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Messages - Ronan C. Winter-Stormheart

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Elsewhere Accepted / Ronan C. Winter-Stormheart
« on: 11/07/2017 at 14:41 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Ronan Conan Cian Carroll Winter-Stormheart
Gender: Male
Age: almost 33
Blood Status: Pureblood

Hogwarts Hufflepuff '35

The flat next door to his older brother Cladis Gallion

Clingy Freeloader Freelance Photographer

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, thank you!

Requested Magic Levels:
(Should I keep my old levels? Or should I total them to 32? (I'll put the latter in parentheses, just in case~))
  • Charms: 10 (10)
  • Divination: 3 (6)
  • Transfiguration: 0 (5)
  • Summoning: 11 (11)
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No, thank you!

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
(This only pertains to active characters, right?) None, at the moment (but I have a ton of inactives and potentials)

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

Unbeknownst to him, the first time he was abandoned was when he was born.

(Immediately disowned by his Dad when his Ma reveals she was a Frostpyre, who were essentially the Stormheart family's nemeses. His Ma feared the retribution from her family and fled, leaving baby Ronan in the care of her sister, whom she trusted.)

He couldn't recall much of it; he only really knew what his older half-brother, Cladis, told him of it. Which wasn't really much of anything at all.

(But even her sister, Candace, heavily disapproved Ronan's mother's decisions, and abandoned Ronan. Luckily for him, he was soon found and adopted by a kindly old Muggle lady by the name of Mary Winter.)

His brother was probably hiding it for Ronan's own good, or something, so he'd decided not to push the issue.

(It turned out that Mary Winter and Candace were neighbors; and so, Ronan's biological aunt decided to keep an eye on him, to keep him in line.)

He'd decided it wasn't all that important; all he needed to know was that Cladis was his (half-)brother, and that was that. At least, it was, until they found out who their father was.

(Thrice the abandonment; thrice the fun!)

And to think that they had a whole family back in America! That day, Ronan felt like all the Christmases and all his birthdays had merged into one beautiful moment. So what if his Da told him to lay low and not tell anyone he was related to the Stormhearts - at least, not just yet? He still had a family! He still had a family.

That was all that Ronan had ever wanted - had ever needed. It finally - finally! - oh gods, finally! - happened! Life finally gave him the family he'd always asked for (and his standards and expectations were pretty low, save for "they are related to me" and "they like me," so he'd say was pretty good on those fronts)! He sure as all heck wasn't going to let this go so easily, or take it for granted. No matter what.


The first time he was consciously aware of being abandoned, was the day of Mary Winter's death.

The poor old lady's heart couldn't take the shock and bewilderment of discovering the wee babe she'd taken in had magic. Though he was then taken in by Mary's neighbor, Candace, it just wasn't the same.

Mary Winter, for all the years she had been his mother, was the best mother he ever had. She cared for him, supported him, loved him; told him it was okay if things weren't, told him it always got better in the end, told him to be happy; taught him to always see the good in people, taught him to keep smiling no matter what, taught him to pursue happiness with both arms wide open.

("But if I keep my arms open won't it get away?"

"Yes, but keeping them open will let you catch it again."

His world had become much, much, much bleaker since his surrogate mother's death. And yet, through it all, Ronan kept smiling.

(He wouldn't dare go against her teachings. No matter what.)


The second (and, he hoped, the last) time was when he received the letter informing him of the Stormhearts' death. And as if that wasn't enough, his Aunt Candace took this as a sign to legally disown him.

(He was unprepared for that bump in his life, and life took that as an incentive to double it.)


He was all.


...Or so he thought. He still had his brother, his only other living blood relative who didn't hate him. He still had Cladis.

And Ronan, like the man cut of all the threads of hope he had, save for one - he clung to that last spider's thread with all his might. He wouldn't dare do anything to sabotage this last familial bond, this last ally, this last friend.

Cladis was all he had left. And he would fight anyone and everything to keep Cladis from leaving thinking he didn't want Ronan as a brother anymore.

No matter what.


Third time's the charm, they all say.

(Well, technically, Ronan has been through it three times over, and then some. But, who knows, maybe four will be his lucky number.)

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:

It was a rare day for Ronan to be out and about, and that was exactly why he was in a rush to finish his business and go back home.

It has been over two hours and twenty minutes since he'd seen his older brother and he was getting antsy. What if Cladis had gone back to Hogwarts while he was away? And without saying goodbye to him? Because he decided Ronan was too much trouble than he was worth? Oh gods, what if he went back to France!

No, no, things are still a bit... rough with Britain and France, so he couldn't possibly have gone back there (at least, not just yet). His big brother was smart enough not to something that obviously stupid. If anything, that was more something Ronan would do, if Cladis were to be, say, kidnapped by the French because of, oh, his Divination skills or something.

Oh good gods that was actually very probable why didn't he think of that before what if Cladis was getting kidnapped right this second -

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!”

He bumped into a wall.

Which, firstly, ouch. But secondly, oh no; he'd gotten stuck in his head again. He didn't do that as often anymore, but being away from Cladis for extended periods of time was a surefire way to drag him back down deep into his thoughts and daydreams.

But, before he went off-track again, thirdly - was someone yelling?

He was pretty sure that someone wasn't yelling at him, for bumping into the shop's wall, because that someone would have to still be yelling at him about it, right? Right. And that wasn't happening, so it wasn't directed at him.

He looked around, curiosity peaked, and spotted a woman flailing in the middle of the crowd, just a short distance away.

Had she been the one yelling?

...He was almost too embarrassed to ask, but, he would much rather get this over with quickly, to be honest.

"Excuse me, miss?" He had gotten better at weaving through large crowds of people walking in the street, and in only two seconds (which was around a hundred times faster than it would have been years ago) he was right by the woman.

For a short moment, he quietly observed her patting the cobbled streets of the alley for... something... Oh. A shoe? Was that hers? She mentioned something about a heel, right? He wasn't sure, but anyway -

"Is that your shoe, miss?" he asked, still watching the woman.

How did you find us? A tiny, yellow flower told me :)


Character Name: Ronan C. Winter
Gender: Male
Age: 18, almost 19

Hogwarts Hufflepuff '35

A tiny apartment in London, which he's renting with his adoptive aunt who dislikes him but only took him in because of Conscience.

Applying to be: (select one, see here)

*OOC Has access to graphics editing programs (changes sometimes) and some graphics editing knowledge.

Department of choice: (select one)

Why did you request that particular department?
Ronan dislikes getting into other people's business, and he doesn't really care for fashion, but he knows that those in the Foreign Bureau get to actually get out of the continent, and that's all he wants, especially since he's pretty doubtful that his real parents stayed in Europe after all this time; he could feel the blood of an adventurer in his veins.

Requested Magic Levels: (see here on how to do this)
  • Charms: 10
  • Transfiguration: 3
  • Divination: 0
  • Summoning: 10
I'd like for Ronan to have less than the usual Magic Levels because he may be studious but he's either just not very good at it or doesn't care for it so he doesn't bother with it.

Especially in Transfiguration and Divination; he just can't put his heart into consciously changing something for one reason or another so no matter how amazing it looks he just can't do it, and he dislikes getting into other people's business, which is what he considers Divination to be like, so he avoids this area of magic as much as possible.

He loves Charms, though, and is especially skilled at offensive spells and hexes. He's pretty good in Summoning as well, because it's very useful to him; he gets quite lazy sometimes.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Deidre Sable, Relisasha Raviina Le Roi, Wolfe Sable, Yvonne Dechavez, Nilo Allares, Caminus Azuraih

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

The rest of his life should have started when he was born. After he'd been left by his unknown mother wrapped up in a blanket in a tiny box by the trash bins. (If she hadn't wanted him in the first place, why give birth to him?) After the widow Mary Winter, bless her soul, found him and took him as her own son, even though she was already pushing her 50s.

But no, it hadn't.

Yes, the happy, fun-filled, laugh-filled memories he'd spent with his surrogate mother were real. But so was the fact that he was a wizard, that he'd received a letter from Hogwarts, and that, when he'd confusedly showed Mary the letter with his big black-brown eyes begging for answers, Mary had gotten a fatal heart attack.

That was when the rest of his life started, after Mary's death, after watching her coffin being lowered to the ground, after just turning eleven. Because a part of him had died before that.

That part of him was his innocent and naive nature, the one that viewed the world in a child's eye – that everything was perfect, is perfect, and will remain so forevermore.

With that part fell away his hopes and dreams of being happy, along with being a writer like Mary; just looking at any type of writing materials and printed materials made his heart ache, his eyes water, and his throat constrict.

The loss of that part of him was a Very Bad thing: he was in his daydreams more often than he was in reality, which reflected very poorly on his grades.

Thus, school had been a terrible experience at first, and he'd always kept to himself (and to his daydreams) and to the shadows, avoiding everyone and everything; sometimes looking like a wandering spirit — would have been mistaken for one too, if the professors hadn't called on him every once in a while in class, which entailed Notice for him.

Ronan disliked being noticed but, after surviving three whole years at the very-big-and-mostly-odd-but-sometimes-amazing school of magic, he finally decided that it might not be so bad to be noticed.

Since that little epiphany, he realized that he'd never be happy unless he actually did something to make it happen. His fourth year was the most hectic year of his life: he'd signed up for all the extracurriculars, and for being a Teaching Assistant. To put a long, dragging story short, it did not end well. He slacked off more often than he did actual work (even on the Quidditch Pitch, he daydreamed more than went looking for the Snitch), and barely passed everything to be able to continue to the next year, but he found that he was actually... happy.

Happy that he'd achieved something.

That was the first summer he'd gone to Mary's grave with his usual bouquet of flowers, but grinning as brightly as the noonday sun, as brightly as the innocent little boy he'd once been, and immediately chattered on to the slab of stone about his busy schoolyear.

That was when he'd regained his optimistic view on life, though it was now dotted with realistic views as well. He'd matured, somewhat, and he felt happier and proud of himself because of it.

He'd aimed for Prefect, but it never happened. He had his head in the clouds too much; he got distracted too often and too easily; he was simply too irresponsible. He would've aimed for Head Boy too, but he realized he needed to be a Prefect first before that. Pity.

(He signed up for the extracurriculars in those years too, but those didn't end well either.)

Suffice it to say that his last few years in school had made him a lot less lazier, a little more responsible, a little bit less shy, a little bit less dreamy, a lot more determined, and a lot more smiley.

(He could be happy again.)

He was happy again. Now, he just had to get Mary's sister, who took him in and cared for him in Mary's, er, absence, to like him.

Reply as your character to the following:
Jim hated Mondays.

He had always hated Mondays, really; that cursed beginning of the week, that day where it still should have been the weekend and yet there was work to be done - deadlines to be made - stupid lunch meetings to attend.  Even when ‘lunch meetings’ had been just plain lunch; ‘work’, homework, he had despised the start of classes and - all at once - the next five un-fun days before the weekend started up again.

Now, cloudy October morning, Jim hated Mondays more than ever.

His desk filled with the wide-open arms of the Sunday Prophet, he scribbled furiously over sections with a bright red ink.

All the new graduates with their impeccable NEWTs and superb teacher recommendations had come in last month, only too eager to start preaching the truth - their truth - to the whole of Wizarding Britain.

Jim’s train of thought was bitter, but he smiled wanly, for he had once been one of those recruits themselves.

Most of their dreams should have been been smashed in the first week, from the first time people like Jim had told them to fetch the group some coffee. Day after day, hour after hour, that was what they now said to their youngest colleagues, as their older counterparts had told him years before: At some point everyone has to fetch us our drinks.

Almost every year, the new recruits sat down and took it - and fetched the group some coffee - and maybe it was just the age or the nostalgia, but Jim was fairly certain that they deserved it all.

They did not deserve to publish half-coherent drafts with way too many adverbs and completely unmodulated opinions.

Jim threw down the quill in disgust, ink splattering onto his button-down shirt as though it were blood.

Smartly, he piled up bits of paper, and then, still angry, face marred by an unhappy Monday, deposited the pile in front of his door before reaching out to grab at the first person he saw.

What happened to this paper?”

Roleplay Response:

October was such a cloudy month. Rainy, even, most times.

Such terrible weather, this English weather, Ronan thought, reveling in the cold seeping from the glass window pane into his warm hand. The usual dreamy smile was painted upon his face as listless black-brown eyes stared out into the world.

After nearly two years of looking for a stable job, he'd gotten accepted at the daily Prophet as a photographer for the Foreign Bureau. Perfect! Just what he needed!

Surely, his parents hated the cold, drab of this continent, right? Ireland had been just as (if not more) rainy as London, and he sort of understood why his mother had left (what he presumed to be, or more accurately, liked to think of as) her hometown.

The weather must've made her feel hopeless and depressed. Must be why she left me...

His thoughts were suddenly cut off when he was forcefully pulled back down into harsh reality.

The nearly-nineteen-year-old blinked dazedly at the angry-looking man who'd grabbed him.

What happened to this paper?”

Ronan blinked thrice in quick succession, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. First, a glance towards the stack of papers the man (who was obviously his Superior) had dropped, and then a glance back at him. Then at the papers again, this time with a frown creasing his brow.

Hm. Perhaps he needed to keep his daydreaming in check now that he actually had a pretty stable job. His aunt might like him if he was able to stay put in the Prophet.

An apologetic smile was directed towards the man, whose name he still didn't know. (Ro was new, after all.) "Sorry, sir, but um... what about the paper are you speaking of?"

How did you find us?
Recommended by Azrael Gabrille! (:

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