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Messages - Swan Märchen
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« on: 01/08/2016 at 04:08 »
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.Name: Swan Märchen Birthday: (Birthday 14 July 1932) Hometown: Swansea, Wales. Bloodline: Pureblood / Halfblood / Muggleborn / Squib Magical Strength (pick one):Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning Magical Weakness (pick one):Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning Year (pick two): Sixth, seventh Biography: Once upon a time, there was a woman named Leda, and she was beautiful and she was wild…Or perhaps… Once upon a time, there was a man, a prince, and he was beautiful, and he was wild…It was difficult for Swan to pinpoint the beginning of his own story, but it ws something that weighed heavily on his mind. Leda and the Prince were so in love. The flit across the world together in a span of days, born on the wings of their hearts as they joined together.Every fable had a clear beginning, and a clear end. It told a single story, maybe taught a moral. Be faithful. Never wander. But if you didn’t know how the story started, could you ever know what it all meant? Most children could ask their parents for the story’s origins. Swan would never waste the words on a such fruitless misadventure. Volatile, Leda and the Prince were torn by the conception of a new, more fragile life than they had been prepared for.The only thing Swan ever really knew was that his mother was always looking for her prince. Waiting for him. Knitting, sewing, never ending. Her fingers were pricked with the ends of needles as she sewed shirt after shirt, knitted scarves, turned fine fabrics into finer clothes for a person who would never show up to wear them. “They’re for the prince,” she would say. “If I make enough, the curse will be broken. I can break the curse. I can break the curse.” Whatever the curse had been, Swan didn’t think that it would ever be broken. The Prince was leaving. Leda couldn't know if it had been her imagination or his words that had told her he would return. Conditions weighed upon her as she tried to fathom out the exact scenario that would bring him back to her.The tower that constituted his home in Cleve rose above the trees behind him as Swan stood, head cocked to the side, eyes closed, his feet in the water at dawn. The morning rustlings of birds and bugs reached his ears as felt the sun slowly rise above the trees. He breathed, in and out with the rhythm of the life around him. Nature spoke a language he understood better than anything else, and it had always seemed to respond to his own methods of communication. The world morphed around his fingertips, pliant and easy. A friend, never his enemy. Seven shirts of the best quality imaginable, and he would return. Day in, and day out, she sewed shirt after shirt, weaving magic into the threads like her life depended on it. With a single-minded focus.Diaphanous in the dawn, he enjoyed his small peace. They had only just arrived at home, but Swan knew, with an ineffable certainty, that they were not staying much longer. Their trip to Rome had been fruitless, and wherever they went now, Swan knew they would meet with just as much success. Or was it a giant beast that stole him away?His father was a coward, he wasn’t coming back. Swan would never know him. It didn’t hurt anymore—knowing his father was a monster. Knowing how broken his mother was because of him. But Swan was so young, and taking care of her was so hard. Sometimes he didn’t know how he could carry that weight on his shoulders. Only a beast would leave him with such a burden before he had been born. Someone would have to defeat it, but who if not the prince? He was the savior, and she was just meant to wait, wait, wait…Rolling his left shoulder in the day’s breeze, he felt the pain of it was less today. Injuring it at a very young age trying to care for his mother, it never seemed to have healed properly. It ached and he recalled the many times he had been with this or that relative. How they had helped him. How they all knew him by the way he moved and the way his eyes trained upon them. Swan never spoke if he wasn’t required. Brevity was his strongest inclination. He could say the most with the fewest words, but only when none wouldn’t suffice. The stories were all mixed up in her head. Her head was all mixed up in the stories.Swan spoke best when he spoke not at all. Words were wind, and wind was more useful elsewhere. He thought and spoke in impressions and sensation, though he could grab snatches of word if he wanted. Snatches of Italian here, French there, German at his center. But nothing was as vital and inherent as his own thought. Leda was undone…Swan strained to spread his wings, to feel the soft swell of air beneath them. Walking into the tower, he caught his mother’s eyes. The eyes that had once been so full of light and life but now housed sorrow and a far off pain. They locked eyes and he changed his body language, subtle but purposeful. “Yes,” she said, as if in agreement. “Yes, you’re quite right. Swansea. Grandmother. Yes. Just let me finish your father’s shirt. This might be the one.” Leda muttered as she stitched, and Swan moved by her side, ever dutiful. Every fairy tale ends well, if you know where to place the end.→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.House Request: Ravenclaw → SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.Swan always liked flowers. He tended them, planned their lifespans according to their environment. Chose every single plant according to the season and the soil and all the things that affected its growth. Care and careful consideration. What else mattered? Enjoying the silence, Swan felt very much at peace. At least, he had until a bumbling, stumbling snot-nosed kid ruined the perfect solitude of the moment. The sound of his voice penetrated his privacy so completely, Swan couldn’t help but let his eyes latch onto the stupid kid. And the kid noticed. Addressed by the kid, Swan responded in his usual way: he crossed his arms and tensed his jaw. Narrowing his eyes, he made sure they bore into the destructive force that was ruining the aesthetic of the garden. His eyes flicked to the flowers, and then back up to the kid, as if to say, What is wrong with you? Respect the flowers.
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« on: 01/08/2016 at 00:04 »
So if you need it to help sort, can already accepted characters use RP samples they already wrote? Because RPs have already happened, it seems unnecessary that it be that specific RP sample, especially if the RP sample for the Elsewhere child has been written.
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« on: 31/07/2016 at 20:12 »
Hey friends.
A good chunk of us have been here a long time. Have characters approaching or even breaking the double digits. It's great right? SO MUCH FUN to be had.
I propose, and I feel like a lot of people agree, if you are an active player with a new character, or have already had a character accepted in Elsewhere, and want to move said character to the Castle, it seems an unnecessary burden to require an RP sample.
RP samples are to make sure we can all play together. Players that have already PLAYED a character shouldn't have to go through it an unending number of times, especially when the samples are pretty much the same ones for ages and ages and we're all dealing with the same box of tinsel or the same girl on a broom or dungeon.
You already know we can RP. We've proven it already. I propose that we do away with RP samples for active returning players. At the very least, let already accepted elsewhere members submit a sample of something they've already written if you absolutely have to have it.
Easier for everyone.
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« on: 24/07/2016 at 16:45 »
No, there is no way for players to view what pages others are on. If you want to know what your RP partners are doing, you can ask them, though it should be noted that excessive requests of this nature can potentially be viewed as harassment. People will get to what they can in their own time, and trying to force them on the issue (which occasionally happens, but is not something I am accusing you of) will turn people off.
And Jack, what is your question exactly?
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« on: 30/05/2016 at 17:41 »
OOC Landmarks:30/05/2016 →Application Accepted! Link!
IC Landmarks:14/06/1932 →Born a bastard to Leda Märchen 1940 →Swan convinces his mother it's time to settle away from their home. They move to Swansea to stay with family.
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« on: 30/05/2016 at 03:28 »
E L S E W H E R E C H I L D CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Swan Märchen Gender: Male Age: 15 (Birthday 18 July 1932) Bloodline:Pureblood/ Halfblood/Muggleborn/Squib Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Leda Märchen (Unplayed) Residence: Currently residing in Swansea, Wales. Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?no Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason? (what does this question even mean?  ?? Like okay, the Märchens but that doesn’t really translate to anything and I really just get constantly stumped by this question’s existence) Please list any other characters you already have at the site:all the characters. all of them. Mael et al. Biography: (100 words minimum.)Once upon a time, there was a woman named Leda, and she was beautiful and she was wild…Or perhaps… Once upon a time, there was a man, a prince, and he was beautiful, and he was wild…It was difficult for Swan to pinpoint the beginning of his own story, but it ws something that weighed heavily on his mind. Leda and the Prince were so in love. The flit across the world together in a span of days, born on the wings of their hearts as they joined together.Every fable had a clear beginning, and a clear end. It told a single story, maybe taught a moral. Be faithful. Never wander. But if you didn’t know how the story started, could you ever know what it all meant? Most children could ask their parents for the story’s origins. Swan would never waste the words on a such fruitless misadventure. Volatile, Leda and the Prince were torn by the conception of a new, more fragile life than they had been prepared for.The only thing Swan ever really knew was that his mother was always looking for her prince. Waiting for him. Knitting, sewing, never ending. Her fingers were pricked with the ends of needles as she sewed shirt after shirt, knitted scarves, turned fine fabrics into finer clothes for a person who would never show up to wear them. “They’re for the prince,” she would say. “If I make enough, the curse will be broken. I can break the curse. I can break the curse.” Whatever the curse had been, Swan didn’t think that it would ever be broken. The Prince was leaving. Leda couldn't know if it had been her imagination or his words that had told her he would return. Conditions weighed upon her as she tried to fathom out the exact scenario that would bring him back to her.The tower that constituted his home in Cleve rose above the trees behind him as Swan stood, head cocked to the side, eyes closed, his feet in the water at dawn. The morning rustlings of birds and bugs reached his ears as felt the sun slowly rise above the trees. He breathed, in and out with the rhythm of the life around him. Nature spoke a language he understood better than anything else, and it had always seemed to respond to his own methods of communication. The world morphed around his fingertips, pliant and easy. A friend, never his enemy. Seven shirts of the best quality imaginable, and he would return. Day in, and day out, she sewed shirt after shirt, weaving magic into the threads like her life depended on it. With a single-minded focus.Diaphanous in the dawn, he enjoyed his small peace. They had only just arrived at home, but Swan knew, with an ineffable certainty, that they were not staying much longer. Their trip to Rome had been fruitless, and wherever they went now, Swan knew they would meet with just as much success. Or was it a giant beast that stole him away?His father was a coward, he wasn’t coming back. Swan would never know him. It didn’t hurt anymore—knowing his father was a monster. Knowing how broken his mother was because of him. But Swan was so young, and taking care of her was so hard. Sometimes he didn’t know how he could carry that weight on his shoulders. Only a beast would leave him with such a burden before he had been born. Someone would have to defeat it, but who if not the prince? He was the savior, and she was just meant to wait, wait, wait…Rolling his left shoulder in the day’s breeze, he felt the pain of it was less today. Injuring it at a very young age trying to care for his mother, it never seemed to have healed properly. It ached and he recalled the many times he had been with this or that relative. How they had helped him. How they all knew him by the way he moved and the way his eyes trained upon them. Swan never spoke if he wasn’t required. Brevity was his strongest inclination. He could say the most with the fewest words, but only when none wouldn’t suffice. The stories were all mixed up in her head. Her head was all mixed up in the stories.Swan spoke best when he spoke not at all. Words were wind, and wind was more useful elsewhere. He thought and spoke in impressions and sensation, though he could grab snatches of word if he wanted. Snatches of Italian here, French there, German at his center. But nothing was as vital and inherent as his own thought. Leda was undone…Swan strained to spread his wings, to feel the soft swell of air beneath them. Walking into the tower, he caught his mother’s eyes. The eyes that had once been so full of light and life but now housed sorrow and a far off pain. They locked eyes and he changed his body language, subtle but purposeful. “Yes,” she said, as if in agreement. “Yes, you’re quite right. Swansea. Grandmother. Yes. Just let me finish your father’s shirt. This might be the one.” Leda muttered as she stitched, and Swan moved by her side, ever dutiful. Every fairy tale ends well, if you know where to place the end.Roleplay:Reply as your character to the following:Godric Park. Overhead, the sky was a crisp blue, for once clear of the ever-pervasive spongy clouds and rain. The sun was a lemony-yellow presence, high in the Eastern sky, and in front of it zipped three broomsticks in a straight line, or something very like one. One... two..... three... the boys passed, their shouts of excitement echoing as they chased the snitch, a tiny shimmer reflecting the sunlight. Far below was another, much smaller broomstick. It trugged along the ground, hugging close to it like a sluggish choo choo train and occasionally shuttering in protest. This was because said stick was currently being occupied by a very small girl who was tugging upward on the front of it with all her might, trying to coax it into doing what it had been expressly designed NOT to do. "John, I said wait up!" The tiny girl squealed, giving the broomstick another tug. Begrudgingly, it drifted upward a foot, and then sank, depositing the troublesome girl safely on the ground. Janey Hurst was not pleased. In a huff, she hopped off the toy safety broom, grabbing it firmly and thrusting it handle first into the turf. Her brother was such a beast. He NEVER let her play! She folded her arms, seething blue eyes fixing on another figure nearby. "You!" She barked, much more sharply than she meant to. "...Do you want to play?" Roleplay Response:It was a nice day in the park, a place Swan rarely had a chance to melt into. It was so nice, but it was less than he had expected. There was so much more nature—better nature—out there. He supposed, if he lived in Hogsmeade, he would have found this place a haven, but it made him glad he was only ever there for short trips.
He’d lost track of his cousins, or his cousins had lost track of him. Swan was never really aware when this sort of thing happened. Mostly, he wasn’t sure the distinctions mattered. Quiet as he was, it would go unnoticed if he vanished the right way. In his own head, he found it easy to get distracted, to lose sight of the path.
A shout drew his attention. There was almost nothing to indicate that the voice had definitely meant Swan, but he knew it had. His left eyebrow rose a fraction as he looked in the direction of the address. It took him only moments to assess the situation. Everything was plain before him, and it made him bristle with annoyance. He recalled his cousins, Goose and Bette. It didn’t matter that they were little, or that they were girls. It had always been very important to involve them as much as possible.
That was what family was.
Taking a few steps forward, Swan crossed his arms in annoyance. Looking at the girl, trying to catch her gaze, he nodded, as if to say, “I suggest we beat them into the dust.”
The girl would either get it, or not.OTHERHow did you find us? once upon a time….
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