Aloysius Dyre

[Aloysius Dyre]

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Aloysius 'Doc' Beauregard Daegan Dyre
Gender: Male
Age: 39
Blood Status: The purest

Education: 
Hogwarts, Slytherin

Residence:
Dyre Stronghold, Durham

Occupation
Family patriarch

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
No.

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

• Charms: 16
• Divination: 8
• Transfiguration: 10
• Summoning: 10

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Bracken Thomas, Jackson Carmondy

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
There is an isle in the North Pennines, bordered on three sides by a slow, wide river and the last by sheer rocky incline, reachable only by bridge. Muggles dare not approach; to their eyes the bridge is sundered, and the ever present wall of fog whispers of horrors long past and faded from memory. Among the acres of isolation are seven large manors. Centered at the end of the main road stands one that dwarfs the other six. This is the stronghold of the age old Dyre family, Steadfast, or to some outsiders, Den of Teeth.

Such is the dwelling of any good-standing Dyre family member, Aloysius Beauregard being of the most current examples. Because of a generation without sons, Aloysius' mother claimed the head seat of Steadfast at the premature and unexpected passing of her father, former head. With her husband they produced first a glorious son, Torin, followed by two daughters, Bathilda and Clarette, and two more boys, Aloysius and Garrick. All were given the family name, for Dyre Endures.

Many-a-relative through reaches for power across the sands of time tangoed publicly with violence, thereby sealing cruelty with the name Dyre. But right away Aloysius seemed different from his ancestors. A softspoken builder of bridges. Always a tension hung over his siblings like stormclouds; who would be best groomed for the head seat? Who would worm their way around the others into power? Never did Aloysius earn an eye, though, culling fights instead of igniting them.

Sent off to his education at Hogwarts, the expectation was such that he would, like the countless before him, be welcomed into the resourceful house of Slytherin. The general belief, however, purported that he would fall into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff with his strong work ethic and reasoned ideas and mediating of conflict. The entire estate needed a second look at his garbing in green.

Softspoken, and impossible to catch. Builder of bridges, for avenues towards his own agendas.

His education proceeded without much public incident. Often he was recruited to step between the wicked duels of his bickering elder sisters, for through the entire castle only Aloysius might subdue their tempers, and out of such the little epithet Doc slowly began to replace his first name. He studied hard so that, by his seventh year, he could have his twisted fun in private; Obliviate became a specialty, the hidden gem of his masterful Charms abilities, and the perfect vehicle for covering the dark magic that his family on the Isle shared with him.

Upon graduation he became an ambassador for the family, earning himself one of the coveted six peripheral manors on the Isle thanks to timely passing of elder relatives. Dutifully he married the woman whom his parents had arranged for him at age 25. They functioned together, although the union was bereft of love. A sequence of events over the two years following forever sealed his fate. Sickness struck down his father, withering away at the man's mental capacity. His mother, whom Doc believed actually loved the ailing man who had never expressed a gentle touch for her, resigned from her familial throne. Torin had proven himself a natural leader, and no doubt this played a substantial role in her decision, for he ascended into her place. Shortly thereafter Torin earned an assassin's victory. Hired by the men whom he made behind-the-curtains business with, or by his own wife who surely displeased of Torin's copious other women strewn across the country, no one knew. He was buried all the same.

A patriarchy, the succession should have gone then to Aloysius. But his mother convinced the familial council to consider Bathilda instead. The passion of their ancestors flowed in her veins, along with the instability. Perhaps because of the latter, or by some suspect meddling, she shockingly declined the offer. Now Clarette was cast off of the Isle before Aloysius even graduated for her degrading associations, so finally the quiet boy that never won consideration took up the mantle passed down by his brother, from his mother, from his grandfather, and so on.

For the past fourteen years he has maintained it with stringent order, along with being inducted to fatherhood. His wife gave to him a daughter four years ago, and he's never loved anything more.

Coinciding with his ascent to the family's peak began Doc's persecution of muggles and their sympathizers, a great exhibition of the Dyre family legacy of asserting blood purity. Quietly he has undertaken the prerogative, kidnapping, maiming and sometimes murdering his victims, otherwise reliant on practiced memory charms to maintain his works. It's even become fun to direct the foul muggle corpses at the snap of his fingers, a small but growing collection of inferi ready to further the agenda.

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Roleplay Response:
A woman spilled upon the street like the spray of dung from a decrepit dragon, hair red like streaks of blood mixed in. The oaf tumbled a dangerously close distance to a pair of polished boots, a single one of them worth more than the meager contents of such a pity's entire Gringotts vault. The binder within the confines of pale hands jolted in unison with their master almost as violently as the musings of a nearby imagination.

Doc's eyes flashed. After picturing her screaming even louder hanging upside down in a pretty little dungeon, then proceeded thoughts to the upcoming conference which now hinged upon the minute hand. The permits were of utmost importance to negotiate for his racing endeavors, though he could not be so transparent about the urgency of his underground tastes. Yet to arrive less than adequately early, or worse scuffed by a beggar wench so lame as to be unfit for navigating the streets, was to portray the exact contrary and jeopardize the bid.

Before he had even a moment to collect himself another body in the crowds tossed its unsavory matter into his elbow and WHOOSH there went the files. Two Cruciatus Curses zapped from Doc's eyes to the maker of his aggravation. Restraint unbound stayed his wand from directly aiming at her, instead summoning everything back into his arms. For good measure he shot a spell at the murderous shoe in question, hoping to send it spinning off even further into the sea of careless plebeians dawdling about the Alley. On his way he went.

OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation via Lia Ayres


Admin approval for both potentially horrific plotlines and for extra levels.

[Calypso Ross]

Hi, Aloysius!

Your application's looking good, there's just a couple of things we'll need you to look at before we can get you accepted.

Firstly, in your RP sample, you write:

Two Cruciatus Curses zapped from Doc's eyes to the maker of his aggravation. Restraint unbound stayed his wand from directly aiming at her, instead summoning everything back into his arms.

I can't tell whether or not he's actually cast these two spells (I didn't think he had, but was unsure). While you don't need to edit anything here as it's just a sample, I just want to remind you of the rules surrounding Unforgivable curses. Most significantly, you must notify an admin if any Unforgivable is cast, and use of any of these spells may result in the incarceration of your character if he is caught by the Ministry using them. Please be aware that your character cannot control whether or not they are caught using an Unforgivable (and in as busy a place as Diagon Alley, Aloysius almost certainly would be caught/put on the Ministry's radar), and that they may end up incarcerated IC as a result.

Secondly, you finish your RP sample with: 'On his way he went.' We ask that in RP samples, although the character and player aren't real, your character stays in the scene to allow for further interaction with Amelia. If you could remove this line, that would resolve this issue.

Once you've made the required change, please repost your entire revised application below, and we'll be more than happy to take another look. Thanks!

[Aloysius Dyre]

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Aloysius 'Doc' Beauregard Daegan Dyre
Gender: Male
Age: 39
Blood Status: The purest

Education: 
Hogwarts, Slytherin

Residence:
Dyre Stronghold, Durham

Occupation
Family patriarch

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
No.

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

• Charms: 16
• Divination: 8
• Transfiguration: 10
• Summoning: 10

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Bracken Thomas, Jackson Carmondy

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
There is an isle in the North Pennines, bordered on three sides by a slow, wide river and the last by sheer rocky incline, reachable only by bridge. Muggles dare not approach; to their eyes the bridge is sundered, and the ever present wall of fog whispers of horrors long past and faded from memory. Among the acres of isolation are seven large manors. Centered at the end of the main road stands one that dwarfs the other six. This is the stronghold of the age old Dyre family, Steadfast, or to some outsiders, Den of Teeth.

Such is the dwelling of any good-standing Dyre family member, Aloysius Beauregard being of the most current examples. Because of a generation without sons, Aloysius' mother claimed the head seat of Steadfast at the premature and unexpected passing of her father, former head. With her husband they produced first a glorious son, Torin, followed by two daughters, Bathilda and Clarette, and two more boys, Aloysius and Garrick. All were given the family name, for Dyre Endures.

Many-a-relative through reaches for power across the sands of time tangoed publicly with violence, thereby sealing cruelty with the name Dyre. But right away Aloysius seemed different from his ancestors. A softspoken builder of bridges. Always a tension hung over his siblings like stormclouds; who would be best groomed for the head seat? Who would worm their way around the others into power? Never did Aloysius earn an eye, though, culling fights instead of igniting them.

Sent off to his education at Hogwarts, the expectation was such that he would, like the countless before him, be welcomed into the resourceful house of Slytherin. The general belief, however, purported that he would fall into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff with his strong work ethic and reasoned ideas and mediating of conflict. The entire estate needed a second look at his garbing in green.

Softspoken, and impossible to catch. Builder of bridges, for avenues towards his own agendas.

His education proceeded without much public incident. Often he was recruited to step between the wicked duels of his bickering elder sisters, for through the entire castle only Aloysius might subdue their tempers, and out of such the little epithet Doc slowly began to replace his first name. He studied hard so that, by his seventh year, he could have his twisted fun in private; Obliviate became a specialty, the hidden gem of his masterful Charms abilities, and the perfect vehicle for covering the dark magic that his family on the Isle shared with him.

Upon graduation he became an ambassador for the family, earning himself one of the coveted six peripheral manors on the Isle thanks to timely passing of elder relatives. Dutifully he married the woman whom his parents had arranged for him at age 25. They functioned together, although the union was bereft of love. A sequence of events over the two years following forever sealed his fate. Sickness struck down his father, withering away at the man's mental capacity. His mother, whom Doc believed actually loved the ailing man who had never expressed a gentle touch for her, resigned from her familial throne. Torin had proven himself a natural leader, and no doubt this played a substantial role in her decision, for he ascended into her place. Shortly thereafter Torin earned an assassin's victory. Hired by the men whom he made behind-the-curtains business with, or by his own wife who surely displeased of Torin's copious other women strewn across the country, no one knew. He was buried all the same.

A patriarchy, the succession should have gone then to Aloysius. But his mother convinced the familial council to consider Bathilda instead. The passion of their ancestors flowed in her veins, along with the instability. Perhaps because of the latter, or by some suspect meddling, she shockingly declined the offer. Now Clarette was cast off of the Isle before Aloysius even graduated for her degrading associations, so finally the quiet boy that never won consideration took up the mantle passed down by his brother, from his mother, from his grandfather, and so on.

For the past fourteen years he has maintained it with stringent order, along with being inducted to fatherhood. His wife gave to him a daughter four years ago, and he's never loved anything more.

Coinciding with his ascent to the family's peak began Doc's persecution of muggles and their sympathizers, a great exhibition of the Dyre family legacy of asserting blood purity. Quietly he has undertaken the prerogative, kidnapping, maiming and sometimes murdering his victims, otherwise reliant on practiced memory charms to maintain his works. It's even become fun to direct the foul muggle corpses at the snap of his fingers, a small but growing collection of inferi ready to further the agenda.

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Roleplay Response:
A woman spilled upon the street like the spray of dung from a decrepit dragon, hair red like streaks of blood mixed in. The oaf tumbled a dangerously close distance to a pair of polished boots, a single one of them worth more than the meager contents of such a pity's entire Gringotts vault. The binder within the confines of pale hands jolted in unison with their master almost as violently as the musings of a nearby imagination.

Doc's eyes flashed. After picturing her screaming even louder hanging upside down in a pretty little dungeon, then proceeded thoughts to the upcoming conference which now hinged upon the minute hand. The permits were of utmost importance to negotiate for his racing endeavors, though he could not be so transparent about the urgency of his underground tastes. Yet to arrive less than adequately early, or worse scuffed by a beggar wench so lame as to be unfit for navigating the streets, was to portray the exact contrary and jeopardize the bid.

Before he had even a moment to collect himself another body in the crowds tossed its unsavory matter into his elbow and WHOOSH there went the files. Two hypothetical Cruciatus Curses zapped from Doc's eyes to the maker of his aggravation. Restraint unbound stayed his wand from directly aiming at her, instead summoning everything back into his arms. For good measure he shot a spell at the murderous shoe in question, hoping to send it spinning off even further into the sea of careless plebeians dawdling about the Alley.

OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation via Lia Ayres


Admin approval for both potentially horrific plotlines and for extra levels.

[Marina Lamont]

Accepted!