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Elsewhere Accepted / Harry Colville (WIP)
« on: 13/06/2014 at 21:52 »
E L S E W H E R E A D U L T
CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Henry James Colville
Gender: Male
Age: 39
Education:
Hogwarts: Hufflepuff '19
Residence:
Oldham, Greater Manchester
Occupation
Head of family
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: 10.
- Divination: 8.
- Transfiguration: 8.
- Summoning: 6.
No.
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Scoops and stuff.
Biography: (300 words minimum.)
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
It's one of those cold London nights, when the fog persists in cloaking the streets and even the spires of Westminster seem to shiver. He hurries down the pavement, boots clacking hard against concrete, hands in his pockets. Late again (but punctuality has never been his strong suit). Juliet will be ready to burst by now, third child still late child. (Should be grateful, he supposes, that someone still cares.)
A noise, a whine, far off; it gets shriller and shriller as he rounds the corner, on and in towards the house. It's one of those with its back to two other walls (the house, not the whine) and it's a cramped affair when you think of Colville Hall, but he doesn't mind so much. Small's better. He's not the heir anyhow.
Corner of his eye catches a blip. It's not anything big, it's actually a bit fuzzy, but it's moving fast. He slows to a stop, cranes his neck to get a better look. He's still standing there when it hits.
A noise, a whine, far off; it gets shriller and shriller as he rounds the corner, on and in towards the house. It's one of those with its back to two other walls (the house, not the whine) and it's a cramped affair when you think of Colville Hall, but he doesn't mind so much. Small's better. He's not the heir anyhow.
Corner of his eye catches a blip. It's not anything big, it's actually a bit fuzzy, but it's moving fast. He slows to a stop, cranes his neck to get a better look. He's still standing there when it hits.
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will
Most things may never happen: this one will
A crash, a bang, flames and fire. A raw, red, flickering fire, and more than that the voices. He cries out and falls to his knees, palms to his ears and digging his fingers into the back of his head. It's always worse when they're united, and they are; it's just pain and fear and death and he's screaming along with them, because he can't, can't, can't do this -
But there's no choice, and he realises this when he realises he can't sense them anymore, and everything's gone wrong, and as he feels he feels a little part of him die too.
But there's no choice, and he realises this when he realises he can't sense them anymore, and everything's gone wrong, and as he feels he feels a little part of him die too.
Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others.
It means not scaring others.
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.
Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.
And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there.
Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.
"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.
"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.
"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.
Roleplay Response:
Type your response here.
OTHER
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