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Messages - Orion Alricsson

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Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Orion Aleksandr Alricsson

Birthday: November 5th, 1936

Hometown:  None of your business, France. Also Central Wizarding Iceland.

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one): Transfiguration

Year (pick two): Fifth, Fourth


"You're going to that damned school. I will not hear another word on the matter, and that is final."

There was no need to accentuate the point with a slamming of the decadently designed wooden door, yet his mother threw all her weight into its closing. Only the fierce gust of wind and the last remnants of his hopes of swaying her out of her decision were left to keep him company. A week's worth of arguments, parading through all corners of the Alric Estate--- a misnomer of a name if there ever was one-- in English of all things, shut behind the wall of indignation and malice his mother had developed into an art form.

Unfortunately for Orion, this was his first encounter with falling prey to it. A lifetime of standing behind it for protection completely reversed, much like the rest of his world had been in those few days.

Seething snarls substituted words through his heavy breathing. Dropping to his knees in defeat, the Icelander let the weight of her decision take root and send ripples through not just his life, but that of the traditions he had always held dear. For more than a thousand years, his family had passed their magical education from generation to generation. If you found yourself outside of that bubble, you were not regarded as a real Alricsson. Their secrets were theirs, birthed by blood as pure as the morning's dew or the first light that reached the blossoming world and nurtured by the fraternal bonds they had kept sacred. Yet, he would be the one to break that line. The worst possible nightmare brought to life by the cursed blood of his cousin.

An Alricsson would be attending Hogwarts.

He could hear the screams of his predecessors rolling over in their graves at the prospect of the chosen one of his bloodline now having to socialize with a bunch of lesser wizards and witches or, worse yet, galdur tómarúm. They bore down on him, leaving his shoulders shaking and gray eyes despondent. All he could do was sink into the memories of what had led him to rock bottom.

Given the time to think it through, after all that had happened, there might have been some room to understand his mother's reactive measure. There was no denying the truth that had crashed through their halls, caught wholly unaware and unable to resist his strange magic. In that moment, staring at the darkness of the floor as a foreboding sign of his future, Orion only wanted to scream into the void of their closed-off castle athow ludicrous this all seemed. His ire did not stick to his mother, psychotic as she might be, but to his bastard helmingur cousin whose path he was now being forced to follow.

- - - - - - -

August 2nd, 1946

Orion stood on the tips of his toes, fingers cradling the smooth finish of the center staircase. It was Adrian's last day before he would be off to Britain, where mother said he would go and never return. The two had always been kept separated throughout the half-blood's stay; his sisters joked that such sacrilegious blood was too cursed to be kept too close. It was an accepted truth; Adrian was bad because his aunt had betrayed the family and had the gall to leave him there with the rest of them while she gallivanted across Europe. His very existence ridiculed his grandfather, who had worked a lifetime to keep their family name viable in the eyes of the families of the True Althing.

He knew that, but it did little to quell the sympathy in seeing the lanky boy's despondent eyes. They looked like black holes, empty only for the moment before it swallowed everything up. The fact that his half-brother and cousin, Yuric and Svandr, were pushing and prodding the younger boy also added to the strange pitting sensation Orion had not the word to describe. Adrian had been a mystery, a stark contrast to the celebration his own life was. Shaking his small head, he walked up the stairs once he heard the thud of a fist colliding with abdomen: a final goodbye for a cursed life.

A final reminder of the penalty tainted blood carried.

July 1st, 1951

He rushed down the stairs, awoken by the sound of the crashing glass. Orion had been napping-- though sleeping might have been more accurate considering how long he had dozed off-- mainly to avoid his afternoon studies. Finding out the difference between summoning charms and summoning incantations was annoying, almost as bad as the English he was being forced to learn. Sleep was a better proposition, made easier when his sister left him alone so that she could start cooking dinner.

What he saw when he arrived was his mother standing on the verge of exploding. The rest of his family seemed to be there, even his grandfather wheeled to the front even as his stare drifted off as absently as ever. Yuric looked almost as mad as she did, his wand clenched in a fist as he looked to be examining the pattern of broken glass on the floor.

"Who broke the window?" He asked, moving from face to face and noting the small details of difference that ranged from appalled to shocked to embittered. Sybelle turned to look at him, shaking his head and warning him to leave just as Yuric let out a torrent of curses. Many of them littered with a name he had not heard in years. It was a warning.

July 4th, 1952

He could not bring his wand to aim at the detestable half-breed.

Whether it be fear or amazement, Orion had seldom felt as irrelevant as he did then. His mother had been the first to be disposed of, still hanging by her ankle in mid-air as her clothing stretched to bind her completely. Yuric's unconscious face could be seen sticking out of the hole Adrian had made appear from the floor. As always, his grandfather sat motionless from his seat. If there was ever a time for that man to get out, to break out of the spell or stroke-like symptoms that kept him there, now would be it. It did little to deter the helmingur. Adrian brazenly walked towards the hobbled man, an actual look of recognition paid by his grandfather leaving him searching for air. That dastardly, white wand found the patriarch of his family's forehead, stealing away white vapors that Orion could not understand.

Really, what could be done about this nightmare come back to life? They were ill-prepared for this, thinking the threat made a year past as nothing more than the spiteful claim of a bitter enemy of their family. If anything, that had only spurned his mother to chase the other half of their family away. Only his mother's children occupied the castle now; Orion, Sybelle who remained fat and unmarried, and Yuric who again proved himself to be rather useless in his mother's eyes.

He had to act, to try something. Orion yelled, calling his attention as he thought of the best spell to use. Before the words could leave his lips, the floor underneath his feet disappeared and the world went black before his balance could be found.

- - - - - - -

"What are you doing?" His half-brother broke his concentration, staring down at him like a curious dog. Whatever was left of Yuric's pride came out in angry fits, ones that he dared Orion to question. It made him hate him, pinning much of the blame of what befell the favored son on Yuric's failures.

"She's sending me to Hogwarts," he said with utter contempt. Yuric now kept an awful goatee, which had him wrinkling his nose. "It is horrible. What is she even thinki-"

The words did not finish leaving his mouth before he was struck with the backhand of his half-brother. Orion's eyes flashed seething anger, rising to stare both dumbfounded and sinister at the much-older man. He had never raised a hand at him before, which held him in place for a moment only to digest the implications of it before rising to meet his stare.

"Never question your mother," he commanded, turning his back to him. Yuric left him stewing with that, astonished at how much everything had changed. Left alone, he continued to hold his eyes down the dark hallway. "I'll go to Hogwarts and leave you all behind," he whispered under his breath. "I'll be the greatest wizard this family has ever seen."


House Request: Gryffindor or Slytherin

Personality: Having rarely lifted a finger for anything in his life, this new weight of responsibility is a tricky dynamic Orion is still trying to figure out. An isolated childhood left him ill-prepared for the rigors of socializing. Unlike his cousin, this Icelander lacks the self-awareness and understanding to try to take it all in. He's brash, he's rude. He expects you to worship his chiseled face. He likes to think of himself as a lone wolf, channeling that animal's spirit as a way to lead his life (Good luck with that one, sport). His defiance could even trace to his hair, which used to be down to his shoulders and now poofs cropped at the sides and long on top. His default is disgruntled and angry, with a huge chip on his shoulder to not only prove himself worthy of his traditions but also to create his own legacy.

Appearance: His body is handling his maturity far better than his mind is. He's tall and lean, athletic. Brown hair, eyes, with a swagger to his walk as if the floor was made solely for his pleasure.

Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.

The chaos of the castle was better left avoided in these traffic filled hours. Orion had escaped to embrace the cloudy days of northern Scotland. While he had only been a toddler when his family had left Iceland, this is exactly how he pictured his homeland to be. Wet. Cold. Icy. Beautiful. A gray sky for a graying world whose only color bled crimson.

It was there, standing against the rigid castle walls, that he saw the black mass of a school uniform plague the scenery with a shrill, whiny voice. Orion's lips pursed as he tried to place the sound with an equally whiny face. Did they share Potions together? Either way, a loud sneeze broke that the silence that kept him a mere observer and rather an obnoxious, laughing member of the audience.

"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

"I never claimed to be," he blurted matter-of-factually. Orion puffed out his chest, staring daggers at the boy near his age yet lacking any sort of charisma. The fifteen year-old sauntered forward, sucking in his breath to keep from laughing at the scene unfolding. A steely grin flowed freely from ear to ear, settling his sinister gaze as if on wounded prey.

"How about you try and convince why I should not rat you out about destroying all those flowers?" Yes, he knew of this boy. Could hear him complain about his missing rat like it was anything more than a rat. Again, filth begot filth or however that saying went. In his eyes, the luscious reds of the flower bed that blended into his posh scenery did far more for him than this sniveling boy did.

Someone had to play the hero in this act, and why not him?


Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Adrian Alric (mainly)

How did you find us?: Former player suggestion.

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