A new school year, new classes, new robes, new books but old expectations.

Amara Lada Sage Dragamior; the name itself was a weight on the petite girl. Expectations to be graceful, beautiful, loving, wise, and peaceful come from four, seemingly simple words.

Her whole life, Amara has striven to be the best student, daughter, granddaughter, heir, girl, and now duellist. While she does not even know if she has made the team yet, the bricks on her shoulders keeping her back straight continue to duplicate. All it could take is one brick to be pulled and the rest would come toppling down.

Much of this pressure is internal, coming from a need to prove that she is worthy to bear the Dragamior name, prove that while she is an only child, she is good enough, worthy enough for both herself and her unborn sibling.

On her arrival to Hogwarts, Amara was sorted into Slytherin, the house the values ambition, wit, and cunning. The house that has produced many dark witches and wizards. Amara knows she wants power, success, and is there anything wrong with that? What separates her from her peers though, is that Amara does not know what she wants to do. Maybe she is just like any other rebellious teenager and does not want to follow the path laid out for her, the one her parents and grandparents expect her to follow. But maybe she truly wants to do something else in her life, something more meaningful, but if she does why does she not know what it is?

These are the questions that keep Amara awake at night. These are the questions that plague the poor, Dragamior girl in her quest for perfection. Amara does everything she can, she studies until dawn, has the mannerisms to please her family, and creates her own social circle with the right type of people. But perfect handwriting, wardrobe, and grades only go so far when the blond girl feels like she needs to prove anything and everything. Perfection may be unachievable, but someone will reach it.

To many, Amara seems perfect. She has the looks, the money, the name, the brain; but none of it is enough. Amara needs to prove that she is more than a pretty girl, more than a rich girl, more than another Dragamior, and more than another bright girl who does nothing with that powerful brain of hers. Amara must always be more.

Link to your encyclopedia thread: click here!

Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for:
Third Year: Spell Spread

Abilities

Third Year: Spell Spread (590 words)

Reducio

By the beginning of her third year, there are certain aspects to Astrea that are undeniably unchangeable. Things that probably wouldn't go away soon and proved to be her mother's absolute bane as much as it showed off her father's lingering personality. Things like consistent incapability to express emotions outwardly, an (un)healthy dose of ingrained duty, and a remarkable affinity for magic. You know, the fun stuff. The first two, fine, we already knew that already. But the last- now there's what we're interested in, and it seemed that her father took much the same notice over the summer.

Torn between her complete contentedness at being the perpetual background character and fulfilling the unspoken expectations set out for her as her parent's only heir, it didn't leave her with a lot of options to stand out. So she took to her textbooks and lessons and classes, knocking out two birds with one stone as she maintained quietly good grades with the least amount of social interaction effort needed. Interacting with those who didn't already know what to expect or interpret was exhausting, annoying and frankly, not worth it. Already recognised as being the aloof high achiever, it wasn't as if people wanted to go up to her very often- something always felt off if you approached her, though it was very easy to merely stare from a distance.

This half-self-imposed might have made it so that Astrea was more a passing ghost in people's minds, but it ensured a peaceful bubble of concentration at any taken time. Less distraction meant more time to study, more time to utilise the lessons taught, more time to think about things. Words always failed her so she wouldn't use them as much, the less she spoke the more she could listen. A win-win.

Duelling in SWAG club taught her that an offensive and defensive strategy was key to rising in the ranks, watching her mother conduct experiments made her realise that releasing ingredients too much all at once meant catastrophe. Concentrated and powerful. So it won't blow up in your face. So you can make the most of the situation. Combine the two with the very active relationship Astrea has with her wand- the instrument relishes the shared power as much as she does the adrenaline- and you get a dangerous equation.

It seemed that the mincing steps of etiquette had bled into the precise flow of power that casting required, corralling the steady stream of constant energy sparking under her skin into an oiled whip ready to alight. Her spells seemed just a bit more flashy- Astrea was not the type for flamboyance but they got the job done and done quickly. Done well. As her beauty bloomed with another year so did her power, the unnecessarily upped flair of the incantation bursting forth just slightly on that side of too effective. An excess of power intimidated people, it won you respect and it won you fear. She desired not for such things but it seemed that they came along with the job regardless. After a lifetime of watching her father rule the manor, this fact was more than clear. But merely having so much power would not change anything if you could not wield it well.

Control. But alas, magic is a fickle, feral thing. It resisted its boundaries that Astrea was more than happy to be kept in. Perhaps that would make things worse for her case, or perhaps better. Regardless of whatever it would entail, it is what it is.

Link to your encyclopedia thread: Here
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Perfectionist

Reducio

When you cast a spell, you take your time doing so. You enunciate your words with care and you do not recklessly swish your wand about. Your spells don't backfire, they don't fail. You're too much of a Perfectionist to let that happen.

Prerequisites: None

Effect: 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). In other words, if you have an extended critical failure chance range (as is the case with certain races, the effect of certain spells or potions), this reduces that range by 1. So if you have a +2 critical failure chance range (meaning if you roll a 1,2, or a 3 you critically fail), this ability makes it a +1 critical range instead (meaning if you roll a 1 or a 2 you critically fail).

In Dueling:
• The chance to critically fail a Wisdom Check when casting a spell will be decreased. This can decrease the default range to 0 (making it impossible to critically fail a spell).
• This ability can be taken twice, which makes the player immune to Critical Failure, even if the Critical Failure range is increased by other means (the spell will simply fail, not won't backfire).
Note: This can be obtained more than once. If this ability is acquired more than once, your character becomes immune to critical failure chances (so even if you have a +5 critical failure chance that would not matter). The attack can still naturally miss or not take effect, but there is no critical failure effect. This includes potions that might increase the critical range chance.

What is a Critical Failure? A critical failure is where you roll a 1 (or within the extended range if applicable) and the spell ends up backfiring or an unexpected effect happens which is often disastrous to
the caster.

Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):

Reducio

Callista sat at her study, looking at her sketchbook. It was precisely 3 o’clock pm. In one hour, her piano class would begin. Usually, at this time, she would be completing homework a week early, or practicing viola, or helping Aurora with her homework. But today there was an art project she was working on. It was due in a month. She was painting this time, instead of her usual drawing. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned a girl in a hoodie with dark black hair standing in front of a boy with blond hair and bright blue eyes with his arms crossed. They would be standing in front of the ocean, the sun just beginning to set.

The problem was… she couldn’t get the figures right. A month was not enough time. She had one hour to get something that would be her rough draft down on the paper. After her piano lesson, she would need to work on her other homework, and then eat dinner. Callista frowned and fingered her pencil. She knew it wouldn’t be perfect, but she wanted to get as close as possible to it.

Her room itself told of that. Perfectly folded bed, books arranged neatly in the bookshelves against the wall. A small cat-shaped lamp on the nightstand, windows that let in light with their shades up, and a clean light blue rug on the floor. On the desk, across from her bed, there was a three-tier light blue box with gold lining and a cat on top for a handle. If one looked inside it, they would find neatly arranged mechanical pencils on the top layer and three small erasers. On the second layer, you would find pens and two glue sticks. The bottom layer held tape and bookmarks. There was a desk lamp, white and arched over the middle of the white wooden desk. A container on the left holding all sorts of stationery, from colored pencils to white out. The desk had six drawers, and all its contents were organized and neat. The largest one actually functioned as a file case, with all her schoolwork.

The point was… Callista wanted everything she did to be as close to perfect as possible. And she thought the head of the boy was a bit too big, the arms of the girl a bit too short. If she didn’t get the proportions right before she started painting, then it won’t look right. Eventually, after drawing and erasing and drawing and erasing many times, her sister came in.

“Callista, what are you doing?” she said almost sternly, looking over her older sister’s shoulder.

Callista looked up and replied, “I’m doing my art project.”

“Why are you spending so much time on it? It looks fine,” Aurora said, raising her eyebrow. Callista explained about the head and the arms. She learned a lesson that day, from her own sister of all people. It was one she already knew, but one that she needed to remember. Nothing is perfect. She would always be a perfectionist. But sometimes she needed to loosen up a little.

Callista finished the draft, looked at it, and decided that it was alright. Art, after all, was pliable. It wasn’t like the piano or organizing a room. Still, she continued writing in her neat handwriting, organizing her room the way she liked it - neatly - and getting As at school.

Word Count: 567

Stats:

Stamina: 5
Evasion: 6
Strength: 3
Wisdom: 8
ArcPower: 6
Accuracy: 7

☆ Application for Metamorphmagus ☆

Link to your encyclopedia thread: ☆☆☆☆☆
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Metamorphmagus

☆ OOC ☆

Reducio When I first made Earl, his mother was half-pixi, and he could change the color of his hair at will. I just thought it would be a cool trait for him. I've always played him in a kinda of strange way- his appearance fuzzing over, changing when he got scared as sort of a self defense mechanism. For a person who gets really easily intimidated, this came in handy, as he could change appearance to escape people who were harassing him or weren't leaving him alone.

Honestly, I have no idea how or why this started happening. I think it came from the left side of my family (my mom) because it surprised my dad to the point of dropping a (very) expensive clock he was tinkering with. My mom came from an incredibly wealthy pure blood family, which probably had a lotta people with this trait. I don't know, she wasn't around much. Only dropped in for long enough to say 'happy birthday' and lick cake batter off the kitchen spoons. From what I can gather, her marriage to my dad was only approved because of blood reasons (my dad is also a pure blood, if a weird one). It's because he's weird my mom kinda married him, like to spite her parents but also not really spite them. To half spite them!

Anyway, you probably don't wanna hear my life story ☆_☆ I love the star eyes way too much for my own good X) I'll move on!

So the weirdness showed off right off the bat, ya know? I was born with half white, half black hair. My eyes changed color WAY too often. Like all babies are born with blue eyes, but in the span of an hour, I had green, brown, orange, purple, and yellow. Not a great color palette, what was One Day Old Me thinking?? If that wasn't enough to give my poor dad a heart attack, whenever I cried my skin got this reddish-brownish hew to it, which is VERY strange considering neither my mom nor my dad are Poc. I was a demon child that's for sure...Honestly, what a nightmare. I can't believe my dad didn't drown me in the creek behind the house, not gonna lie...

As soon as my mom was finished her...erm job of birthing me...she just kinda...up and left. So my dad was left to deal with a kid. My dad's really awesome. Like...he's a frigging single father in a small conservative town, ya know? That must have been really hard for him, especially since I was kind of difficult. ANYWAY (I keep getting off track, I'm so sorry) as I got older, the changes became harder for him to deal with. I'd often flop genders (not on purpose either) and whenever I got mad or scared (I'm more scared/anxious than mad to be honest. Like I dunno how people stay mad for more than five minutes???) my form would kinda start to blur over and little things would change. The shape of my nails, the length of my hair. I don't even know what I'm supposed to actually look like anymore. It's so weird.

I swear I got a little better at controlling it. I mean the Mood Blur, as my dad calls it, still happens like really really often, but I can kind of change things at will now??? I kinda tailored my body so I'd kinda look like my dad, and kind of like my mom. I took the curly/spiky hair from her, and tried to copy my dad's face? Kinda? I only got the jaw right, and I'm working on the hands right now, not sure how well I'll be able to do it.

Word Count: 631

Stats: Stamina: 5 | Evasion: 10 | Strength: 0 | Wisdom: 5 | Arcane Power: 5 | Accuracy: 5

Mod note: Please owl Béatrice Lydursdattir once you have been accepted by the Index
STATUS: Approved

Link to your encyclopedia thread: Here (still waiting for registration from the Index)
Name of Ability or Race/Talent that you Are Applying for: Metamorphmagus
Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):

Reducio

Evelyn rarely showed her emotions as clearly as others. Unlike some people, who wear their hearts on their sleeves. But when she got mad, she stewed. There was no screaming, no yelling. Just clenched fists and a tight jaw. Her eyes, though, that’s where you really see it. Flashing eyes, as if a blue flame was lit behind her eyes. Usually, her eyes were like steel. Hard, cool, and reflective. But when she was angry, they smoldered, like embers. Glaring at you as if she blamed you for all the bad things in the world. But it didn’t happen often. There was once, though, when she was 9.

A Muggle kid, around the age of 7, from the neighborhood below their house had climbed up the hill to investigate the house. Curious, annoying little thing it was. At least, that’s how Evelyn thought of him. The kid had the nerve to go up to her and say, “Hi! You live here right? Are you a vampire? Oh wait, you must not be since you’re in the sun. Are you a witch? You know, like the evil ones that fly on broomsticks?” It was fast-paced and annoying.

“Sure, kid,” Evelyn replied. There was no way the kid actually knew what magic really meant, and she assumed if she just agreed (sarcastically, at that), the boy would go away. But… that wasn’t quite was happened.

“Wow, really?! Omg, I’m telling all my friends I met a witch! Can you do magic? Can you teach me magic? I want to know magic! Are your mom and dad witches? And wizards?” the boy chattered excitedly.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “We’re not witches, and I can’t do magic.” At least, not until I go to Hogwarts, she thought to herself. “Now go away.”

“But you just said!” the boy was bouncing on his feet. “Ooh, what are you reading? Lemme see, lemme see!” Evelyn had been sitting on the bench in the garden, reading a book. The boy leaped at it, trying to see.

“Stop it!” Evelyn scolded him. She yanked the book away from him, but the boy kept grabbing until one of the pages tore loose. They froze, looking at the torn page. Evelyn’s eyes flashed in anger.

“Oops… sorry…” the boy said. “Can I still see it?”

“No!” Evelyn said. Her eyes flashed from cyan blue to deep red, and she seemed to become larger than usual. The boy gasped, scrambling back. She snatched the torn page from him and said coldly, “Leave. Now.” The boy ran away, sufficiently scared for the day. Evelyn assumed it had been her anger that had scared the boy away, as she wasn’t aware that in that burst of sudden anger, she had changed her appearance, even slightly.

There had been other moments, like the time she was caught reading Hogwarts, A History late at night. After her mother had scolded her and left, Evelyn realized her hair had turned black instead of its usual caramel brown. Another time, her aunt June had made her hair blonde instead of the usual black, and Evelyn tried to copy it. To her surprise, a lock of her caramel hair turned blonde. To this day, she still has no idea how to get rid of it.

Stats:

Stamina: 6
Evasion: 5
Strength: 3
Wisdom: 6
ArcPower: 8
Accuracy: 7

You have to register for a race/talent within 30 days after your validation (meaning being sorted into a house). Applications exceeding this limit won't be accepted.
Validation Date: 9th July 2020

Encyclopaedia: Sarah Lightwood

Ability: Perfectionist

Description: In the reducio below...

Reducio

Sarah had led a sheltered life, her entire existence seemingly mapped out for her without a second thought to what she may want or decide. Her childhood had been flooded with lavish balls and the poor company of the worst of the upper class - those who held archaic opinions of blood status and race which her father had always expected her to share. But she’d refused. Even as a young girl her moral compass had told her that discrimination was wrong. Whether it was the first time she’d seen her great aunt turn her nose up at a muggle-born, or the way her father had continually disregarded the circumstances of their house elves, she had always known it was wrong.

Perhaps that was what had spurred her desire to one day escape the life she’d been so carefully bred into. Perhaps it was the sight of the muggle world she’d been able to experience for the first time when she was eleven, overcome with wonder as she marvelled at the architecture build without the help of magic. Perhaps it was something else entirely. But Sarah knew that she wanted out. And so, she’d thrown herself into books, into learning.

You could often find her sitting in her room, many hours into the night, with her textbooks covered into brightly coloured notes as she attempted each new spell a thousand times over. She’d not stop until she was sure it was perfect, sure that her wrist flicked in just the right direction and that her lips formed around words so naturally that it’d seem as though she’d always known them.

The first time she’d truly struggled with a spell was in an early Charms class. She’d spent hours trying to repair a broken keychain by the Great Lake, glaring at the offending item as if it’d tried to attack her. She spent days trying and trying again, forgoing some much-needed sleep in the process. But her stubbornness had won out in the end, and by the following week, she was casting the charms as if she’d never had an issue with them to begin with.

Perfection was always something she was striving to achieve when it came to her magic. Sarah rarely cared what people thought of her, her sense of style had always raised an eyebrow or two, but she cared what she thought of herself. She wanted to be proficient in all things magical. She’d not been able to speak out in the way she’d always wanted to when she was younger, and knew she’d likely not be able to until she was old enough to move away from the manor and her life for good. And the best way she could think to equipped herself so she was ready to start again was to learn everything she could, perfect every spell and potion and charm that was possible. And she was starting now.

Word Count:486

Six Stats: (fully human)
- Stamina: 7
- Evasion: 8
- Strength: 2
- Wisdom: 10
- ArcPower: 6
- Accuracy: 7

Link to your encyclopedia thread: Hiero

Name of Ability that you Are Applying for: Prodigal Charms Learner

Describe why this fits your character (not why you the player want it):
Word Count: 542

Reducio

Hiero is a muggleborn with no prior knowledge of the wizarding world at all. In a lot of ways this put him at a disadvantage; He didn't know chocolate frogs could hop away, he didn't know fireplaces were for travel, and he didn't expect the ghost that greeted him cheerily when he first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Despite making him look a bit silly most days, this also had the side effect of making him quite the curious boy.

Quiet by nature, Hiero first gravitated towards the library, in the same way many Ravenclaws had. He just wanted to know everything about this new and amazing world. He had spent so much of his childhood imagining whimsical scenes of potions and magic wands, fairies and pixies, all for it to be real! Now that it was, the boy could not get enough. If his mom had been there she would have told him he wasn't talking enough, wasn't meeting the new students like he should have. But Hiero wasn't even trying to hide from anything he was just so genuinely curious and wanted to know everything.

Because of his childhood amazement with fairytales and the stories they wove, he was attracted to the spell books most of all. The ones about violence just frightened the poor boy; imagining spells that could cause pain easier than blink was too much to handle. Yet there were other books, books about charms that could light up the area around you, mend what you had broken. A lot of these charms seemed too difficult for him but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

At night when the library closed Hiero hid out in the common room reading through his textbooks. There were spells like lumos and nox, that turned the light on and off. But there were also spells like the slowing charm, the revealing charm, the shrinking charm... so many possibilities. As the boy traded in the last good days of summer, he gave himself more time to learn about the spells on the page. This way he'd be able to know how to accomplish each spell before he even arrived to class, and he got to see first hand how real the magic really was. In some ways he was scared of looking like a fool still, surprised still to hear that goblin rights was a very real thing, but each day as he learned a new spell he felt more and more connected to the wizarding world. His curiosity as a ravenclaw, mixed with his childhood sit waiting and wishing for more, had all led him to the books his peers might find boring. His connection to magic grew stronger every day and he kept looking for more and more to learn.

In the muggle world, Hiero was not necessarily known for his smarts, or his interest in learning but that all changed when the world around him did. Charms quickly became his passion because a charm, a small bit of magic, was all Hiero could really have asked for. He didn't know how he would handle the other aspects of this world, but he was happy just sitting and watching as he waved his wand and the room lit up.