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Feyre Märchen
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Feyre Märchen:
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
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Feyre Märchen
Birthday: 25 December
Hometown: Undredal, Norway
Bloodline: Halfblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Divination
Magical Weakness (pick one): Charms
Year (pick two): 2nd / 3rd
Biography:
Her name was bequeathed as if the power of her namesake Freyja would follow, but the girl with a face full of blemishes had grown through the years as anything but a goddess. Grace was lost to awkward, gangly limbs, beauty gave way to a face full of freckled blemishes and Feyre Marchen had learned, with time and experience, that expectation was not something she could meet.
She was a quiet child, and her confidence pressed firmly underfoot by the bold words and stories that her father so often spun for her older brothers, full of grandeur, and battle, and so much more than could be found in current day Udrendal and the constant nagging idea: why couldn’t she be more like the goddess of old?
Yet, Feyre found company in the presence of her large toyger cat who did not mind the stumbling way that words flowed over her lips, caught on the very tip of her tongue before they floated to freedom. A cat named for a tiger that he would never be, in much the same way that Feyra believed she might never evolve from the awkward stage of twelve years old.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
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."
Stomp. Stomp. Stompity. Stomp!
Flowers pressed flat beneath the soles of her shiny black shoes. Feyre watched them disappear. When she lifted her foot they would not bounce back and instead would settle there, damaged beyond repair for for an inkling of a second the little witch would thrive in the fact that for a moment she had power.
Power over flowers.
So absorbed in her stomping, the pound, crumple, and crush of bright red petals, Feyre had not noticed the boy rifling through the flowerbed, not until he sneezed and something wet sprinkled along the bag of her arm. Feyre spun, alarmed. Blue eyes, as clear as the fjords of Norway, were wide as she took in the boy who wiped his snotty nose clean on the material of his robes.
Her chest inflated, sharp Nordic shoulders straightening, as if she would tell him to apologise for covering her with the gross spray of his sneeze, she would be brave and courageous and ask for what she wanted, but at the snap of his voice, the girl wilted quite alike the flower she had squashed.
She looked down, at her feet, at the flowers.
Flattened. Red. Dead.
“I-I’m, uh-” As usual, the words stuck on the tip of her tongue. A stutter she had had since her tongue had worked out how to form words. “-I-I didn’t mean to s-stare.”
The tips of her ears burned red, that demand for a sorry would never find a voice.
→ ABOUT YOU.
Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Calliope Amberghast et al.
How did you find us?: Through a friend
Calypso Ross:
Hi, Feyre!
Your application looks great, there's just one small thing we'll need you to edit before we can get you accepted.
In your biography, you mention that Feyre has a toyger cat. However, it seems that this breed wasn't developed until the 1980s and wasn't officially recognised until the 1990s (see here). Whilst you're welcome to keep the description/image of Feyre's cat the same, please could you remove the references to 'toyger' and 'a cat named for a tiger it would never be' (assuming this refers to the breed name, not the cat's individual name), as the breed as named wouldn't have existed at this point in the site's timeline.
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!
Feyre Märchen:
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
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Feyre Märchen
Birthday: 25 December
Hometown: Undredal, Norway
Bloodline: Halfblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Divination
Magical Weakness (pick one): Charms
Year (pick two): 2nd / 3rd
Biography:
Her name was bequeathed as if the power of her namesake Freyja would follow, but the girl with a face full of blemishes had grown through the years as anything but a goddess. Grace was lost to awkward, gangly limbs, beauty gave way to a face full of freckled blemishes and Feyre Marchen had learned, with time and experience, that expectation was not something she could meet.
She was a quiet child, and her confidence pressed firmly underfoot by the bold words and stories that her father so often spun for her older brothers, full of grandeur, and battle, and so much more than could be found in current day Udrendal and the constant nagging idea: why couldn’t she be more like the goddess of old?
Yet, Feyre found company in the presence of her large cat who did not mind the stumbling way that words flowed over her lips, caught on the very tip of her tongue before they floated to freedom. A cat she named Tiger, for its orangey striped appearance even though it could barely be called a predator or anything akin to a tiger itself as it stayed small, and unimposing, in much the same way that Feyra believed she might never evolve from the awkward stage of twelve years old.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
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."
Stomp. Stomp. Stompity. Stomp!
Flowers pressed flat beneath the soles of her shiny black shoes. Feyre watched them disappear. When she lifted her foot they would not bounce back and instead would settle there, damaged beyond repair for for an inkling of a second the little witch would thrive in the fact that for a moment she had power.
Power over flowers.
So absorbed in her stomping, the pound, crumple, and crush of bright red petals, Feyre had not noticed the boy rifling through the flowerbed, not until he sneezed and something wet sprinkled along the bag of her arm. Feyre spun, alarmed. Blue eyes, as clear as the fjords of Norway, were wide as she took in the boy who wiped his snotty nose clean on the material of his robes.
Her chest inflated, sharp Nordic shoulders straightening, as if she would tell him to apologise for covering her with the gross spray of his sneeze, she would be brave and courageous and ask for what she wanted, but at the snap of his voice, the girl wilted quite alike the flower she had squashed.
She looked down, at her feet, at the flowers.
Flattened. Red. Dead.
“I-I’m, uh-” As usual, the words stuck on the tip of her tongue. A stutter she had had since her tongue had worked out how to form words. “-I-I didn’t mean to s-stare.”
The tips of her ears burned red, that demand for a sorry would never find a voice.
→ ABOUT YOU.
Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Calliope Amberghast et al.
How did you find us?: Through a friend
Ella Galanis:
Dear Miss Märchen,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Term begins 1 May 2020. Currently, students have gathered at Camp Loki, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies.
Yours sincerely,
Ella Galanis
Head of Ravenclaw
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