark there, in the infant's eye as Alexander Manfred loomed over him, all Sauer grey eyes and swaddled in pale green. There was something special in the child, even more special than the magic that ran through their veins. Even more special than the miracle that Cesia had even been able to conceive at all in such a stressful setting- Poland was slow but it was fast and Germany was even faster-. And with proper training, that specialness could bloom into something more. Yes yes yes, there was hope after all for the child.

But it would have to wait to be developed. And wait did he do and develop did it. Over letter he heard the exasperated jottings of Cesia, remarking that it seemed every day her boys seemed to get in more and more trouble, it seemed like every other day since Johannes was introduced to the town that he came back home with sticky fingers and a new trinket he had swiped from the counters. Time drew on and life continued.

7-year-old Johannes came into his home in Frankfurt in the middle of a perilous time. With the departure of Asriel to Durmstrang and the sudden addition of a child came trouble from the west. The little sect was cracking under the scrutiny of the local law enforcement, hastily dropping their publicity with all the swiftness of a desperate animal seeking safety. And without any prior notice did Anselm drop by, eager to visit his estranged brother and grandnephew.

So young Johannes meet his granduncle for the first time in his young life, two years into the child's 'apprenticeship'- more like babysitting, Anselm would often tease when the two brothers were alone- and there was an immediate shift. Alexander's brother had always been the more culture-savvy of the bunch, always been the better at children and adults alike, so it was a no-brainer that they would get along. It was only surprising how well did Johann attach himself to the mobster- for as much as Ansel was good at bonding with others, he was also just as good at the morally questionably things that he did.

The promise of potential. Er, the promise of potential, or so Johannes so often heard Alexander Manfred Sauer remind himself under his breath with a disappointed glare as if the boy couldn't hear him from behind a gleaming smug smile and scuffed boots that had been newly shined until they gleamed only a few hours earlier. It seemed that Johannes took after his granduncle much more than he did his grandfather- too reckless and getting way too much of a kick out of messing around than the bitty should have.

Regular folk don't take his wittiness as well as expected and 'imitation is the best flattery' doesn't work as well when the listener interprets it as mockery, you see. But as Johann matured at Durmstrang, his aptitude for chaos only increased. So Alexander Manfred took it upon himself to take in the boy every summer with the encouragement of his brother, silently planting the methodology on how exactly to sway people's opinions and keep unnoticed. The tools that he had been taught himself as a child were having a comeback, and he could only pray that Johannes Cyprian would use them well.

Unbeknownst to him, the boy was using it more than well. So useful, it needed to be utilised. And what better way to test it out than on those around him?[/reducio][right][size=75][WC: 1017][/size][/right][b]Ability 2[/b] | Charmer
[reducio]There was something about Johannes that drew you in and kept your attention. It didn't happen immediately- quite the opposite really, for it was easy at a glance to dismiss the boy as another troublemaker in red and fur. And it certainly didn't happen all at once. It was a slow build of opinion, constant lapping of water slowly eroding away your defences as he stands in front of you, all innocent words as he strips away the shields with surprisingly diligent patience.

A smooth talker, half-truths cheekily spilling themselves from his mouth with ease, there's a certain caution you should take when striking up deals with this bold trainwreck of a boy. There's no telling if he's going to toss you out or keep you in, taking and taking and yet acting as if he half didn't know it.

When he was younger, Johannes' quick mind and easy tongue had been what got him the attention of all who knew him- after all, there was a reason why the spare son was the one to be groomed under his grandfather's wing instead of Asriel after all, and that reason alone often made it so that he attracted just as much nasty stares as impressed. 

It only got worse- or better, depending on who you asked- the moment he stepped foot on Durmstrang land. So many people, not quite so alike in dignity, such a diverse mix of personalities that he had never encountered before. It made for the perfect set-up. Because there seemed to only be two types of people there, the sweet and the salty, and luckily Johannes is a good taste tester. 

He walked into his first-year shoulder to shoulder alongside his brother- yin and yang, some whisper as they pass- and walks out with teacher opinion split. Second year, he entered with a blank face and the first night there he decides he will make something of a name for himself. All he needed was some good setups and a solid amount of sweet talk.

With a bit of time and recklessness, he gains lackeys- loyal outcasts who are all too willing to follow around in an attempt to win sway over his heart, as if that was an easy feat to do- and together they form a group so chaotic it is impossible to decide if he is the bad influence or they are. And with his followers, he gains somewhat of a reputation in his little section of the castle. Those who grow to form their opinions of him off his stunts see him as a sly lunatic, a self-indulgent madman without care for authority, a slimy fake hiding under a pretty face. It's almost funny, the sheer contrast of interest there is. Some say he's a delinquent. Or a misunderstood pity party? Others say he's a rebel. Or the very picture of wayward potential? 

By this point, it's hard to keep track of what people say he is because it's easy to get muddled with contrasting opinions and Johannes is perfectly content to allow the rumours to spread. And while there was a great number of people who stop to stare at him with suspicious eyes every time he walks through the halls, tailed nicely by wand-wielding 

Go to Asriel if you needed a quick danger fix, full of spite and filled with the ever-present risk of being caught.

Johannes was for those who cared just a little too little for their heart.[/reducio][right][size=75][WC: 580][/size][/right][b]Ability 3[/b] | Evasive Maneuvers
[reducio]Meadows of thick green grass and colourful wildflowers surrounding on all sides, Johannes' earliest memories were fuzzy with time and turned bittersweet with fate, but at the very least he could remember that his adventures tagging along with Asriel in the Polish countryside were spent on foot. They went off the worn dirt road in Johann's direction so much that there was no need for bikes or other transportation like the ones he and his German peers became so fond of. A naturally fast kid with the speed that let him take the lead in the first half of every race, he used to pride himself more in bursts of speed than the very bad endurance that kept Asriel on top in the long run.

When he had been shipped off to Germany and placed into a different school at 8, he'd already been well-acquainted with the air under his feet and tough bark against his skin, the impact of ground meeting leather soles and the seasons nipping at his back. His departure from the golden fields to the concrete city of Frankfurt signified a shift from the free carelessness conveyed in the backfields of the Polish countryside to the peculiar combination of proper pureblood etiquette placed alongside modern society.

The next year was the first time he'd been on a proper broom by himself, zooming through the azure sky in circles around his grandfather as Alexander Manfred looked up from below, standing in the middle of a pretty green meadow that mirrored the Polish countryside he had just left. A few weeks after that, the Olympics had shown live on television. Passing by an electronics shop was the only reason why he had even seen it, the screen protected behind glass windows as people flipped and jumped in competition, and a crowd formed around it. Johannes had promptly begged his grandfather into taking after-school gymnastics classes.

Okay, wait a second. That's enough prose-y rambling about the past. We're talking about the now- talking less about the wholesome slice of his life turned foul. The present. The last month of summer and the beginning of the new year. As much as a straight shot Johannes was turning out to be, it seemed that wandwork wasn't his forte. Especially when it came to funny things like duelling- summer camp was only an embarrassing tipping point to an already subpar area. He wasn't bad at aiming or anything- years of messing around and finetuning his motor skills to give him some edge negated any such thought- but it was as if everything in the universe collided to give him the worst hand of cards. Sometimes it was the sun, sometimes it was the heat, and most of the time it was his wand freaking out on him. He used magic often for the little things- pranks and practicalities- but it seemed that the instrument felt more like a pacifist's tool in the barest of concepts. What a disappointing thought, but something that just had to be accepted.

It didn't matter anyway. Duelling involved standing on guard, but standing guarded still as a mother tree. Advance, defend- it was both the same in keeping rooted. Johannes was not the pinnacle of steadiness. He could hold his own and attack back like any other, but do so in the open, without cover or chance of escape? That would not do. He lived and breathed in the split second of the quickdraw, the wind stinging at his eyes as it rushed over him, the feeling of freedom in his bones tempered by danger and adrenaline. 

The last month after summer camp and the first of the new year, he started to train just a bit harder than usual. Not for pure strength like some of the more intimidating tanks of Durmstrang, not for magic- his roughened knuckles and scraped palms could not match up to the pretty hands soft with physical idleness- but for speed and agility. If he won't stand to bear the blows head-on, if he could not fire back jets of power from the pool of magic in his veins, then maybe he could attempt to avoid them altogether. Avoid them and hit back hard when they wouldn't see him coming. 

During his last month of summer in Germany, he researched and executed heavily the very basics of parkour to get around quicker between his paperboy job, errands, and his free time without a bike. The thrill of leaping and flipping through the air combined his affinity for gymnastics with the rush of constant motion, a light dollop of danger and flair atop the finest cake. He questioned his gymnastic coaches on how to keep limber "at boarding school"- easy cop-out, and it wasn't wrong- and took diligent notes to take with him back to Durmstrang.

There was a feral need to capture that feeling and prolong it- and if he could combine the muggle-type nature to the wizarding world that his ancestors buried? Well, that just made the deal all the sweeter. On his first day back to Durmstrang after classes, he picked up a school broom and sought out the flying and racing instructors, promoting some of the racers in his group up the ranks to learn a bit from them. His reputation preceded him and rumours started up. Soon he had to shoulder past sceptics whispering in contemplation at whatever trick he was planning, but he would not budge in his mission. Things were going to look up, he was sure of it. If not, well. He was going to take fate in fist and make it.[/reducio][right][size=75][WC: 935][/size][/right][b]Ability 4[/b] | Rapid Reviver
[reducio]Johannes had always been a bit of a self-sacrificial support-type sonuvabitch. 

He couldn't fill the unoccupied role of the true alpha male, not in the way that people needed and definitely not in the way that he's seen others do so. Of his budding Hellhounds, he was perfectly content serving as their resident witty pseudo-leader or, more accurately, a particularly convincing mascot of bad idea bingo. A fun deuteragonist to a plot going off the rails without a definite protagonist but a very obvious antagonist. Great job, kid, you got a charisma stat of 'surprisingly high, but still a dumbass'.

Sure, he had long admired the more accomplished wannabe delinquent groups out there from the comfort of Durmstrang's home base but the idea of [i]him[/i] being commander to the poor decision-making army was, in his opinion, outrageously unrealistic. And to be honest, for the general population, whose opinion of him ran very obvious laps around the title of a 'reckless, swaggering bastard' (not entirely incorrect but c'mon-), trying to sway any hypothetical opinion would be frustrating for all parties involved. 

Attracting attention was where he shined, but wielding that interest was a much harder task, regardless of all the instruction and inspiration he's taken from his upperclassmen. In conclusion, no he was not vying for the 'casting role of top dog to rule them all' any time soon.

In the meantime, he could take his attention off the mostly-irrelevant overall student body and focus on those he could call his own. Don't get him wrong, he couldn't really care less about most half-strangers he had the pleasure of peers with, but he didn't want the worst for them. It was just pretty obvious why he would apply himself most strongly to his friends and allies, the people who he would trust and not get metaphorically (though literally hasn't happened yet, he didn't doubt it) stabbed in the back. Unfortunately, that already limited number of brothers-in-arms waned frequently with the coming and going 

June 21st, our Johannes' birthday. What an occasion to remember, but the most relevant to our recollection today was a shoddily wrapped anatomy book from an upperclassman of his. Thick and surprisingly informative with full-page diagrams complete with plastic stages to get in and out of a certain sector of the body, his initial thoughts had shifted from vaguely confused to snarkily interested.

Looking back on it, it was entirely a giant gag gift, a homage to the many almost-grey hairs caused by his disregard for straightforward logic and safety, and that much was clear the moment he had unwrapped it to a chorus of hollered ribbing. The attached letter read as follows: "Since over half of you punks all insist on risking your heads on those brooms of yours, might as well figure out what's inside of them. Study session, anyone?" It remained a hot topic inside joke for weeks afterwards, finding its way into letters and meetups alike as it collected dust in between the cluttered bookshelves inside his room. 

It was on one particular evening that Johannes finally gave in to the pull, after so long making fun of its sheer existence in that specifically sarcastic way. Sit down, skip open the beginning pages, and- hook, line and sinker. With information about the body in full colour and explanatory paragraphs about how medical procedures worked, muggle and magical alike, it was shockingly interesting. Who would've thunk? 

The book, lenticular cover and all, was extraordinarily inconvenient to store and hold with its large size, but goddamn did that size hold some real goldmines. He'd clowned it for so long, only to be shown up by an already printed book, so who was the clown now? This was just the beginning of the end, that joke had spawned the birth of a wannabe bad boy's fiendish look into the healer's world![/reducio][right][size=75][WC: 645][/size][/right][b]Ability 5[/b] | Blindvision
[reducio]It is one part mischief, two parts insomnia, and a whole combination of the two that has forced Johannes' hand in adapting to the dark. While he'd rather not title himself a 'night owl', it is clear that he thrived at the day’s end. If the bogeyman, or whatever the hell was the creature that a chair with clothes on it turned into at night existed, he might have found an obligatory companionship with the creatures that went bump in the night.

As a young child, he'd never believed in nightfall being the end of a day's fun, and that sentiment never left as he grew older. Begging for "just five more minutes outside" or "just one more story", only to hide books under his pillow and sneak toys behind stuffed animals, he was the bane of any bedtime routine. Luckily for the nannies attending to the young Ambroży heirs, his older brother Asriel was (as Johann would now unfondly describe as) "a major snitch and a two-faced goody-two-shoes" and Johannes at this time was also the type to overcompensate stealth for his perceived triumphs, doing nothing but making it more obvious what he was doing.

As he grew older, now under the care of his (far more vigilant and far quicker to give out wisdom in a solemn tone) grandfather and forced to undergo mandatory state schooling, his daytime energy levels were at an all-time conflict. Early to bed and early to wake, Alexander Manfred's days ran on routine and deadlines in a way that grated against the free-form, extremely loose way he had been raised previously. At school, it was harder to focus on so many different subjects, but the existence of other teachers to talk with than a single tutor and other students to befriend than his focused, studious brother allowed Johannes to make friends in a way he hadn’t been able to beforehand. While the length of time that it took him to fall asleep each night barely changed, the cycling excitement of things to do and people to meet managed to make him less reluctant to bed down. Yet the looming presence of secrets kept and the separation between his mostly magical early years as compared to his new muggle-surrounded home life before Durmstrang weighed heavily upon him. 

It wasn't until his second year at Durmstrang that he found his new place in society where he could be himself, finding refuge from the homesickness and brotherly estrangement in his new brothers-in-arms and familiar objects from home. Having spent the latter half of his first year forming social connections in hallway corners and behind stone walls (a habit that grew in frequency from then on), Johannes often found himself lamenting the cold, early sundowns of Russia that caused only inconvenience. Any poor soul venturing outside the snow-covered castle past mid-evening risked both their dignity and their sense of direction as the untamed beauty of the expansive school grounds (which already was difficult to navigate in the daytime) worked against them.

He could try (and fail more times than he would admit) to avoid adult supervision on an hour-to-hour basis in his laundry list of possible disruptions to the public peace, but things got a lot riskier when night fell. The late ventures Johannes engaged in became earlier and earlier as they all learned their curfew's limits and tracked the sun's confusing routine over the years, but it was just as difficult to set stink pellets in the dark whether it be it was a realistically early or late time of day. After all, it was much harder to pull pranks or walk around unhindered when one couldn't see more than a few feet away, but any possible light sources would do nothing but serve as beacons to ruin a semi-perfect stealth mission.

Equally as damning as an ill-timed [i]Lumos[/i] or a few broken matchsticks was Sandman's continued disregard of Johann's poor, messed-up sleep schedule. Oh, the inconvenience! To think he was meant to “grow out” of such insomnia… Always slipping just slightly out of sleep's grasp, caught in an unwanted, futile chase against its pull, it had always been a problem of actually getting to sleep rather than staying so. The drowsy feeling (and, more importantly, aftertaste) of sleep potions always felt wrong to use and the energy-boosting effects of caffeine never did seem to work on him, not in the way his grandfather (who took his morning cup of coffee black as ink and twice as strong) claimed it did.

He'd long ago replaced the mind-numbing sleepless nights, laid uselessly upon his bed- trapped within both a mind and body unwilling to give up to the time-skip purgatory of dreamland-, with an ever-lengthening list of new distractions. Whatever amount of sleep he would manage to catch, he'd take it, but he'd rather not lay wide-eyed and restless in some fool's attempt at counting sheep. In his logic, he was going to get some sleep eventually, so might as well tire himself out with something useful to pass the time, right? It didn't matter if it was prepping for a future stunt or something more mundane, as long as it got the job done to calm his ever-busy mind.

His options written down and scribbled out in coloured ink, many a night have been whiled away in a variety of activities as Johannes attempted to sate his boredom. Every activity from petty self-contained misbehaviour and whispered conversation from across rooms on the more interesting nights, to 2 am broom maintenance and last-minute studying on the lonelier ones, has cycled through his regular routine of internally cursing sleep out.

With the familiar, untroubling motions of unhurried busywork and harmless prank planning, he has learned to function in the dark so often that it developed into muscle memory, allowing him a surprising amount of adaptational competence. And sure, back home it was [i]dim[/i] lighting from light pollution rather than the pitch dark that blanketed Durmstrang, but who was really counting? Johannes would rather not know the sheer amount of time- the percentage of his short life- in which he has spent procrastinating sleep, not entirely of his own accord.[/reducio][right][size=75][WC: 1030][/size][/right][b]Ability 5[/b] | Wandmaker[reducio][b]Origin |[/b] Aquisition and Significant Scenario.
[reducio][i]Summer, 2017. Pre-Durmstrang.[/i]
[reducio]Of all the possible means by which Johannes could have received his wand (his very ticket into the wizarding world itself, how exciting!), its mundane origins had bordered on uncharacteristic comedy. 10 years old and bound to join his brother at Durmstrang come the school year’s start, he had been over the moon to have been extended an invitation home for the first time in three years. Under the short “mentorship” (read: childcare) of his grandfather, he had well-grown into his own fantastical concept of how his school life would be following his release from Germany’s mandatory education system. Even as his parents’ spare son, it would simply be remiss for them — under the careful guidance of the greater family legacy — to not follow tradition and make a call to declare his first wand.

From Frankfurt to the steps of his childhood home, Johannes had been promptly whisked away by an Ambroży representative, apparently an unknown relative of some sort, to the workshop of a well-respected Polish wandmaker. Under the familial trust, he had perused the grand variety of wands, shelves filled to the brim with boxes of beautifully intricate carvings and runes and origins, seemingly bestowed with increasingly auspicious destinies with every new offer. 

Yet not a single one managed to attune properly, only managing to draw good fortune with an accidental draw. Out of place and tucked away with its deceptively simple casing, entirely too temperamental for the typical wielder and charmingly crooked, Johannes’ wand choice had undoubtedly been another piece of the puzzle – another red flag unknowingly raised in the battle of blood loyalty. But for then, [i]for now[/i], it was enough.[/reducio][right](WC: 274)[/right][i]January 2018. First-year, winter semester.[/i]
[reducio]For months, he had apprenticed under existing Hounds, trying his damnest to prove his worth as a prospective member between keeping up the short-lived ghost act with his brother’s peers. Asriel had… changed since the last time they’d interacted, enough that Johannes had no place within the blonde’s good pureblood life. It was inevitable that he would have branched out one day, but he had never imagined it so early on.

Caught between constantly running messages across campus and exploring Durmstrang’s social network, there was only the next letter to look forward to, the next spell to tackle, and the next vocabulary word to learn. He had been picked from the pool of possible associates to be sworn in with neither proper preparation nor instruction. Johannes, near-desperate and for lack of a better tribute, had instead bent his head and offered up his wand to his future Boss as a token of his commitment and loyalty.

It remained, bar the rings he had once worn around his neck, his most valuable connection to the wizarding world to this day. But at the time, it had represented a means to an end and a final removal of himself from the family legacy he was never meant to stain.

Stupid young and presumptuous, he had missed the grim terror that had settled upon the retrospectively too-young shoulders of the Pack’s rising leader, faced with the future of his next generation. Had he been in his Boss’ shoes, he would have never taken it, not for its symbolic weight, yet it had been warily accepted with a certain heroic bravery that Johannes himself could never attain. From there, his swear-in went as smoothly as it could with such a magically debilitating tribute, with all the self-serving, hodgepodge rituals of any youth social group with more bark than bite. No longer was he meant to be held adrift amongst Durmstrang’s social ladder – a freshly made man he was, with a word of self-congratulations upon his tongue and only the barest hint of regret behind his teeth. This rebirth would go on to become the most significant achievement in his Durmstrang career, all dramatics aside.

(He found his wand delivered later that evening, safely back where it belonged upon his bedside table, unharmed and manic with gleeful separation.)[/reducio][right](WC: 381)[/right][/reducio][right](WC: 655)[/right][b]Wood |[/b] Cedar (Himalayan cedar).
[reducio]A person of exceptional allegiance and uncharacteristically staunch adherence to his code of conduct, the backbone of Johannes' moral compass is supported entirely by the background from which he hails. Whether nurture or nature is at fault when addressing his nonchalant posturing, who's to say? With staunch membership in the Hellhound Pack and the Horntail Horde, he had long carved his (rather negotiable) importance into stone and continually aims to defend it from both misunderstanding critics and his own self-deprecation. He has found some semblance of safety and belonging in them — dangerous things to offer someone with seemingly little to lose and everything to gain. 

How peculiar it is, considering his hypocritical derision of blatant selectivity, that Johannes’ sphere of acknowledgement and active resistance to injustice extends nearly restrictively to his social strata of influence. There is no question that he'd lend a hand to the other troublemakers of Durmstrang (more often than not in physical retribution). He'd defend the underdog out of solidarity, but often only if their position aligns roughly with the demographic of people he's identified with. Burned one too many times by the misunderstood remarks and dismissive critique of so-called “straight-laced”, even solidarity fails in the face of inexhaustible social conditioning.[/reducio][right](WC: 206)[/right][b]Core |[/b] Dragon Heartstring (Romanian Longhorn).
[reducio]Someone had once said, in many more words and a heaping spoonful of abstract fondness, that Johannes had always felt things with such passion it burned him up from the inside. He loved things like a bonfire and took insults like dry ice. Of all the classical elements, it's rather fitting that hellfire had always accompanied him, bleeding into nearly every aspect of his life. A spark of devotion and danger and beauty combined– it was everything he strived for. Rules and social constructs… how easily they broke under the brazen hand of impulse itself, vulnerabilities only highlighted by social perception. Over the years, his extreme nature has mellowed from unfed aggression into a sullen brooding, but this reckless abandon to pursue his own goals has never left him.

Just as overdramatic, showy and temperamental as its owner on the best of days, the notion of one’s magic as an extension of a person’s personality is perfectly exemplified. Johannes’s magic is maintained as the practical antonym to practicality itself, historically being described as a “prankster’s weapon” rather than one of true ill-intent. Crawling under his skin with the explosive itch for mischief, it holds little reverence for its owner’s flimsy justifications of humanity. How lucky that his wand is all too happy to channel this, allying with the incarnation of magical brilliance – opportunity itself.[/reducio][right](WC: 224)[/right][b]Length |[/b] 12.3 inches (31.2 cm).
[reducio]Toeing the line between a fighter and a feeler in all dignitary aspects of the phrase, it is undeniable that a large part of Johannes thinks with his heart rather than his head. His public persona values both memorability and individuality above all else, aiming to assertively guide others into forming their perspective of him in line with his social goals. From his wholehearted delight at provoking utter inconvenience on his poor victims to the idiosyncrasies of his own identity, everything about Johannes embodies selective unpredictability and performative spite.

With clothing as his armour and a silver tongue as his weapon, the wizarding world has given Johannes the power to bypass muggle incapability and cross further into unconventionality. How bright everything seems in the twilight of youth, with even the encroaching shadow of emerging adulthood’s disillusionment on the horizon. All pop culture and pride, Johannes would rather put up a mask of normality in the face of such conflict, hyperaware of his own vulnerability and all too willing to live life to the fullest while he still can.

(And if “normality” seeks to besiege reasonability, then so be it.)[/reducio][right](WC: 189)[/right][b]Wand Flexibility |[/b] Reasonably Supple.
[reducio]To put it bluntly, Johannes’ many descriptions and mildly derogatory nicknames (read: quickdraw annoyance, degenerate human safety hazard…) are well-deserved. A bit harsh, but undeniable nonetheless. He, ricocheting precariously between "emo brooding drama king" and 'frontman of his own one-man show', holds no illusion to the extent of his tiresome personality.

Yet as non-conformist as Johannes is, the stubborn change-loathing part of his personality always seems to rear its ugly head at every new twist in life.

He’d much rather be the active instigator – the left-hand man of created chaos– than part of the participating crowd. The reigning champion of bad idea bingo, if you will. After all, it’s much easier said than done to feign nonchalance when one has a part to play in the mayhem. He aims to sate his curiosity— to whet the appetite for the insatiable divinity of possibility itself— not bring about systemic change to his greater surroundings. 

Johannes upholds a contradictory, near-anachronistic set of haphazardly assembled morality. By combining both a rigid concept of honourable conduct and societal disregard, he is highly self-aware of his selfishness and yet continues his path with little true want for positional change. When society ripples in outrage, his place is amongst his own, having great pride in his place in a criticised hierarchy for sheer virtue of the effort that went into establishing it. Not that he ever needed an official title to swoop into the spotlight, but hey– the thought is what counts. As an appointed “guard” of the Hellhound Pack and resident support character for any self-sustainable crew, this sentiment is strengthened by his great dependence on group dynamics. [/reducio][right](WC: 273)[/right][/reducio][right][size=75][WC: 1547][/size][/right][b]Ability 6[/b] | Lovely Creature
[reducio]Taken under his grandfather's wing early on, Johannes grew up learning about his parents through second-hand accounts. If Alexander Manfred were to be believed, his mother had never experienced a summer away from Durmstrang where she didn't receive piles of letters from friends, family and potential suitors alike. As pretty and perfumed as any fair lady despite their less than [i]savoury[/i] family dealings, she was well-liked and ever-popular throughout her school years. It was a wonder she had married Ignacek Ambroży in the first place, whose humble, introverted nature contradicted his solemn responsibilities as the second son of four. They had forgone tradition in nearly all ways that mattered, leaving behind their tangled collection of expectations to pursue the simpler, small-town life in the Polish countryside. There, not too far removed from the Ambroży family manor, was where they had sewn the next generation's seeds to be cultivated.

Blackened by the lack of memories and long-term estrangement, Johannes' mother’s fair face had become only a halo of brilliant blonde. Even so, Alexander Manfred's obvious favouritism for his only daughter had placed Cesia Sauer's apparent popularity on a pedestal, far outshining both his bookish father and even Johannes himself. Once Ambroży, he had once grown up as the very picture of wayward countryside purebloodism. Bright-eyed, sticky-fingered, and always equipped with too much mischief for his busy parents to handle, no amount of provincial bliss could have contented Johannes' playful nature. No human nor animal could be safe from his excited attempts at interaction, much to the embarrassment of his elder brother being tugged along. Deceptively sweet-faced and inquisitive, such precocious mischief had once endeared him to their town neighbours. His hair had darkened as the years passed— first by genetics and then by magical intervention— but such lingering extraversion had remained intact. Ever his mother's son, he was ill-suited to the quiet life. The sting of second-hand embarrassment (now so sharp in retrospect) mattered little in the face of new opportunities. Adventure, much like magic, ran down to his very bones.

Concrete-glass Frankfurt and stone-snowed Durmstrang tempered Johannes' impulsivity in their school-structured glory, but even that discipline could only go so far. New in his authority, his Boss had valued wit in every interaction, concerned less about establishing a reputation and more about rebuilding the Hellhound Pack's internal atmosphere. Cowed by the unfriendly manners of Durmstrang's academically oriented competition and unused to his brother's frosty disposition, Johannes had been more than receptive to this attentive approach.

Devilishly charming, annoyingly nonchalant in his disregard for every social expectation and oblivious to all but overt expressions of interest, it was no wonder he'd drawn so much attention early on. Strengthened by the daredevilish support of his superiors, he established himself as eye-searingly flashy to the point of obligate acknowledgement and twice as attentive to the shine of his public persona. His nails were painted, eyeliner fixed and jackets borrowed from one of his many friends. Disarmingly, very much [i]irritatingly[/i] pretty for his irreverence, he collected lost love letters and lingering glances like bookmarks— overindulging plentifully in sugar, spice, and everything worth the price. Amidst Durmstrang's extreme social atmosphere and the cutthroat discipline of his friend group, there was merit to being a beacon of acquired charm. The very picture of reckless naivety, he had been well-protected from the wizarding world's disappointments by the grace of his friends' protective chaperoning and Durmstrang's relative isolation. As his possible social circle grew ever-larger to encapsulate his peers, the number of individuals who truly knew him behind the mask conversely shrank. It was a dangerous balancing act of favour, but one that would follow him loyally until he had tripped over the international doorframe and into the downward spiral of teenage life.

Years later, with a bullet-pointed list of global [i]almost[/i]-romances and his loyalties to the Hellhound Pack thrown into question, Johannes had more to lose and considerably less to prove with his wildcard posturing. Turned brooding and malcontent with the failures of adult authority, he returned to his social group with a markedly changed demeanour. The Hellhound Pack had grown around his reluctantly allowed absence like skin over a wound, healed only for him to dig nails into the scar. Johannes’ once-prized wit and decorations had become corrupted by mistrust in a stake for independence, used instead as a bargaining chip to keep himself afloat in the transitionary period. Armoured with thick, glinting silver chains over his uniform and a snarling Cerberus pin to replace the jewellery he’d lost custody of, his shortened leash left much to be desired. Yet Johannes would sooner weaponize his theatrical snark and be chained towards [s]his duty[/s] self-expression before he’d admit such weakness.

For those who knew him only by his delinquent reputation and newly obvious unapproachability, however, his (attempted lack of) presence in the international eye had only made him even more of a social target than before. He had cemented himself so deeply into the Pack dynamics that imagining his position slipping was unrealistic. Yet his frequent absences and unestablished safety net could not have saved his once-defended rung on the social ladder. With a single year left until graduation, Johannes could do little more than fight back to earn his place. 

Yet, much to his eternal annoyance, being preoccupied with his own duties could not stop outsider opinions from being thrown into complete flux. Once a known prankster and reckless class clown, one could not blame his peers for drawing their conclusions without confirmation. The appeal was not in his personhood but his conduit of mystique— an unwilling stock character fit for people-watching. His cultivated visual aesthetic and blase attitude made his spite seem less authentic despite the steel in his eyes. Such silly daydreams [i]clawed[/i] at his threatened dignity. In being regarded so basely, Johannes was no longer the spotlight but its mirror reflection, a misunderstood shadow and his unlucky secret romanticism. Simmeringly resentful of this superficial understanding, Johannes has since retreated to his familiar social circles.

Sharp-toothed and silver-tongued, there was something newly dangerous to his attractivity— a certain flair of risk that colours every action and reaction. No longer under the careful policing of his most moral associates, all that mattered was his loyalties and the next step forward. Violence, the language of destruction itself, was just as much of a tool as any wand or word. After all, Durmstrang's self-governing system encouraged survival at all costs. It was no difficult thing to tilt his head and catch the light, to stare the devil right in the eye and dare it to move forward when he had willingly entered Hell's gates. Only deliberate motivation and proven authority could sway him from his path, for no matter how decorated the pelt, a muzzled beast is still a beast. [i](He’d bite the hand that killed if it fed him well enough, but the cost-benefit analysis of predator fear had always been hard to digest. Fortunately for Johannes, he's always been well-trained in adaptability.)[/i] As the dawn of adulthood and all of its associated responsibilities loomed over him, his unknown future painted a portrait of quiet concern.

How silly it is then, for Johannes to find his stressful days still decorated— ever stubbornly— with stray flowers and random additions to his candy stash. No matter how many wrappers he threw away or pens he lost, there always seemed to be an extra few offered by unknown hands. A love letter here, a newspaper clipping there. Whether gifted from secret admirers or his own reacquainted Hounds, Johannes had never checked. (Did it matter?) Long troubled by his personal predicaments, there was no need to stifle this [s]pretty privilege[/s] quirk of his materialistic reputation. At its worst, it served as little more than a distraction. At best, it offered an unasked pick-me-up to bridge the gap past vague amusement, an errand already finished before it was started. 

In a strange, selfish sense, it is one of Johannes' worst-kept secrets. In permissively disregarding these superficial professions of admiration, he was unintentionally enabling it. To be somehow acknowledged ([i]wanted?[/i]) outside the circles where he deliberately sought out his role... The beautiful reminder of his significant existence in even strangers' eyes ran more addictively than any material incentive for obedience. Johannes had likely been cursed by Cupid himself for all of his romantic luck, but [i]this[/i]...? This simple indulgence had little of the commitment required to break his own heart again.

Simple anonymity was the safest option, even if offered in some remnant of forsaken respect. Once upon a time, Johannes would have preened over these offerings to a chorus of disapprovals, too embarrassed to count their weight in truth and naive enough to willingly chase recognition. Older now and never-truly-wiser, there were far more important things to worry about than the consequences of shallow attention.

If he were any cleverer, it would have been easier for Johannes to consider such uncut admiration as just a resource to be spent. Unfortunately for all involved, he'd always been twice as sentimental as the original idea and there were three too many kept letters to refute that. By unintentionally embodying the rebel persona he once rejected, his very existence becomes an abstract dream. A mirrored distraction. A [i]means to an end[/i] drawn in pencil eyeliner. [s](And if fate had any more pity on him, perhaps even attention could be a quiet vanity to hoard preciously.)[/s][/reducio][right][size=75][WC: 1571][/size][/right]
[/quote]
[quote][size=125][b]Speciality[/b][/size]
[list][*]Former Broom Racer
[*]Current [i][b]Keeper[/b][/i] on Durmstrang Quidditch Team[/list][/quote]