Professor applications are open until 15 August!


This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.

Messages - Spencer Callander

Pages: [1]
Archived Applications / Spencer Callander
« on: 31/08/2021 at 20:24 »
Before you begin, please make sure you have created
an account in your character's full name, and make sure you have read and understand the following:

Site Rules | Magical Rules | Our Rating | FAQ

Should you have any questions, please contact an Administrator.

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Spencer Callander

Birthday: December 29th 1945

Hometown: South Hero, Vermont, USA

Muggleborn / Halfblood / Pureblood / Unknown

Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): 6th, 7th

original bio here

Spencer Callander should have grown up brave and strong, like the superhero he'd always aspired to become. Instead, he was tall, but gangly, and he had spent the whole year too afraid to ask his friend of six years going on seven to become his girlfriend. He knew, if he asked, that she would say yes. She laughed at all his jokes, listened to him rant and rave about his favourite comic books. She caught him when he fell and he hugged her when she cried. They'd attended a Valentine's dance together and he'd called her pretty. Two times in the past year, he'd had to correct Rudolph Wattle, telling him that, no, he and Sydney were in fact not a couple, they were just really, really good friends.

He'd known even then he didn't want to settle for really, really good friends. He wanted the answer to Rudolph's question to be yes, in fact, Sydney was his girl. He wanted to attend every Valentine's Dance with her and call her beautiful and smart and absolutely amazing instead of pretty. He wanted to keep on hugging her, but kiss her, too, and keep on laughing and ranting and raving about their favourite things forever and ever. He wanted her to say yes.

When the portkey had dropped him off at Camp Loki that summer, he'd decided he would make it happen. Every day that went by, he'd been a bit too scared to try. Instead, he whipped out his crayons and attacked fresh sheets of paper. If he couldn't attack his problem head-on, he would vanquish it the best way he knew how. When Sydney's birthday rolled around, he had conjured the perfect gift—and he hadn't even needed magic to do it!

But two weeks later, when Spencer bade his new family farewell to board the Hogwarts express, he still did not have a girlfriend. Sydney Lamont, on her end, had not been given a gift, but a nosebleed.

Even the best laid plans could go awry.

references to sydney lamont approved by her player

Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Ravenclaw

Note: This section is only for students who have been previously played at Hogwarts. Please see here for more information about Castle Dropouts levels/how many levels you are eligible to claim.

Link to your last levels request (if you never posted one, link to your last accepted student application): dropout levels

Number of New Levels Requested: 2

New Levels Request: C4D4T4S6

How your character kept up with their studies: In 1960, after being abandoned by his father, Spencer missed the train to Hogwarts and ended up on the streets. Though he was found and adopted by Dolores Holiday, who, along with Timothy Winchester, saw to keeping him magically educated, his growth was mostly limited to the field of Conjuring and Summoning. When he returned to Hogwarts the following term, it was determined that he should be held back a year. He has been in school ever since.
repeated year is admin approved

You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

Option 2:

That rat of his was in for it now.

The gray little rascal had disappeared from his clutches at breakfast. Again.

Before Hugh even knew what was happening, Merlin had shot across the floor, somehow managing to avoid all the feet walking across the hall and had escaped through the open doors.

Which meant that Hugh was now stomping through rows of flowers and other various flora, searching for the small creature. It was like the rat knew Hugh was allergic to most flowers. Merlin always chose to run to the gardens whenever he got away from Hugh. It was as if the rat did not want to have him for an owner.

Hugh had named his pet Merlin because he had hoped the powerful name would give the rat more incentive to be more than a rat. Not that he expected Merlin to change into a wizard or anything, but rats were just so...useless, for the most part. With a name like Merlin, Hugh thought it might give the rat purpose.

The only purpose Merlin seemed to have was getting away from Hugh as often as possible.

As the fifth year trudged into the second row of flowers, not taking much care to avoid trampling the first row, he felt the first sneeze building up pressure in his nose and behind his eyes.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

He pulled apart a section of bright red flowers; he didn't know what they were called because he despised flowers, and ducked his head low to peer into the depths of the flowerbed. It was moving closer in proximity to the flowers that finally did it. Hugh took in three great breaths and then let out an almighty sneeze. It was strong enough to disturb some of the dirt on the ground before him.

Groaning, he stood up again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was as he was turning his head, his nose running up and down his arm, that movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Normally one who preferred to put his best face forward, Hugh was a bit embarrassed to be caught wiping his runny nose on his robes.

Nevertheless, Hugh put on his best haughty voice. albeit a bit thickly with his plugged nose and said, "Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

Only the perfect flower would do.

But what did the perfect flower look like?

Spencer Callander certainly didn't know. He'd been staring into the gardens for what felt like hours now, though in reality, it had merely been minutes. Girls apparently went crazy for flowers. He'd heard a pair of them discussing their favourites just that morning, arguing the merits of daisies, dahlias and orchids. Apparently, they were all very different. To him, every blossom looked like, well, a flower.

Normally, he would have plucked out a handful and gone on his way, but this was important. He didn't only need to win Sydney's heart, he also needed to be forgiven for ramming his head into her face.

Only the perfect flower would do.

Commotion off to the side caught his attention and Spencer's head whipped up. Flowers were flying everywhere. They were a pretty red color, but if those had ever been the perfect flowers, they were ruined now.

"Uh—" He began, when the sickly boy, suddenly, was looking back at him and spouting out accusations of staring. Spencer supposed those accusations were somewhat founded, but he didn't think he deserved such vitriol. It made his ears bloom almost as brightly red as those decapitated flowers.

He frowned. "You're ruining all the flowers."


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Marina Lamont, Merryl Midthunder, etc

How did you find us?: Strawgoh

Archived Applications / Spencer Callander
« on: 17/08/2019 at 20:18 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Spencer Callander

Birthday: December 29th 1945

Hometown: South Hero, Vermont, USA

Bloodline: Muggleborn

Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): First, Second

Amycus Anicet was the first real life superhero Spencer Callander ever met. He waved his magic stick and walls dissipated before their very eyes. He waved it again a few hours later and all of Spencer's shopping bags followed, floating, behind them. Most importantly, Amycus Anicet saved Spencer's life.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a hyperbole.


Sometimes it felt, to Spencer, like a hypertruebole.

It all began a long time ago -- about eleven years or so. As origin stories went, this one was rather bland. Spencer was no alien exile, no genetically modified war hero, no God, no King, no Bazillionaire. He wasn't even a proper orphan. His mother had died with a fever when he'd been seven years old. Since then, he'd been living with his father, the local preacher, and life had been absolutely boring.

He lived in a place called South Hero, and by all means, a place with a name like that should have been nothing but exciting. But it wasn't. It was quiet. It was remote. And he wasn't allowed to do anything.

Dad didn't know how to be a parent. That had always been Mom's thing. Every night he'd stick a TV dinner in the oven (complaining almost every time about the name; TV was the devil's invention and they had never, nor would they ever, owned one) and they'd eat in silence or over a sermon.

Spencer had to hide his comic books under his mattress. When Dad found his stash and threw them all away, his next collection was hidden beneath the floorboards. He started to draw his own adventures, but Dad threw those away, too. Drawing was for girls. Dad promised to teach him how to use a man's tools instead, but in those four years, he'd never found the time. So, Spencer kept on drawing, hiding his crayons and his paper and his pictures beneath the floorboards with his comic books.

He'd woken up once, in the middle of the night, to his father trying to pry up the very floorboard that kept his collection hidden. Spencer's breath had gone right out of him as he watched in mute panic. One single curse word -- the sort of word that had always been expressly forbidden in this household under threat of being force-fed a bar of soap -- broke the night, confirming Dad's failure. He couldn't understand what sort of miracle had saved him that night, but he liked to think it was his mother, who had always encouraged his superheroic fantasies, watching over him.

The years stretched on slowly one TV Dinner at a time until Spencer's eleventh birthday. His father hadn't bought a cake; Gluttony was a sin after all. He hadn't bought any presents, either, because greed, too, would land Spencer right in Hell. And yet, that evening, as Spencer and John Callander ate their meals at opposite ends of their diminutive dinner table, an owl dropped the best gift of all in their mailbox.

Dad only saw it the next morning. He, of course, opened and read it despite the fact that it was his son's name that appeared neatly written on the front of the envelope. That morning, he gave his church a long winded sermon on the evils of witchcraft, and spoke not a word of it to his son. The next morning, more letters came, and more yet in the days that followed. But Spencer only became aware of this one week later, when the letters started slipping in through every crack and crevice of every door and window in their tiny little parish house.

Spencer couldn't remember much of what was written. His memory was muddled by all the excitement the words had brought out in him. He was a wizard -- that, he remembered -- and he was to attend Ilvermorny, a school for people like him. Dad, who had fallen into a rage the likes of which Spencer had never seen, insisted that this was all a hoax. A prank pulled by some lowly satanists out to destroy their church. The letters kept coming for months and months and months. Every time an envelope was pushed beneath the door, Dad would run outside yelling, trying to catch the delivery person red handed. He never did.

Every now and then, when the door was pulled open, spencer swore he could hear the not-too-distant hoot of an owl calling to him from outside.

Around June, there was a knock on their front door. Spencer hadn't thought much of it. Dad was the one who'd gone to answer, while he crept back upstairs to draw while John was distracted. The muffled sound of voices coming from below soon rose to a crescendo, and Spencer's hand paused, only for a moment, over the paper. Minutes later, Dad was barging upstairs and, before the boy could hide the evidence, the door swung open.

Dad's eyes fell on the drawing of a caped hero flying across a white page. Spencer's heart sank -- until his father's eyes moved back to meet his and he saw in them nothing but fear.

"Pack your stuff," Dad said. "We're moving to England."

And that was where he met Amycus Anicet.

As far as Spencer knew, the letters had stopped coming after they'd arrived in London. He hated it here. It was always raining, and their apartment building didn't have any loose floorboards in which to hide any new comic books or artwork. Dad hadn't gotten a new job yet, so he couldn't even sneak of to play or explore and see if there were any exciting spots to find out there, no matter how wet they may be.

With three knocks on their door, everything changed. The man introduced himself to Dad as Micah Anicet. He had an American accent (yankee, Dad had mentioned, later) and a crooked smile. For a moment, his clothes, a pair of bright green snowpants and a burgundy and mustard striped t-shirt, struck Spencer's curiosity. But then he started talking about some Anglican boarding school up in Scotland and Spencer slunked away in disappointment. Minutes later, Dad found him in the living room and told him to get up, he had been enrolled for school -- some place called Hogwarts -- and he was to go buy supplies today with good Mr. Anicet who'd volunteered time and money for the cause.

With a sigh and steps that dragged across the linoleum floor, Spencer slunked toward Amycus Anicet and his unwavering crooked smile.

Amycus Anicet, it turned out, was not an Anglican. He wasn't even Christian.

He was a wizard. Hogwarts, much like Ilvermorny, was a school of magic. The American school had let them know about John's reluctance to let Spencer attend, and Amycus had been entrusted with the task of changing his mind. His method hadn't been conventional, exactly, but as long as Spencer didn't tell anyone, it shouldn't be a problem. Amycus brought him to some place called Diagonal Alley, a place crawling with wizards. Or, as Spencer preferred to call them, superheroes. The place was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. The people there didn't wear capes, but they did wear cloaks and long, flowing robes. Spencer even got to buy his own set. There were apothecaries full of ooey gooey goops and plants that jittered all on their own. There was a pet shop with owls from which Amycus offered to buy him whichever one he wanted, to facilitate correspondence whenever it was needed. Spencer, of course, chose the weirdest looking one.

The months that followed were almost unbearable. Amycus had taken Spencer's more ostentatious purchases for safekeeping, and he was left only with the bare minimum. Every day, his thoughts were filled with thoughts of all the glorious things this new world promised, and how he didn't think he could possibly survive another day of waiting.

Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Ravenclaw or Gryffindor

You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

Option I:

The dungeons. A place eleven-year-old Evangeline had not yet travelled since her arrival at Hogwarts.

A place she really was just fine with not knowing; but it was too late. The dare had been accepted, even if it had been done in fear of being kicked out of Gryffindor, like the older girls had said she would because Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.

The air changed instantly when she hit the main corridor of the dungeons. The dampness was almost too much for her and she instinctively took a deep breath to avoid the sensation of being suffocated. There was also a sour burning smell which Evangeline assumed was from many, many Potions lessons.

Further and further she walked, her steps so slow and gentle they made no noise against the stone walls and floor. The feeling that she wasn't alone crept up her spine and raised the tiny hair on the back of her neck. Shivering, Evangeline wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly, she missed the warmth and comfort of the Gryffindor common room. The fire was always going and it made her feel at ease.

Why had she let those girls talk her into this? She was only eleven, she didn't have to be brave. Surely the Headmistress would not kick her out of Hogwarts for not being brave.

If only she had these thoughts while being dared to search for the ghost of one Emma Birch, whom supposedly haunted the dungeons. It was not, Evangeline had learned, the place where the sixteen-year-old girl's life had ended but as she had been from the house with a snake as its mascot, it was the place her spirit had returned to. That common room was down here somewhere, she'd been told.

Something - the small blonde girl wasn't quite sure what - but something made her stop in her tracks suddenly. There was a low, dull thumping noise. Or maybe that was her heart beating so loudly she thought it was coming from outside her body.

"H-h-hello?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Remembering that she was supposed to be brave, Evangeline tried again.

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

The sound of her own words bouncing back at her off the walls made her jump.

"Nope," Came Spencer's reply, complete with a sigh that sounded clearly in the corridor of damp stone. "It's just me, Spencer Callander." He didn't know the girl before him, and he didn't expect that she'd know him either, but his full name felt appropriate, symmetrical.

His steps, slow and meandering just a moment ago, hastened as he rushed to get closer to the other girl and get a good view of her face. Spencer didn't like talking to people if he couldn't see them clearly, and the dungeons seemed to cover everything with a thick blanket of darkness. The thought had been mulling in his mind for a while, but in that moment, he made up his mind.

Spencer did not like this place.

It was the sort of place where he'd expect to see creepy crawlies just lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. Spencer Callander was not an unsuspecting victim; he was a prepared hero, complete, now, with a wand and all the superpowers that came with it.

"You lost?" He asked, unwilling to admit that he was, too.


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Marina Lamont, Nashira Nettlebed, Merryl Midthunder, Wit Northcutt, Leona Mathenjwa, Joshua Mulligan

How did you find us?: Back in the Evilboard days

Pages: [1]