Ilian Arakov
Name: Ilian Arakov
Age: 12
School: Durmstrang
Year: Third year (Graduating to fourth)
Bloodstatus: Pure
Nationality: Bulgarian
Birthplace: Vratsa, Bulgaria
Appearance: Ilian has short brown hair. For a twelve year old, he already had a deep, raspy voice. The first signs of his puberty coming through. However, he only has a height of five feet two, but his growth spurt hasn't come fully through yet. Ilian has bright blue eyes and is in perfect physical condition. He's quite the athlete.
Personality: Ilian is a good hearted, upstanding, honest, young man. He would never try to lie to someone else, not even, to save his own skin. It's just not in his nature. Besides that he is shy and quiet because of his background of being bullied. Despite this fact, he is very protective of those he holds dear and will stand up for those who are not able to. Ilian has a distaste for bullies.
History: Ilian was born in the Arakov family seated in Vratsa. A city in Bulgaria located at the foot of the Balkan mountains renown for its plenitude of caves and waterfalls. In his youth he often hurried, after dinner and doing his chores, to the Ledenika Cave where the other kids played in all the separate halls. He would silently watch how they played. Not daring to go up to them and ask if he could join them. Not after what had happened at the age of eight. For his birthday his father had gifted him a football, excited as he was with this, he immediately ran to the Ledenika Cave to play some soccer. As Ilian had the time of his life playing soccer, he caught the eye of some older muggleborn children. The four of them went over to Ilian and what resulted was nothing more then sheer agony. Ilian’s eight birthday, which should’ve been a special day had now a sour aftertaste. The muggle children had taken his ball and with a pocket knife they deflated it, the eight year old could not help the tears filling his eyes. After that, they went for Ilian… They beated him up and laughed at him as the boy was no chance for the four of them. After that the Ledenika Cave had never been the same to him. His safe place, the place where he came to take his mind off of the daily chores and whatnot had now turned into a place of pain and horror. Ilian avoided the place like it carried the plague. From that day on he had refused to play with anyone else. Turning his attention inward and focusing more on his family. The boy became an apprentice of his father, Miroslav Arakov, who was a furniture maker. Every day consisted of the same routine. Early in the mornings before anyone else of the family would be up and about, Ilian went to the Skaklya waterfall Waterfall and started working out there. After he was done there and arrived back home his father would meet him in the dining room. There they would convey how the day would look like and head over to the workshop. Ilian would help his father and learn his craft. After work they closed the workshop once again and head back home, where they would dine with the rest of the family.
This went on for about two more years, at the age of ten it would seem that the young Ilian would have his first experience with magic. It had a been like any other day that summer, he had to bring some furniture to some clients at the other end of the town. But it would seem that young Ilian once again would have a run in with fate. As he crossed the street, a group of older boys would walk towards his direction. One look and the boy recognised them instantly. It were the faces that haunted his nightmares and it seemed that the Muggle boys had also recognised him. Time froze on the corner of the street, or at least that was what it felt like. On the Muggle boys their faces a grin started to form and Ilian was thrown back in time. The street, the houses, the passing cars everything seemed to fade only to make room for cold, grey stone all around him. He once again stood in the Ledenika Cave, it felt like it was only yesterday that his eighth birthday had passed. Fear froze him in place, ragged breathing made his chest go up and down. The older boys were running now at him, like wild predators, they leaped at their victim. But a moment away before the demons would kill him, closing his eyes and a tear rolling down his cheek. He screamed and then an ear deafening silence befell the street. As he opened his eyes, he stared right back in the blue eyes of an elderly man. A man with a thick and long grey beard, a wrinkled face, yet one who held a kind and soft expression. As he gazed around a bit more he realised he was in the oh-so-familiar dining room of his home. Ilian’s right hand was held by another and he followed the arm right up to the kind face of his mother. There she sat with his younger sister, Katarina. The person who had been looking at him was now talking in hushed voices with his father. His mother explained to him that this man was an Auror of the Ministry of Magic. The Auror had come to investigate unregistered use of magic on four muggleborn boys. It had seemed that when the ten year old had screamed he had blasted the four Muggleborn who wanted to harm him a few metres back and rendered them unconscious. The Ministery was here to put charms on the muggle children so the magical world could remain secret.
A week after the incident his father talked to him and revealed that Ilian came from a long line of proud pureblood wizards. His father was a wizard and his mother a witch. Miroslav explained to him that they didn’t want to use magic around the children as they wanted them to experience a life without it and when they would prove to have magic leave them the choice to choose if they want to learn more about this or remain among the muggles and live a ‘modest’ life. Ilian who had first hand felt how cruel Muggles could be chose to learn more about his heritage and learn to hone his ‘gift’. A year after this Ilian was sent to Durmstrang Insitute.
The years that followed this were the hardest of Ilian’s young life, many nights he had lain awake wondering if he had made a mistake, by choosing this path. To as swiftly dissuade the thought and continue through the hardship. Now at the age of twelve almost turning thirteen he found himself in Scotland. As his school attended an event hosted by the resident school of magic there, Hogwarts.
Is your character a Quidditch Player? Yes
Approved But we are in London.
Ilian Arakov
Statistics:
- Stamina: 10
- Evasion: 8
- Strength: 10
- Wisdom: 5
- ArcPower: 2
- Accuracy: 10
- Broom: Nimbus 1700 +2 accuracy, +1 evasion, +1 wisdom, +1 strength
Abilities:
Year 1: Foul Play:
Reducio
In the northwestern parts of Bulgaria there was a city at the foot of the Balkan Mountains.The city was named Vratsa. There lived a boy there by the name of Ilian. He was in love with Quidditch and everything that revolved around it. Ever since his father had taken his son with him to attend a Quidditch match he was hooked. He hadn’t missed a single one. It was quite clear who his favorite team was. None could rival them. It was none other then the Vratsa Vultures themselves. It was no wonder. If you looked at how these athletes performed during their games you couldn’t stop, but wonder if they themselves were no arthists. Because that is what they were as well. The ease they manoeuvered their brooms with was unmatched, the way they made a spectacle of every single match whether they won or not was a real treat. Oh, how Ilian longed to become a professional Quidditch player himself! The single thought made him shiver and filled him with conviction and purpose. This was what he was destined to do. His life long dream and he would be damned if he would not succeed.
The last couple of years Ilian didn’t just devote himself to training. No, he observed and analysed every single Quidditch game there was possibly out there. Not solely the Vratsa Vultures played. He followed them all. One particular player catches his eye, however. It was Grozdan Panayotov a Keeper with the Vultures. His playstyle was to be envied, if not unmatched by any other player out there. Panayotov dominated the field and according to Ilian he decided how the game would be played. His signature move that he at least used once every game was him making a target of one of the key players on the opposing team, fly close to them and… Push them off of their brooms with all of his might. Every time he did it the crowd went wild, most with booing at him, yet Ilian could appreciate a player like him. Ilian understood the reasoning. Whatever it takes to secure a win… And as long as the referee wouldn’t spot it, it doesn’t really count as a foul, now would it?
Whenever Ilian found time when he was at school on Durmstrang he could be found training his hardest to master this particular move. This went on even during the vacations before and after he had done his chores and had helped out in the shop. This pattern continued for months until he had finally mastered this particular movement and could do it not only blindly, but with two fingers stuck in his nose. (Not really, but you get the picture)
WC: 454
Year 2: Keeper's Catch:
Reducio
Many ‘sensible’ students would wait for the weather to allow it to mount their brooms and practice for Quidditch. Yet, Ilian wasn’t a very ‘sensible’ guy in that regard. Any excuse would be a good one just to soar through the sky and practice. Today he had urged his peers and comrades to join him in this stormy weather to sneak out of their dorms and join him on the Quidditch field. Luckily, they all shared the same dream. For them to one day become professional quidditch stars and thus it had taken not much to convince them. If caught severe punishment awaited him and the others, but Ilian didn’t care. So as promised he and the others snuck out of their dorms, cladded in their Quidditch attire and brooms in their hand. The rain beated hard on them and in the ten seconds they had left the safe and warm environment of the Institute, they were soaking wet. The wind was pulling at their cloaks, which made it even harder when they took flight on their brooms. As if a signal was given all of the players removed their cloaks and immediately the wind started playing with its prey. Now that the players were free from their cloaks the practice could begin.
Although the weather didn’t allow it for anyone to talk, they didn’t need to talk. As they were one. Like a well oiled machine they performed their practice. Analyzing as they soared pass each other to look for any weaknesses that someone else could exploit and terminate it. This was nothing different then the other times they practiced, yet everything was different… The storm raged on all around them. Making it hard for the Seeker to spot the Snitch and making it even more threatening to see a Bludger coming. To Ilian they were family and what does one do for family? Exactly. Protect it all cost. Every quaffle he could not catch would mean one stop closer to defeat and a bigger gap to overcome during the season. He had to perfect it. The storm was perfect, not only for him, but for all of them. As they all would not be able to think, but had to rely on their instincts. The ideal scenery for Ilian. Focused, like no other he scanned the field for the leather red ball, which could mean victory or defeat for his team. As he spotted it, he braced himself. At the very last second he manoevered his broom towards the quaffle. A resounding clap as he caught the slippery ball in both of his palms. The one who had thrown it was just sitting there on top of his broom, trying to hold his position against the brutal wind, yet Ilian did not grant him this moment of ‘almost’ peace. His right hand flung the ball right back at his face. A smile appeared on Ilian’s face, for often his mates had laughed at him for not having a signature move yet. But now he had mastered his.
Although the weather didn’t allow it for anyone to talk, they didn’t need to talk. As they were one. Like a well oiled machine they performed their practice. Analyzing as they soared pass each other to look for any weaknesses that someone else could exploit and terminate it. This was nothing different then the other times they practiced, yet everything was different… The storm raged on all around them. Making it hard for the Seeker to spot the Snitch and making it even more threatening to see a Bludger coming. To Ilian they were family and what does one do for family? Exactly. Protect it all cost. Every quaffle he could not catch would mean one stop closer to defeat and a bigger gap to overcome during the season. He had to perfect it. The storm was perfect, not only for him, but for all of them. As they all would not be able to think, but had to rely on their instincts. The ideal scenery for Ilian. Focused, like no other he scanned the field for the leather red ball, which could mean victory or defeat for his team. As he spotted it, he braced himself. At the very last second he manoevered his broom towards the quaffle. A resounding clap as he caught the slippery ball in both of his palms. The one who had thrown it was just sitting there on top of his broom, trying to hold his position against the brutal wind, yet Ilian did not grant him this moment of ‘almost’ peace. His right hand flung the ball right back at his face. A smile appeared on Ilian’s face, for often his mates had laughed at him for not having a signature move yet. But now he had mastered his.
WC: 509
Year 3: Lovely Creature
Reducio
Illian was definitely what one would call a lovely creature. With a jaw shaped like an anvil, short brown spikey hair, a deep raspy voice that would even melt the coldest of harts, bright blue eyes, a smile to die for and in perfect physical condition. Which resulted in a lot of stolen looks being thrown his way. It was no wonder he would be considered like that. However, this didn't extend only to his physical appearance oh no. This boy had the purest of harts. Though being the victim of bullying at a young age it hadn't dissuaded him for being the caring individual he was today. On the contrary even it had only solidified his persona. Illian is a silent boy that doesn't speak much if at all, but he will always speak up and act on behalve of those who can't seem to protect or stand up for themselves. Due to his, sometimes, overprotective nature he gets branded at times of being annoying and nosy, but none the less lovely company to have around. This was partly to blame on his upbringing.
Born in the pureblood family of Arakov his parents had raised him with a few basic traits that all of the Arakovs possessed. A hard working spirit, kindness, being truthful and being respectful. Add on top of all of this his proud bloodline where he had to learn how to carry himself with dignity and being honorable he seemed like the perfect match for any pureblood girl.
Illian couldn't hide the fact he enjoyed being easy on the eyes. In many ways it had given him some advantages. One being he could literally interact with any- and everyone no matter their social status. He knew, but all too well what a startling and even distracting effect his appearance had. The examples of it were endless. Every time he was sent into town by his father to gather supplies for the furniture shop all eyes were locked on him. Their local baker burned at least twice her hands at the oven and was that distracted she burned three complete breads before the burned scent finally snapped her out of her trance. Another occasion he had merely asked a girl for directions and she had merely gaped at him as she stumbled over her words not sure how to react. It wasn't easy to be this attractive, let alone being this lovely.
Born in the pureblood family of Arakov his parents had raised him with a few basic traits that all of the Arakovs possessed. A hard working spirit, kindness, being truthful and being respectful. Add on top of all of this his proud bloodline where he had to learn how to carry himself with dignity and being honorable he seemed like the perfect match for any pureblood girl.
Illian couldn't hide the fact he enjoyed being easy on the eyes. In many ways it had given him some advantages. One being he could literally interact with any- and everyone no matter their social status. He knew, but all too well what a startling and even distracting effect his appearance had. The examples of it were endless. Every time he was sent into town by his father to gather supplies for the furniture shop all eyes were locked on him. Their local baker burned at least twice her hands at the oven and was that distracted she burned three complete breads before the burned scent finally snapped her out of her trance. Another occasion he had merely asked a girl for directions and she had merely gaped at him as she stumbled over her words not sure how to react. It wasn't easy to be this attractive, let alone being this lovely.
(WC: 405)
Preferred roles: (Picked by preference)
- Keeper
- Beater
- Anything else.
Is your character a broom racer? NO
Is your character a quidditch player? YES
Is your character a duellist? NO
Race: Werewolf
Abilities: Obnoxiously Strong
Stats: Sta: 8 Eva: 6 Str: 10 Wis: 6 Arc: 4 Acc: 6
Ilian Arakov
Statistics:
Abilities:
Year 1: Foul Play:
WC: 454
Year 2: Keeper's Catch:
WC: 509
Year 3: Lovely Creature
(WC: 405)
This is the "Game Master" account. Please do not owl this account, unless specified. This account is not moderated actively and therefore, you may not receive a response.
Contact a Head of House or the Headmaster if you need anything.
- Stamina: 10
- Evasion: 8
- Strength: 10
- Wisdom: 5
- ArcPower: 2
- Accuracy: 10
- Broom: Nimbus 1700 +2 accuracy, +1 evasion, +1 wisdom, +1 strength
Abilities:
Year 1: Foul Play:
Reducio
In the northwestern parts of Bulgaria there was a city at the foot of the Balkan Mountains.The city was named Vratsa. There lived a boy there by the name of Ilian. He was in love with Quidditch and everything that revolved around it. Ever since his father had taken his son with him to attend a Quidditch match he was hooked. He hadn’t missed a single one. It was quite clear who his favorite team was. None could rival them. It was none other then the Vratsa Vultures themselves. It was no wonder. If you looked at how these athletes performed during their games you couldn’t stop, but wonder if they themselves were no arthists. Because that is what they were as well. The ease they manoeuvered their brooms with was unmatched, the way they made a spectacle of every single match whether they won or not was a real treat. Oh, how Ilian longed to become a professional Quidditch player himself! The single thought made him shiver and filled him with conviction and purpose. This was what he was destined to do. His life long dream and he would be damned if he would not succeed.
The last couple of years Ilian didn’t just devote himself to training. No, he observed and analysed every single Quidditch game there was possibly out there. Not solely the Vratsa Vultures played. He followed them all. One particular player catches his eye, however. It was Grozdan Panayotov a Keeper with the Vultures. His playstyle was to be envied, if not unmatched by any other player out there. Panayotov dominated the field and according to Ilian he decided how the game would be played. His signature move that he at least used once every game was him making a target of one of the key players on the opposing team, fly close to them and… Push them off of their brooms with all of his might. Every time he did it the crowd went wild, most with booing at him, yet Ilian could appreciate a player like him. Ilian understood the reasoning. Whatever it takes to secure a win… And as long as the referee wouldn’t spot it, it doesn’t really count as a foul, now would it?
Whenever Ilian found time when he was at school on Durmstrang he could be found training his hardest to master this particular move. This went on even during the vacations before and after he had done his chores and had helped out in the shop. This pattern continued for months until he had finally mastered this particular movement and could do it not only blindly, but with two fingers stuck in his nose. (Not really, but you get the picture)
WC: 454
Year 2: Keeper's Catch:
Reducio
Many ‘sensible’ students would wait for the weather to allow it to mount their brooms and practice for Quidditch. Yet, Ilian wasn’t a very ‘sensible’ guy in that regard. Any excuse would be a good one just to soar through the sky and practice. Today he had urged his peers and comrades to join him in this stormy weather to sneak out of their dorms and join him on the Quidditch field. Luckily, they all shared the same dream. For them to one day become professional quidditch stars and thus it had taken not much to convince them. If caught severe punishment awaited him and the others, but Ilian didn’t care. So as promised he and the others snuck out of their dorms, cladded in their Quidditch attire and brooms in their hand. The rain beated hard on them and in the ten seconds they had left the safe and warm environment of the Institute, they were soaking wet. The wind was pulling at their cloaks, which made it even harder when they took flight on their brooms. As if a signal was given all of the players removed their cloaks and immediately the wind started playing with its prey. Now that the players were free from their cloaks the practice could begin.
Although the weather didn’t allow it for anyone to talk, they didn’t need to talk. As they were one. Like a well oiled machine they performed their practice. Analyzing as they soared pass each other to look for any weaknesses that someone else could exploit and terminate it. This was nothing different then the other times they practiced, yet everything was different… The storm raged on all around them. Making it hard for the Seeker to spot the Snitch and making it even more threatening to see a Bludger coming. To Ilian they were family and what does one do for family? Exactly. Protect it all cost. Every quaffle he could not catch would mean one stop closer to defeat and a bigger gap to overcome during the season. He had to perfect it. The storm was perfect, not only for him, but for all of them. As they all would not be able to think, but had to rely on their instincts. The ideal scenery for Ilian. Focused, like no other he scanned the field for the leather red ball, which could mean victory or defeat for his team. As he spotted it, he braced himself. At the very last second he manoevered his broom towards the quaffle. A resounding clap as he caught the slippery ball in both of his palms. The one who had thrown it was just sitting there on top of his broom, trying to hold his position against the brutal wind, yet Ilian did not grant him this moment of ‘almost’ peace. His right hand flung the ball right back at his face. A smile appeared on Ilian’s face, for often his mates had laughed at him for not having a signature move yet. But now he had mastered his.
Although the weather didn’t allow it for anyone to talk, they didn’t need to talk. As they were one. Like a well oiled machine they performed their practice. Analyzing as they soared pass each other to look for any weaknesses that someone else could exploit and terminate it. This was nothing different then the other times they practiced, yet everything was different… The storm raged on all around them. Making it hard for the Seeker to spot the Snitch and making it even more threatening to see a Bludger coming. To Ilian they were family and what does one do for family? Exactly. Protect it all cost. Every quaffle he could not catch would mean one stop closer to defeat and a bigger gap to overcome during the season. He had to perfect it. The storm was perfect, not only for him, but for all of them. As they all would not be able to think, but had to rely on their instincts. The ideal scenery for Ilian. Focused, like no other he scanned the field for the leather red ball, which could mean victory or defeat for his team. As he spotted it, he braced himself. At the very last second he manoevered his broom towards the quaffle. A resounding clap as he caught the slippery ball in both of his palms. The one who had thrown it was just sitting there on top of his broom, trying to hold his position against the brutal wind, yet Ilian did not grant him this moment of ‘almost’ peace. His right hand flung the ball right back at his face. A smile appeared on Ilian’s face, for often his mates had laughed at him for not having a signature move yet. But now he had mastered his.
WC: 509
Year 3: Lovely Creature
Reducio
Illian was definitely what one would call a lovely creature. With a jaw shaped like an anvil, short brown spikey hair, a deep raspy voice that would even melt the coldest of harts, bright blue eyes, a smile to die for and in perfect physical condition. Which resulted in a lot of stolen looks being thrown his way. It was no wonder he would be considered like that. However, this didn't extend only to his physical appearance oh no. This boy had the purest of harts. Though being the victim of bullying at a young age it hadn't dissuaded him for being the caring individual he was today. On the contrary even it had only solidified his persona. Illian is a silent boy that doesn't speak much if at all, but he will always speak up and act on behalve of those who can't seem to protect or stand up for themselves. Due to his, sometimes, overprotective nature he gets branded at times of being annoying and nosy, but none the less lovely company to have around. This was partly to blame on his upbringing.
Born in the pureblood family of Arakov his parents had raised him with a few basic traits that all of the Arakovs possessed. A hard working spirit, kindness, being truthful and being respectful. Add on top of all of this his proud bloodline where he had to learn how to carry himself with dignity and being honorable he seemed like the perfect match for any pureblood girl.
Illian couldn't hide the fact he enjoyed being easy on the eyes. In many ways it had given him some advantages. One being he could literally interact with any- and everyone no matter their social status. He knew, but all too well what a startling and even distracting effect his appearance had. The examples of it were endless. Every time he was sent into town by his father to gather supplies for the furniture shop all eyes were locked on him. Their local baker burned at least twice her hands at the oven and was that distracted she burned three complete breads before the burned scent finally snapped her out of her trance. Another occasion he had merely asked a girl for directions and she had merely gaped at him as she stumbled over her words not sure how to react. It wasn't easy to be this attractive, let alone being this lovely.
Born in the pureblood family of Arakov his parents had raised him with a few basic traits that all of the Arakovs possessed. A hard working spirit, kindness, being truthful and being respectful. Add on top of all of this his proud bloodline where he had to learn how to carry himself with dignity and being honorable he seemed like the perfect match for any pureblood girl.
Illian couldn't hide the fact he enjoyed being easy on the eyes. In many ways it had given him some advantages. One being he could literally interact with any- and everyone no matter their social status. He knew, but all too well what a startling and even distracting effect his appearance had. The examples of it were endless. Every time he was sent into town by his father to gather supplies for the furniture shop all eyes were locked on him. Their local baker burned at least twice her hands at the oven and was that distracted she burned three complete breads before the burned scent finally snapped her out of her trance. Another occasion he had merely asked a girl for directions and she had merely gaped at him as she stumbled over her words not sure how to react. It wasn't easy to be this attractive, let alone being this lovely.
(WC: 405)
Is your character a broom racer? NO
Is your character a quidditch player? YES
Is your character a duellist? NO
This is the "Game Master" account. Please do not owl this account, unless specified. This account is not moderated actively and therefore, you may not receive a response.
Contact a Head of House or the Headmaster if you need anything.