APPROVED - Approving as Quidditch Player. However, please know that I can't guarantee the specific position right now. There's a good chance to be a beater, as there's open slots but it's not guaranteed.

Udating iNPC Enzo Delcroix
Link to page: Click here
Year: Now Second
--> Changed his Face Claim
Stat Updates:
Old stats | Sta - 5 Eva - 7 Str - 5 Wis - 6 Arc - 8 Acc - 5
New Stats | Sta - 5 Eva - 8 Str - 5 Wis - 9 Arc - 8 Acc - 7
(+ 6 new stat points | 5 from graduating to next year & 1 from quidditch win with Akari)
Abilities: Applying for Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue

Reducio

Growing up in the Delcroix household would have been truly unbearable if Enzo had not taught himself to stop wallowing in his own pity and try to find a few small things that interested him and gave him something to do.
Whereas a more typical kid may have found it boring, even the things like discovering how there was a world of knowledge tucked away upstairs gave him a rare feeling of excitement.
In fact, after that particular discovery, he spent most of his free time in the attic, entertaining himself by scavenging through rows upon rows of the dusty forgotten books up there, and it eventually happened to grow to be his favourite and most treasured pastimes.

One day when he had escaped the clutches of his tutor earlier than usual, he snuck upstairs and picking up where he left off, continued rummaging through and investigating a couple more boxes of books when one specifically caught his eye, but he couldn’t put a finger on what exactly had stood out to him. Perhaps it was how its spine was slightly peeling off from being quite obviously well-loved, or how its delicate pages were just yearning to be turned, but nonetheless, whatever it was he wanted it. So, he proceeded to stash it away in the inside of his sweater for later when he would go back to his room and be able to properly examine it.

Later that night, before he went to sleep, he pulled the book out to look at it again as planned. Unfortunately, the title was somewhat faded so all he could make out from it was the word “languages” but, his original inclination to read the book, had surprisingly still had not wavered. When he finally opened the book and began to read, he was in an instant swallowed by its contents, and consumed with fascination.
The book was filled with all sorts of details on magical languages and even had the basics for learning some of them. However, after skimming through it and everything it spoke about, the section in regards to Parseltongue was the most captivating to him by far.
So, then suddenly devoted to understanding more about Parseltongue, all the nights following that day had been spent secretly learning and memorizing each page from front to back, as well as attempting to mutter to himself the sounds of simple words. Though he did struggle with that aspect quite a bit, he still did his best to guess the annunciations.

The day he knew that he was actually making progress was when his mother had taken him out for a short visit to the zoo. After all that time of trying to learn parseltongue, he really wanted to test out what he had learnt and see if he was advancing properly. So day after day he had pleaded with his parents to take him to the zoo and reasoned with them that it would be beneficial to his studies. Not knowing that he had an ulterior motive, they finally agreed. The moment they got there he instantly rushed over to where the snakes were kept and went as close to the glass as possible to see if he could hear them. To his great delight he had made out some words here and there and that definitely helped motivate him to continue learning for he knew he was on the right track.

As time went on there was ultimately nothing new left to read in that book, so it practically became a mission of his to find more books on the matter and find out as much information as possible. And in the end, he unexpectedly succeeded, to the point where he was actually pretty confident in his ability to grasp the essentials of parseltongue.
While never getting the chance to meet a real Parselmouth to practice with, alongside not telling anyone of his developing skill, all that was left to him was what the books enclosed, which stopped him from ever being able to speak fluently.
But on the upside, it was not that bothersome to him for he frankly impressed himself with figuring out how to just understand.

Funnily enough though, even after all he knew, he fancied the process so much that he was not intending to stop searching for more knowledge anytime soon.

WC: 725

---------- Abilities: Terrible Presence | Comprehend Languages (Parseltongue) ----------

TERRIBLE PRESENCE APP ⇩ Reducio Enzo’s bored looking facial expressions and short tempered attitude is something that is quite noticeable once he enters a room. His mother always scolded him for acting the way he did, but he couldn’t help it; it was impossible for him to put on a fake smile or act like he was happy and excited when being talked to by others. “Be more friendly, be more social” these words that his mother told him were played in his head like a record, over and over and over again. But the only reason she asked this of him was so her idiotic friends would compliment her on what a nice son she has. So did he care? Not in the slightest. All it did was anger him to no end. Why does he have to change who he is? If she didn’t like who he was she should have raised him better. At least that is what he thought. How did she expect him to be a peppy enthusiastic boy who prances around eagerly all the time? She was the one who sheltered him from the whole world because he's ‘a weak little boy wouldn’t be able to survive in such a cruel society'. Although he never spoke back or talked out of turn to his elders, he always had a whirlwind of unpleasant comments rushing through his brain. When he did get the chance to meet other kids, most of the time they did not talk to him voluntarily, since they seemed kind of weary of him, like he’d bite their head off or something. In all honesty, he wasn’t a cruel or a particularly mean kid, I guess you could say he just had something that was off about him. One thing that was clear to everyone who met the family was that Enzo had an uncanny resemblance to his father. Although his father wasn't around much, when he was Enzo found himself looking up to him. He wasn't the best role model in the slightest but he was Enzo's father after all. So not only from looks he resembled his father, but also because he had started to gain a lot of similar qualities to him. His father had an odd effect on people as well, but in his case, it was much stronger and more evident. It was obvious that the people he would talk to get easily intimidated by his presence and become rather uneasy. Enzo wanted to be able to do the same thing since he knew he could use it to his advantage. He knew if he had that edge to him he could effortlessly get people to leave him alone and was pretty much oblivious to that fact that he already somewhat was.

COMPREHEND LANGUAGES APP ⇩ Reducio Growing up in the Delcroix household would have been truly unbearable if Enzo had not taught himself to stop wallowing in his own pity and try to find a few small things that interested him and gave him something to do. Whereas a more typical kid may have found it boring, even the things like discovering how there was a world of knowledge tucked away upstairs gave him a rare feeling of excitement. In fact, after that particular discovery, he spent most of his free time in the attic, entertaining himself by scavenging through rows upon rows of the dusty forgotten books up there, and it eventually happened to grow to be his favourite and most treasured pastimes. One day when he had escaped the clutches of his tutor earlier than usual, he snuck upstairs and picking up where he left off, continued rummaging through and investigating a couple more boxes of books when one specifically caught his eye, but he couldn’t put a finger on what exactly had stood out to him. Perhaps it was how its spine was slightly peeling off from being quite obviously well-loved, or how its delicate pages were just yearning to be turned, but nonetheless, whatever it was he wanted it. So, he proceeded to stash it away in the inside of his sweater for later when he would go back to his room and be able to properly examine it. Later that night, before he went to sleep, he pulled the book out to look at it again as planned. Unfortunately, the title was somewhat faded so all he could make out from it was the word “languages” but, his original inclination to read the book, had surprisingly still had not wavered. When he finally opened the book and began to read, he was in an instant swallowed by its contents, and consumed with fascination. The book was filled with all sorts of details on magical languages and even had the basics for learning some of them. However, after skimming through it and everything it spoke about, the section in regards to Parseltongue was the most captivating to him by far. So, then suddenly devoted to understanding more about Parseltongue, all the nights following that day had been spent secretly learning and memorizing each page from front to back, as well as attempting to mutter to himself the sounds of simple words. Though he did struggle with that aspect quite a bit, he still did his best to guess the annunciations. The day he knew that he was actually making progress was when his mother had taken him out for a short visit to the zoo. After all that time of trying to learn parseltongue, he really wanted to test out what he had learnt and see if he was advancing properly. So day after day he had pleaded with his parents to take him to the zoo and reasoned with them that it would be beneficial to his studies. Not knowing that he had an ulterior motive, they finally agreed. The moment they got there he instantly rushed over to where the snakes were kept and went as close to the glass as possible to see if he could hear them. To his great delight he had made out some words here and there and that definitely helped motivate him to continue learning for he knew he was on the right track. As time went on there was ultimately nothing new left to read in that book, so it practically became a mission of his to find more books on the matter and find out as much information as possible. And in the end, he unexpectedly succeeded, to the point where he was actually pretty confident in his ability to grasp the essentials of parseltongue. While never getting the chance to meet a real Parselmouth to practice with, alongside not telling anyone of his developing skill, all that was left to him was what the books enclosed, which stopped him from ever being able to speak fluently. But on the upside, it was not that bothersome to him for he frankly impressed himself with figuring out how to just understand. Funnily enough though, even after all he knew, he fancied the process so much that he was not intending to stop searching for more knowledge anytime soon.

Stats: Stamina: 5 ~ Evasion: 8 ~ Strength: 5 ~ Wisdom: 9 ~ Arcane Power: 8 ~ Accuracy: 7

~Extracurricular ~
Is your character a Broom Racer? Yes
Is your character a Quidditch Player? No
Is your character a Duelist? No

PENDING -
Stats - Your stat update doesn't match your trunk stats. You also have +2 from quidditch wins I believe? If you want, you can claim this too and add an extra point somewhere.

Ability - You can learn it through a book but could you potentially add a paragraph to say that Enzo just went to a zoo or something and felt like he understood what a snake was saying? Just so he's actually heard the language and it wasn't entirely through a book.

Trunk Update - Stats don't match the update, heads up that I will also be adding "(Parseltongue)" to the abilities section to clarify which one you've learned. This might affect your coding, so giving you this chance to fix it first.

You have until 21st July to edit. Leaving this open for you to do so.

15/07 Edits: Corrected the trunk stats to match up, I believe on a previous update I already added that extra 1 point from Akari's quidditch win so in total all his stats already add up to 42, added (Parseltongue) & lastly also put in the extra paragraph

APPROVED - stats approved, ability approved, trunk code used

3rd Year Updates for Viola Rhea Tempete
Page | viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17018#p269580
Stat changes |
Old:
Stamina - 5 | Evasion - 7 | Strength - 6 | Wisdom - 8 | ArcPower - 6 | Accuracy - 8

New:
Stamina - 5 | Evasion - 8 | Strength - 6 | Wisdom - 10 | ArcPower - 7 | Accuracy - 9

Ability Applications
Applied for 'Perfectionist', not yet accepted.

Trunk

Stats
Stamina - 5 | Evasion - 8 | Strength - 6 | Wisdom - 10 | ArcPower - 7 | Accuracy - 9

Abilities
Charmer

Reducio

Viola is charming. She knows when to smile at he right time, when to speak, when to not, she knows how to take someone's attention and keep it. She has to; it's not like she has a choice. For years she's been groomed to become the perfect daughter, conversationalist and business owner. To achieve her full potential, Viola must be charming.

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

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

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

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

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

After joining Beauxbatons, the extends of her charm have rarely been put to use, as she only needs to put enough charm to have a consistent reputation amongst her fellow students. A time where her charm was fully put to use would be before she joined the school, when she was younger. She used to come to some of her parents' business meetings, as a way of creating emotional appeal.

Lovely Creature

Reducio

Viola is conventionally attractive. To her, this is a weapon and a tactic.

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

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

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

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

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

Because she was a lovely creature, and not using that to her advantage could be damned.

Perfectionist

Reducio

You remember when you were seven years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that what you look like?

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

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

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

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

You don't feel particularly authoritative right now.

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

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

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

"Yes, mother. Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'd rather just call yourself Viola Rhea Tempete.

Activities
Broom racing - No
Quidditch - Yes (First-string keeper)
Duelling - No

APPROVED - Added to ency.

NPC Name: Cassanora Browne
Link: link
Year: 3rd Year
Stats: STA - 6 | EVA - 4 | STR - 4 | WIS - 11 | ARC - 10 | ACC - 10
Abilities:
- Poison Resistance: Whilst her father might be a healer first and foremost, to many of their surprise, the girl did not take up his passion of those particular arts. Instead, she chose to use the bits of knowledge he did share to advance the one subject she did feel attracted to: Potions. Her father, being an ex-healer, did know his way around the brewing table. It was mandatory to have a certain level of understanding potions and their effects and uses when it came to healing. Cass was not looking to be limited to that field, however. From a young age, she grew fascinated by the many properties of a plethora of plants and herbs. How different ingredients such as bugs were to be added to the mix in a particular way. Her attention to detail fed into this. It was fascinating and inspiring in and of itself. In the time she spent studying at Beauxbatons, she was of course met with a broader aspect of the subject. The presence of the school's Alchemist Guild was proof of how the French school was proud of their collective knowledge base. It did not take long for Cass to set her mind to one day gaining entry to the prestigious guild. And if she was determined to impress on entry, she'd have to somehow prove her own understanding. In her child's mind, she immediately believed that the meaner the potion, the better the reputation in this case. Though, she quickly had to face defeat in even attempting a first stage of picking up any of those increasingly difficult recipes. So she chose to tackle it differently. Starting at the bottom and slowly working her way up in gaining more understanding of the various dangers potions could bring in both brewing them and applying them. In studying the multitude of poisons and their cures, there did come a point where testing was required. Through a plethora of small experiments, Cass sought out her own limitations and crossing lines. For the more dangerous ones, or when a particularly tricky recipe called for it, she'd make sure she was under direct supervision. Either by a professor, her father or even Nora if she were at home in the recent vacations, she'd try to get the most out of these lessons. In the few years she had been practising, Cassanora was able to boost her own metabolism. Building up a resistance to most common poisons, or at least grow familiar with the more obvious effects when applied to her body. If her knowledge would not be convincing enough in a few years, at least her body would be living proof of her learning curve.

APPROVED

Personality:

Reducio

Xeno is not the 'nicest' person per say, but if for some odd reason he takes a certain liking to you, he is soon to be your bestest friend ever! He seems all cold and mean but truly hes just a big teddy bear! Hes strongest in the evening, thats when he finds most peace but he absolutely is NOT a morning person. He tends to be grump most if the time but at some times, especially when hes tired, he can be quite friendly. If you catch him being nice, then its your lucky day and take that as a thing to remember it might be the one chance you get to see him like that. Overall he doesnt mind people, he pushes past them and doesnt care for much else than getting around. Hes really strong both mentally and physically, but once you talk about his family he either breaks down into a sad mess or he gets horribly angry, depending on his mood at the time.

History:

Reducio

Xeno is the son of a huge business man named Dylan Darkaz. His mother left when Xeno was only three years of age. He knows his mother left, but he has no memory of her so it doesn't slow him down in life. His father takes life so seriously and he wants Xeno to be the best that he can be. This being said his father is very strict when it comes to school and work. Therefore Xeno's life constantly revolves around studying. He is lucky to even get a five minute break. This lead to him not knowing how to properly interact with others. He only learned how to speak with others from meetings his father would have at the house, straight up rude arguments with other business owners, in attempts to win people over. He learned from that and uses his knowledge, his rudeness to get through everyone in life. Its rare for him to make friends, he tends to avoid people and if he can't he pushes past them. People think he's such a bully but to those he cares for he's the nicest person alive. Just don't think he's going to go easy on you if you challenge him... HAHA JUST KIDDING, if he cares about you the most he would do is attack you with tickles! He's truly a big softie underneath his hard shell. His first instance of magic was where he normally is, in the comfort, or misery shall i say of his own home. His father kept pushing and pushing him to try harder on work problems he hadnt understood, he was getting stressed out and angry so he banged on the desk. Paper flew around the room, from all directions. Only to stop and hover in mid-air when Xeno took deep breathes trying to calm himself down. Eventually all the papers fell to the ground. It was quite amazing, he wasnt even fazed by it happening, xeno just left the room.
WC: 230

PENDING -
Stats: You have 41 stats (instead of 40). Please remove a point.
Year: Xeno would be the same year as Winter, so second year.
Blood Status: Please add a blood status
Personality: Please add a bit more about who he is and what he's like. Strengths, weaknesses, etc. Need a bit more on who he is.
History: Please add a first instance of magic. Remember that this section should focus on Xeno's history, not his personality.
Ability: He can't be a werewolf. All iNPCs have to be fully human. Please choose another ability.

You have until 21st July to make these edits. Thank you.

APPROVED - an iNPC page has been created (if you want to claim the ability you wrote but had to be changed, make a new update post by July 21st)

Stats:
stamina: 5 ❀ evasion: 6 ❀ strength: 1 ❀ wisdom: 10 ❀ arcane power: 8 ❀ accuracy: 10

Abilities:
Y1 - Lovely Creature

Reducio

Rosa has natural beauty she has always possessed her whole life. Even her mother, who pays little attention to physical beauty, noticed that her daughter really was pretty the moment she was born; and everyone agreed with Mrs Swann that the girl was indeed a beautiful baby. While some lovely women were not cute when they were toddlers, Rosa was a cute one. Many described her as resembling a doll, and some said she had the face of an angel.

Her resemblance to angels Muggles depict in their art continues to her tween years. On her first day at Beauxbatons, for instance, an elder student asked her classmates, "I say, who's that angel? Has anyone else seen her?" The other students got very interested and went to see Rosa, and later agreed with their classmates that it was as if an angel in school uniform had decided to study at Beauxbatons.

Whereas a lot of ladies look pretty because they are skilled in applying make up, Rosa's case is not like that. It is true that a bit of make up can boost her appearance, but even without any, she already is pretty. Her beauty is natural. The shapes of her eyes, nose, and mouth match with each other to create a lovely face. The haircut she chooses fit her face shape. Her skin is soft even if she did not use skin cream. Her body is slim although she does not put much effort in doing exercises, and her legs are long like a primadonna's. In addition, she also has a good taste in fashion, and has a knack of choosing only clothes and accessories which look good on her.

"Note this," her elder cousin once said. "In some years, when Rosa has grown into a young lady, we young men will form a line just to catch a glimpse of her. And if she's the type of young woman who talks to strangers over tea, I bet no single guy will say no to her company."

Rosa's beauty does not stop at her face and figure. She is also pleasing to the ears, for she has soft voice and a talent in singing. Her manners, too, are graceful and ladylike compared to her peer.

Behind her lovely appearance, though, the girl hides a clever and cunning mind. She is aware that people considered her beautiful, and she often uses this for her advantage. Even though she can be fierce and intimidating, she prefers to use her beauty to protect her. For instance, she would act innocent and helpless to make boys lift heavy things for her (such as her trunk), and she even managed to make her private home-school tutor pass her in a subject she was not good at.

"If money or ability can't get you something you desire," the girl likes to tell herself with a cunning smile, "buy it with your charming smile." After all, who has the heart to wipe an innocent-looking smile from such a pretty face and replace it with heart-breaking tears and sobs?

Y2 - Charmer

Reducio

Some people said that physical beauty and charm did not necessarily born to the same person - that is, one could be charming without possessing physical attractiveness, and there were times when a handsome gentleman or a beautiful lady simply did not have quite an aura, an atmosphere, a charm. But surely one could not deny that a pretty face did help bringing up a charm around the person, even if it might just be a little.

Rosa Swann was a pretty girl whose youth face was usually enough to make passerby stopped and stared for a while; this, coupled with her graceful movements and knack of choosing only clothes as well as matching accessories that looked good on her, seemed to successfully created certain charm around the French mademoiselle.

A lot of human beings, or perhaps one could say most people, had a natural tendency to get attracted to attach himself or herself to a physically attractive person, to have a desire to at least look at such person and perhaps to get to know them - and after a certain period of time, their beauty became less visible, for one had seen it regularly; there was nothing interestingly new. In such case, a charming atmosphere would require something else than a pretty look and graceful manner - and Rosa happened to have this "raw material" she liked to put into practice: a lovely voice and a talent in singing, a certain confidence (with lack of arrogance) that glued listeners to their seats when she delivered a speech or other kind of public speaking - the young girl was both a talented orator and a gifted singer.

Even though at times Rosa could be vain and put too much attention on how much admiration she got, she also had good leadership qualities. As a result, a combination of this and her talent in public speaking led quite a number of people to quickly consider her a great leader and an individual who could be trusted fully. Besides, in all kind of situations, the brown-haired girl seemed to find something interesting to say - well, at least most of the time.

In terms of singing, she was both naturally gifted and nurtured through private lessons during her stay in the Muggle world. At Beauxbatons, she kept on developing this talent not only because she found singing relaxing, but also because she enjoyed being consider a star; in fact, she would like to be a real one someday! In addition to singing, the French girl also received lessons in dancing and acting from professionals; the dance lessons only enhanced her graceful movements, and trainings in acting... let us just say that she liked to put it into use as she communicate with people around her, but particularly when her cunning mind wanted them to do something for her enjoyment.

Physical beauty - graceful manners - a wonderful voice - gifts and professional lessons on singing, acting, and speech. All supported each other to make Rosamund Angela Swann a true charmer.

Extracurricular Activity:
Quidditch
(first-string seeker)

APPROVED

Autumn Ivy wrote: 4 Jul 2021, 11:04

3rd Year Updates for Viola Rhea Tempete
Page | viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17018#p269580
Stat changes |
Old:
Stamina - 5 | Evasion - 7 | Strength - 6 | Wisdom - 8 | ArcPower - 6 | Accuracy - 8

New:
Stamina - 5 | Evasion - 8 | Strength - 6 | Wisdom - 10 | ArcPower - 7 | Accuracy - 9

Ability Applications
Applied for 'Perfectionist', not yet accepted.

New Trunk

Trunk

Stats
Stamina - 5 | Evasion - 8 | Strength - 6 | Wisdom - 10 | ArcPower - 7 | Accuracy - 9

Abilities
Charmer

Reducio

Viola is charming. She knows when to smile at he right time, when to speak, when to not, she knows how to take someone's attention and keep it. She has to; it's not like she has a choice. For years she's been groomed to become the perfect daughter, conversationalist and business owner. To achieve her full potential, Viola must be charming.

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

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

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

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

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

After joining Beauxbatons, the extends of her charm have rarely been put to use, as she only needs to put enough charm to have a consistent reputation amongst her fellow students. A time where her charm was fully put to use would be before she joined the school, when she was younger. She used to come to some of her parents' business meetings, as a way of creating emotional appeal.

Lovely Creature

Reducio

Viola is conventionally attractive. To her, this is a weapon and a tactic.

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

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

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

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

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

Because she was a lovely creature, and not using that to her advantage could be damned.

Perfectionist

Reducio

You remember when you were seven years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that what you look like?

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

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

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

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

You don't feel particularly authoritative right now.

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

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

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

"Yes, mother. Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'd rather just call yourself Viola Rhea Tempete.

Activities
Broom racing - No
Quidditch - Yes (First-string keeper)
Duelling - No

Link to your encyclopedia thread: x
Name of Ability: Perfectionist
Describe why this fits your character - 1263 words:

Reducio

You remember when you were seven years old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that what you look like?

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

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

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

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

You don't feel particularly authoritative right now.

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

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

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

"Yes, mother. Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'd rather just call yourself Viola Rhea Tempete.

APPROVED, I think? Not sure what you changed here but I approved the last update, which I think was the same? If there's been changes, it's not approved as I haven't seen them.

NPC Name: Eloise Duciel
Link: Here
Year: Second year
Stats: Stamina: 7 | Evasion: 8 | Strength: 3 | Wisdom: 9 | Arcane Power: 7 | Accuracy: 6
Abilities: Lovely créature
Calming présence - 495 words

Reducio

I was reading in my bedroom. Well, when I say my bedroom, I mean the bedroom I currently have in the Swann Manor. So there I am, reading quietly, lying on the bed when I hear my cousin calling me from her bedroom.
- Elo? I want to tell you something!
- I'm comming!
I get up and head for the next bedroom. My cousin's bedroom. I open the door and as soon as I enter, I feel something strange. As if the air is heavier here. But Astoria's face hardly seems tense. Almost relaxed I must say.
She must be thinking of something depressing as the air gets heavier. Is there something wrong with her? She motions for me to sit down. I do so, but I must admit that my legs are shaking. I'm scared. But afraid of what?
- What did you want to tell me? Is this about the Ball or the summer camp?
She looks relaxed all of a sudden. It's weird. Everything in this bedroom is weird. Especially the atmosphere, leaden. I don't know, I think... No, it can't be. Forget it.
- No, this has nothing to do with Hogwarts. Well, it is a bit. Do I scare you? I mean, do I... Do you think I have a weird aura? I think I have a weird aura.
That's what I was thinking. A weird aura. So yeah, she does. But I have to do a test first. And she has to tell me that there's something about me that wasn't there before. For example, my words seem to calm me down, whereas hers almost froze me in place.
- I will answer you, but only if you think there is something unusual in me.
She takes her time. I understand her. It can't be easy to answer that question. She sighs a long time and says:
- Okay. But you promise to get back to me later, okay?
I smile and nod. Astoria looks relaxed. And the atmosphere in the room relaxes with her. Terrible presence. That's what she is, I'm sure of it.
- Okay, then, I find that you have a calming effect. You've always been soothing, but this is even more so than usual. And I think it's on everyone. Not just me.
- Okay. I kind of suspected that actually. You... It's the opposite. You're not scary per se, but your presence is terrifying. I don't know how else to put it. So when we're together, I think we have a bit of a controlling effect on each other... Or something like that.
Astoria looks at me, speechless. She needs to be left alone. You can tell. And so do I, I confess. I hope that Astoria's terrifying effect will wear off, even just a little.
- You want me to leave you?
- Yeah. Please.
So that's what I do. I go back to my bedroom and try to resume my reading.

Extracurricular: None
Content Changes: Addition of second year ability, change of statistics.
Trunk Coding:

Stamina: 7 | Evasion: 8 | Strength: 3 | Wisdom: 9 | Arcane Power: 7 | Accuracy: 6

ABILITIES

Reducio

LOVELY CREATURE

413 words

Eloise is magnificent. Ever since she was little, that's what we've been telling her. When she was a baby it was, "Oh! What a lovely little angel!", When she was a little girl, we would say to her, "What a lovely little girl. You are even more beautiful than your mom." and your mother is very, very beautiful. When you were 7 years old, the parents of your friends said: "This little one is an angel. As much in her character as in her beauty. Are you sure you don't have a Vela in your family?" Anyway, you see the context. It pleases him to Eloise to be appreciated and looked at. At Beauxbatons, it attracts the eyes of the boys. In class, some have difficulty concentrating. It amuses Eloise a lot, who likes to be the center of attention.She loves it so much that she often puts herself in the front row in class. To attract the attention of the students behind her and to listen, of course.

The day before the start of the school year, her mother had come to see her in her room. She then said to her:
-Eloïse, tomorrow you're leaving for Beauxbatons. But before that, I have to tell you something important. You are not totally human. Don't panic, it's okay! You are a lovely creature. That is to say that you attract attention by your beauty. Less than the Véla but I imagine you noticed.
Eloise, she was not very surprised. She had suspected it for quite a long time. So she calmly replied to her mother:
-Mother, I must say that I suspected it a little. I'm not stupid after all! But, what does it do for me to be a lovely creature?
This is a question she has been asking herself for a long time. What's it like to be a lovely creature? His mother answered his question:
-Well, first of all, you attract attention. I understand you liked it. Then, in a duel, it prevents your opponent from concentrating. But not a lot.
She then got up from your bed and left the room with these last words:
-Good night darling. See you tomorrow.
-Good night Mother.
Well. Now Eloise knew. She had the confirmation that she was not that beautiful. She was also lovely. A magnificent lovely creature. But that does not mean she is a monster. Just a human and lovely creature.

Reducio

CALMING PRESENCE

495 words

I was reading in my bedroom. Well, when I say my bedroom, I mean the bedroom I currently have in the Swann Manor. So there I am, reading quietly, lying on the bed when I hear my cousin calling me from her bedroom.
- Elo? I want to tell you something!
- I'm comming!
I get up and head for the next bedroom. My cousin's bedroom. I open the door and as soon as I enter, I feel something strange. As if the air is heavier here. But Astoria's face hardly seems tense. Almost relaxed I must say.
She must be thinking of something depressing as the air gets heavier. Is there something wrong with her? She motions for me to sit down. I do so, but I must admit that my legs are shaking. I'm scared. But afraid of what?
- What did you want to tell me? Is this about the Ball or the summer camp?
She looks relaxed all of a sudden. It's weird. Everything in this bedroom is weird. Especially the atmosphere, leaden. I don't know, I think... No, it can't be. Forget it.
- No, this has nothing to do with Hogwarts. Well, it is a bit. Do I scare you? I mean, do I... Do you think I have a weird aura? I think I have a weird aura.
That's what I was thinking. A weird aura. So yeah, she does. But I have to do a test first. And she has to tell me that there's something about me that wasn't there before. For example, my words seem to calm me down, whereas hers almost froze me in place.
- I will answer you, but only if you think there is something unusual in me.
She takes her time. I understand her. It can't be easy to answer that question. She sighs a long time and says:
- Okay. But you promise to get back to me later, okay?
I smile and nod. Astoria looks relaxed. And the atmosphere in the room relaxes with her. Terrible presence. That's what she is, I'm sure of it.
- Okay, then, I find that you have a calming effect. You've always been soothing, but this is even more so than usual. And I think it's on everyone. Not just me.
- Okay. I kind of suspected that actually. You... It's the opposite. You're not scary per se, but your presence is terrifying. I don't know how else to put it. So when we're together, I think we have a bit of a controlling effect on each other... Or something like that.
Astoria looks at me, speechless. She needs to be left alone. You can tell. And so do I, I confess. I hope that Astoria's terrifying effect will wear off, even just a little.
- You want me to leave you?
- Yeah. Please.
So that's what I do. I go back to my bedroom and try to resume my reading.

Code: Select all

[center][quote]Stamina: 7 | Evasion: 8 | Strength: 3 | Wisdom: 9 | Arcane Power: 7 | Accuracy: 6[/quote][/center]
[quote][center][size=125][color=#1d8fa1]ABILITIES[/color][/size][/center][/quote]
[reducio][table][tr][td][quote][center]LOVELY CREATURE[/center][/quote][/td][td][center][quote]413 words[/quote][/center][/td][/tr][/table]
Eloise is magnificent. Ever since she was little, that's what we've been telling her. When she was a baby it was, "Oh! What a lovely little angel!", When she was a little girl, we would say to her, "What a lovely little girl. You are even more beautiful than your mom." and your mother is very, very beautiful. When you were 7 years old, the parents of your friends said: "This little one is an angel. As much in her character as in her beauty. Are you sure you don't have a Vela in your family?" Anyway, you see the context. It pleases him to Eloise to be appreciated and looked at. At Beauxbatons, it attracts the eyes of the boys. In class, some have difficulty concentrating. It amuses Eloise a lot, who likes to be the center of attention.She loves it so much that she often puts herself in the front row in class. To attract the attention of the students behind her and to listen, of course.
[quote]The day before the start of the school year, her mother had come to see her in her room. She then said to her:
-[color=#4d8384]Eloïse, tomorrow you're leaving for Beauxbatons. But before that, I have to tell you something important. You are not totally human. Don't panic, it's okay! You are a lovely creature. That is to say that you attract attention by your beauty. Less than the Véla but I imagine you noticed.[/color]
Eloise, she was not very surprised. She had suspected it for quite a long time. So she calmly replied to her mother:
-[color=#1d8fa1]Mother, I must say that I suspected it a little. I'm not stupid after all! But, what does it do for me to be a lovely creature?[/color]
This is a question she has been asking herself for a long time. What's it like to be a lovely creature? His mother answered his question:
-[color=#4d8384]Well, first of all, you attract attention. I understand you liked it. Then, in a duel, it prevents your opponent from concentrating. But not a lot.[/color]
She then got up from your bed and left the room with these last words:
-[color=#4d8384]Good night darling. See you tomorrow.[/color]
-[color=#1d8fa1]Good night Mother.[/color]
Well. Now Eloise knew. She had the confirmation that she was not that beautiful. She was also lovely. A magnificent lovely creature. But that does not mean she is a monster. Just a human and lovely creature.[/quote][/reducio][reducio][table][tr][td][quote][center]CALMING PRESENCE[/center][/quote][/td][td][center][quote]495 words[/quote][/center][/td][/tr][/table]
[font=book antic]I was reading in my bedroom. Well, when I say my bedroom, I mean the bedroom I currently have in the Swann Manor. So there I am, reading quietly, lying on the bed when I hear my cousin calling me from her bedroom.
- [color=#741b47]Elo? I want to tell you something![/color]
- [color=#1d8fa1]I'm comming![/color]
I get up and head for the next bedroom. My cousin's bedroom. I open the door and as soon as I enter, I feel something strange. As if the air is heavier here. But Astoria's face hardly seems tense. Almost relaxed I must say.
She must be thinking of something depressing as the air gets heavier. Is there something wrong with her? She motions for me to sit down. I do so, but I must admit that my legs are shaking. I'm scared. But afraid of what?
- [color=#1d8fa1]What did you want to tell me? Is this about the Ball or the summer camp?[/color]
She looks relaxed all of a sudden. It's weird. Everything in this bedroom is weird. Especially the atmosphere, leaden. I don't know, I think... No, it can't be. Forget it.
- [color=#741b47]No, this has nothing to do with Hogwarts. Well, it is a bit. Do I scare you? I mean, do I... Do you think I have a weird aura? I think I have a weird aura.[/color]
That's what I was thinking. A weird aura. So yeah, she does. But I have to do a test first. And she has to tell me that there's something about me that wasn't there before. For example, my words seem to calm me down, whereas hers almost froze me in place.
- [color=#1d8fa1]I will answer you, but only if you think there is something unusual in me.[/color]
She takes her time. I understand her. It can't be easy to answer that question. She sighs a long time and says:
- [color=#741b47]Okay. But you promise to get back to me later, okay?[/color]
I smile and nod. Astoria looks relaxed. And the atmosphere in the room relaxes with her. Terrible presence. That's what she is, I'm sure of it.
- [color=#741b47]Okay, then, I find that you have a calming effect. You've always been soothing, but this is even more so than usual. And I think it's on everyone. Not just me.[/color]
- [color=#1d8fa1]Okay. I kind of suspected that actually. You... It's the opposite. You're not scary per se, but your presence is terrifying. I don't know how else to put it. So when we're together, I think we have a bit of a controlling effect on each other... Or something like that.[/color]
Astoria looks at me, speechless. She needs to be left alone. You can tell. And so do I, I confess. I hope that Astoria's terrifying effect will wear off, even just a little.
- [color=#1d8fa1]You want me to leave you?[/color]
- [color=#741b47]Yeah. Please.[/color]
So that's what I do. I go back to my bedroom and try to resume my reading.[/font][/reducio]

Stats update approved, calming presence ability denied

[b]Is your character a Broom Racer?[/b] NO.

[b]Is your character a Quidditch Player?[/b] NO.

[b]Is your character a Duelist?[/b] YES.

[b]Stats:[/b] 
[reducio][b]
Stamina: 9
Evasion: 14
Strength: 1
Wisdom: 8
Arcane Power: 5
Accuracy: 8[/b][/reducio]

[b]Abilities:[/b] 
[b][center]Evasive Maneuvers[/b] WC (530)
First Year Ability[/center]
[reducio]

[quote][b]Amaury Hexcode:[/b]  [color=#4066e0]4066e0[/color][/quote]
[quote][b]Roberta Hexcode:[/b] [color=#967bb6] 967bb6 [/color][/quote]

Relentless in his assault, Amaury Martin's flurry of blows kept his fencing partner and ten year old daughter Roberta at bay. Size being her most limiting factor, Roberta was perpetually at a disadvantage when fighting her father. As he had told her a dozen times before it took root in her mind, the victory-minded duelist would have to create an opening rather than wait for one to appear. If she made an opening she could close in and strike true, the only problem was that her father's form was quite flawless. It was his mastery of martial arts she envied now as they fought, later it would be his ability to pick ice cream flavors.

[color=#967bb6 ]"You're not fighting fair."[/color] She said with a grumpy pout on her face. [color=#967bb6 ]"Your arms are much longer, and you're at least a meter taller than me."[/color] Focused and determined, her words did not distract her from the battle, but rather accented her anger as she struck back at him, missing thrice.

[color=#4066e0]"Ma petite championne."[/color] [revelio]My little champion[/revelio] Amaury said with a ticklishly warm and playful undertone. [color=#4066e0]"You cannot assume that all of your fights and bouts will be fair! No, you must steal victory out from beneath your opponents."[/color] Each word was punctuated with a swipe or a thrust. There was no resting for the Martin family duelists, they did not relent until they had been proven triumphant, or forced to accept defeat.

Nimbly evading, yet another weak swipe to the side in preparation for a thrust, Roberta attempted to find her balance while making a mental note to parry on the inside of the slash the next time he made that mistake. If her father wasn't going to make a mistake and provide her with an opening, the spirited warrior witch was going to make him offer her one.

[color=#4066e0]"Petit Abeille,"[/color] [revelio]Little Bee[/revelio] her father japed as he stabbed at her again, [color=#4066e0]"why do you dodge instead of striking?"[/color] His face was alight with bemusement as his stabs missed his nimble daughters backpedaling. If she could read his thoughts however she would hear the overflowing but bottled up pride that swelled with each of her evasive maneuvers.

A flash of inspiration swept across Roberta's face as her father attempted the same mistake she'd been looking for. Hilt off alignment lead by a low aggression swipe to the same side in preparation for a thrust. He'd done this three times in a row. She brought her foil up and in full to glide along her opponent's epee effortlessly. It was as though two streams converged into one. A nimble step to her right through the slash off center making the thrust miss her by less than a couple centimetres. [i][b]Those centimetres were calculated.[/b][/i] With her every fraction of her might, Roberta pushed the rapier true and struck her shell-shocked father in the chest.

Mouth agape, Amaury removed his helmet to stare at the marvel of his daughter, the french pureblood was awe-stricken. His little champion before him, prideful in her triumph.

[color=#967bb6]"I learned it from you."[/color] She said with the same bemusement her father had earlier. [color=#967bb6 ]"if there's not an opening, I'll make one."[/color]
[/reducio]

[b][center]Evasive Maneuvers[/b] WC (483)
Second Year[/center]
[reducio]
[quote][b]Bernard Hexcode:[/b]  [color=#c21807]c21807[/color][/quote]
[quote][b]Roberta Hexcode:[/b] [color=#967bb6] 967bb6 [/color][/quote]

Unsure as to whether or not [color=#967bb6 ]"Big fat stupid idiot,"[/color] was enough to get him riled up, Roberta went ahead and bit her thumb too. Sick of his bullying, and not just that which affected herself but everyone else around her too, Roberta decided to pick a fight with Bernard Colline. Sure, he might have been a werewolf, but that didn't mean he automatically had the right to pick on everyone just for having cursed blood. The nerve of some people astounded her sensibilities.

Predictably, the massively towering third year dropped the poor eleven year recipient of his torture and trudged through a flower bed. Lavender was crushed beneath his plodding footsteps as the earth itself parted beneath his grungy boots. [color=#c21807]"Say it to my face and not my back you coward."[/color] That was a mistake on his part for sure, she might have let it go if he stopped, but she was not going to back down from a challenge so forthright.

 Not be fearless, but not a coward, the brute's insult resulted in a reaction that was opposite to effect he had desired. [color=#967bb6 ]"I said, you're a no good, big, fat, stupid, idiot."[/color] She poked his chubby belly for good measure. He was only thirteen or fourteen after all, barely old enough to start looking more adult like so he had some chubbiness. Like her instructors had taught her, and exactly as she had been prepared to do, she slowly crept her wand out of it's holster while digging her finger into his belly button. The provocation didn't last long, as the tickling sensation apparently really pissed him off.

[color=#c21807]"ARAAGH," [/color]the teenage werewolf screamed furiously while nearly foaming at the mouth. Bernard brought both arms upwards in a huge arc. Rage consumed his features and made him as predictable as broad daylight, showing exactly how boys all to often elected to solve their problems. Bernard's stupid idiot arms then came crashing down with such force that he would surely have pulverized the duelist into a paste or dust of some kind. Of course, Roberta was prepared for this exact move and only had to step back to dodge out of inaccurate brute's way. Her combat reflexes were already improving.

Pivoting to the back of Bernard's enraged and spitting form, Roberta pointed her wand at his back. She then flipped the now soaking wet cretin of a dog into the ornate fountains amidst Beauxbaton's lavish gardens using a well timed knock back charm. Plain to see for all enjoying their lunch in the courtyards, Roberta was clearly victorious over the dampened bully. Respectfully and politely, the triumphant bee leaned forward extending the same hand that poked Bernard's belly  button as a peace offering. [color=#967bb6 ]"Here, let's dry you off so I can tell you what you did wrong and maybe next time you'll win." [/color]She smirked, [color=#967bb6 ]"though you probably shouldn't count on it."[/color]
[/reducio]

[b][center]Lovely Creature[/b] WC (495)
Third Year[/center]
[reducio]
Aspiring to add flair to her duelling style, something that she had been lacking according to both her father and the Beauxbatons’ coaches, Roberta had spent her summer studying the Wizarding World's duelling elites. Some were fanciful with their wands, their magic an impressive flourish to behold. Their performances came off as if each spell had been cast in order to be stylish in its own right. Other duellists preferred the hype of their managers. They focused on using the crowd's approval to fuel their eccentric egos thus propelling them to victory. Fashion however was perhaps the single most important thing to any of them. They were, each of them, decked out in marvelous displays of gear that: put fear into the hearts of their opponents,  left the audience with awe on their lips, or even drew disapproving whispers from the crowd of onlookers. Some special few just looked foolish, though they at least had tried.

So what did Roberta do to add flair to her duelling technique? She had gone shopping of course. Stopping at no length to please his daughter, Amaury had spent galleons upon galleons these past few months. Color changing makeup? Bought it with haste. Dresses specifically bearing enchantments meant to dazzle her opponents? Purchased more than a dozen. Shoes that made her taller and more intimidating? Several pairs now lined her closet’s sprawling floor space. It wasn't enough to simply buy some jewelry and accessories to match, she needed an advisor. Someone to coordinate her entire wardrobe for her. Her father acquiesced. A manager who told her what brands were advertising this year? Did that kind of person even exist in this setting? Of course. Well at very least they did now. It was only a short few weeks before Roberta's regalia had been selected, tailored, and fashioned into radiance. Her ensemble eventually being shown off in a homegrown fashion run.

Walking out from her enormous walk-in closet, Roberta swung her hips side to side as she approached her family and their estate's staff. Eyes like fire, she wasn’t as intimidating as she was difficult to look away from, she would give her audience a bold wink followed by a flashy smile. Her father's face lit with pride upon seeing her glow so passionately, as did her mother’s heart when she smiled. Her fashion advisor even let a single tear roll down his cheek to express his sorrow for those who would dare cross paths with her in the future. Each was too busy clapping and cheering her on towards victory to comment on how she had chosen to dress. She had chosen to dress like a warrior. It was clear that she had taken the time and effort to prepare herself with confidence and that confidence would translate onto the big stage this summer. If she were going to become a world renowned duellist, then she would dress the part until she got it. Right now, she looks exquisite.
[/reducio]

PENDING -
Ability - Duelling elites lore needs to be a bit vaguer. I.E. Maybe say some of them do this but not necessarily all (just because we don't have any lore on this at present and it might contradict what we post in the future). Magical clothes/make up might be considered 'cheating' for duelling since you're using magical items and we don't have any lore on that either. I'd probably remove that. You can have Roberta learn how to apply make up properly or understand what clothes 'suits' her better though. She can also learn to 'present' herself in a way that's lovely and considered beautiful.

Edits are due by 21 July.

APPROVED - stats update approved, ability approved, trunk code used

NPC Name: Amaury Favreau
NPC Page: here.
Year: Fifth
Stats: [+2 evasion; +3 accuracy]
Stamina: 6 | Evasion: 11 | Strength: 1 | Wisdom: 11 | ArcPower: 13 | Accuracy: 14

total 56 (+1 for Quidditch win)

Abilities: Fearless

Reducio

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

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

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

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

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

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

wc: 504

Extracurricular: duellist
Content Changes: Add fifth year ability [Fearless], update stats [+5]
Trunk Coding:

Code: Select all

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

[quote][b]STATS |[/b]
[size=83][b]Stamina:[/b] 6 | [b]Evasion:[/b] 11 | [b]Strength:[/b] 1 | [b]Wisdom:[/b] 11 | [b]ArcPower:[/b] 13 | [b]Accuracy:[/b] 14[/size][right][size=75][i]total 56 (+1 for Quidditch win)[/i][/right][/size][/quote]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wc: 504
[/size][/reducio][/quote]
[quote][center]All mentions of Amadea Campbell’s iNPC, [i]Sylviane Favreau,[/i] have been approved by Amadea.[/center][/quote][/quote]

APPROVED