Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Kyren Tomás Varela
Gender: Male.
Age: Twenty-six.
Blood Status: Purest.

Education: 
Slytherin '33


Residence:
Unknown

Occupation
Mercenary

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: 12
• Divination: 8
• Transfiguration: 6
• Summoning: 6

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:
Zo & Co.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
His had life had yet to find meaning outside of the cold stone walls, beyond aristocratic duties and the blood spilled because of such deceptions. Wolves lurking in the fixings of sheep’s wool, patiently waiting the right moment to snatch the power into their own clutches, Kyren was taught before his first steps were taken.  There was not a soul whom did nothing without the promise of something in exchange. Everyone had a motive, even if the intentions were not clear and upfront.

The Varela’s carried such power that painted a target on their name; Santiago knew this from a young age, showing his son the consequence of not defending his crown.  Combat training, the strenuous studying of his native tongue, amongst other subjects, filled his heir’s childhood. From dawn until dusk, the young boy partook in the duels crafted by his overbearing father, obliging each task set before him.

Appearances at elitist events were short, paranoid of the men that shook his hands, the women that filled his bed. Kyren was unable to attend such events, not until he became a man at thirteen.  It only then did he begin to learn the proper etiquette of a pureblood prince.

The beginning of the end.

Tesla did not approve of such teachings bestowed upon her son, but she let it continue in hopes it would soothe the paranoia of her husband. The woman knew she married in the one of few purest lineages left in the wizarding world, but she did not know the cost. The man she once loved so deeply had begun to slowly vanish, the light weakening from his eyes.

Santiago chose to not discuss the imminent danger to his wife, afraid she would not believe him.  But he knew there were men chasing in the shadows, bloodthirsty for his family, for his only son. It would be but a matter of time before they were found, and the Varela line was no more.

Kyren’s final year as a Slytherin was one he would come to hold the closest. Many friendships were made that year, the life of a man upon him. It was then his father would gradually loosen the reins on their family, training, and the grasp he held so tightly of his son.  Life of a Varela was spectacular, and all the seventh year wanted was to restore his family’s name back to its glory.

His chance came in the form of smoldering eyes and an hourglass figure. Viktoria Borovsky, a transfer. The hidden smirk she saved for him, the barely touching of skin set his soul alight, she had bewitched him. He would drown in her sea of satin black, the sloping of her neck, fingers interlaced.  Entirely under her spell, Kyren would obey her siren’s call.

Until March third, nineteen-thirty three.

The Varela family had disappeared from their home in London’s countryside. Belongings rested in their respected places, nothing touched. Pulled from his bed of Hogwarts, Kyren was never seen, nor heard from again.

Until now, nine years later.


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's calling for help brought Kyren out into the crowded street. He watched over and over, no one would come to her aide. Not a single man had offered his assistance, more engrossed with the conversation of a partner, or friend. Even the women continued to walk briskly past. it seemed as if not a single person could be bothered with the woes of another.

human beings were just as disgusting as they were years ago.

Straightening the cuffs of his jacket, one at a time, the man shaped of poise and confidence weaved through the chaos of the bustling patrons. With a smile only the gods could grant, the man bent slightly at the waist, hand extended to the damsel.

"I think it's time to get off that dirty ground, don't you agree?"

OTHER
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