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Topics - Ondine Märchen

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Elsewhere Accepted / Ondine Märchen | elsewhere adult
« on: 23/10/2016 at 21:54 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Ondine Märchen
Gender: female
Age: 19 (02/04/1929)
Blood Status: halfblood

Hogwarts, Gryffindor ‘47

Kenmare, Ireland

Ex-Beater for the Kenmare Kestrels

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?

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: 9
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 10
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Team Märchen! Because they are One Big Happy Family

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Lucifer Morgenstern and co.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

The Kenmare bay was freezing in March, and the waters inky black beneath the cloudy night sky. A lone figure cut through the still waters, lily white against the surrounding darkness; she moved quickly, efficiently, muscled arms pulling her silently away from the shore. On the pebbled beach, a small crowd stood; a group of girls, no older then twenty, all giggling madly. One held a paisley print dress and a mud-caked pair of leather quidditch boots in trembling hands. This one stepped forward nervously, until little waves lapped at her own shoes.


The pale figure stopped swimming, treading water in place. Honey-coloured hair stuck to her face, and salty droplets clung to her eyelashes; blinking them away, she waved once towards the beach then continued swimming. She could see her goal some twenty yards in front of her: a looming black rock, exposed by the low tide.

“Ondine, come back!”

It was Orla’s voice again, filled with worry and concern. Ondine could picture her perfectly: a round face framed by a halo of dark hair, her doe eyes dark and wide. Something in Ondine’s stomach fluttered, and she continued her swim with renewed effort.

It was one she’d swum countless times with Ophelie and Odette, but never in the pitch dark. The rock was a vague shadow, almost indistinguishable from the dark night sky; she couldn’t quite tell if she was on the right track, but she didn’t slow. The water was violently cold, and she could feel the chill sinking through her flesh to her bones, settling in a shivering mess somewhere beneath her skin.

The crowd on the beach cheered her on, although their voices became fainter and fainter the further she swam. The rock was close—it had to be, because she didn’t think she could swim much further—so she paid no heed to the shivers that ran through her body like an electric shock. If she didn’t reach it soon... well, she didn’t want to consider the consequence. She pretended to be invulnerable to the water, and her friends, the crowd on the beach, certainly believed her. It did, after all, seem to be the case; she could spend hours at the beach, treading water without tiring, outlasting even the men. It was her element. She’d practically grown up in the ocean, wading through the tide pools until she was strong enough to face the currents of the bay, then the open ocean. Days were spent on her father’s sailboat with her sisters, and nights sleeping on the rocking deck beneath the stars; she could read the ocean like a book, and never had it scared her before.

But she had never attempted this swim in the freezing March air, and for good reason. The cold pierced her lungs like daggers when her hand finally touched the slimy, algae covered rock; another cheer went up from the beach, and Ondine raised her fist in silent victory. Though it took every bit of will power she had to force her cramping muscles to kick off the rock, Ondine began the laborious journey back to the beach where Orla waited with her clothes. The sooner she was out of the freezing water, the better.

Forty yards, twenty yards, ten yards, and then she finally felt her toes scrape along the floor of the back. She stumbled, shivering and gasping, from the water; the night air felt like ice on her skin, but then someone threw a coat over her trembling shoulders and a blissful warmth spread across her skin, chasing away some of the cold.

There stood Orla, a stern and disapproving look on her face. Ondine grinned widely, teeth still chattering, and some of the sternness evaporated, replaced by something akin to amusement.

“You’re an idiot,” declared Orla.

Ondine grinned even wider, blue lips shivering and wide eyes bright.

“But you love me anyway,” she retorted.

Oh, how she wished it were true.

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:

Leather boots slapped angrily against the cobbled streets of Wizarding London as Ondine made her way to Gringotts. She was seething, eyes still swollen from a night of salty tears, her cheeks splotchy and red.

How would she tell her father? Ondine and Ophelie were easy enough; they’d guessed long ago why their sister never seemed to speak of boys at Hogwarts or gawk at the young fishermen that came from Eyeries to sell their catch. But her poor father, already so disappointed from years of Ondine’s mother’s antics, couldn’t stand another heartbreak. His daughters were perfect in his eyes, and Ondine found herself unwilling to shatter his image of her.

It wasn’t her fault that her boss’s wife so damn attractive. And it certainly wasn’t her fault that the wife in question invited her out for drinks after a particularly rough day of practice. What happened after that, she reluctantly admitted, she could be held responsible for; she hadn’t meant to be caught in such a compromising position, and certainly could have reacted better to her boss’s unexpected entrance. Still, she refused to be held responsible for the ensuing argument, and profoundly resented her immediate dismissal from the team.

So that was how she found herself fired from the Kenmare Kestrels—the youngest player to ever be taken on, and also the youngest player to be kicked out. She doubted she’d ever have another job in professional Quidditch—it was such a small industry, and word was bound to travel quickly—but Ondine already had a dozen tryouts scheduled. It was hard, as a woman, to be taken seriously in Quidditch. Winning her position with the Kenmare Kestrels had been a stroke of luck, supplemented by a considerable amount of skill, but she wasn’t sure if such an opportunity would come by again. All she had left was her skill with a bat, an ounce of hope, and her last month of wages that awaited her at the bank.

“My heel is broken! Help!”

A woman’s distressed cry shook Ondine from her reverie; she automatically turned towards the sound and assessed the damage. The woman in question appeared to be uninjured, but Ondine didn’t look away: she never could say no to a damsel in distress. Jogging towards the red-haired woman, Ondine offered her a calloused, weather-beaten hand.

“Are you hurt?” she asked in a lilting Irish brogue. “Let’s get you out of the way, before we get trampled by the crowds.”

How did you find us? Google

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