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Messages - Bedwyr Bedrydant

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Archived Applications / Re: Bedwyr Professor Application
« on: 01/12/2019 at 17:33 »

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character name: Bedwyr Bedrydant

Previous and/or Current Character(s) if applicable:
Orion Greenwood, Elias Greenwood ne Egneus, Dorothy Dowd, Lysander Stone

Character age: 41

Character education: No. Learned what he knew from informal lessons and traditions

Strength and weaknesses:
Seems to flip between easily distracted and eerily focussed.  Deep understanding of esoteric forms of magic. Compassionate and strongly inclined toward the natural order of things.
Holds little appreciation for fine details. Completely illiterate. Almost completely ignorant of modern conveniences (and cultural norms).

Physical description:
Large, hairy, smelly. Possibly related to a bear. Possibly related to a skunk. His clothes, hair and beard are littered with plantstuff and other debris. Clothes are homespun but serviceable. No shoes, ever.

Personality (nice, rude, funny etc. Paragraph please.):
Bedwyr might easily be mistaken for a madman. While he might claim to 'go with the flow', his will in indominable when he determines the 'flow' is counter to the way things are. Occasionally jitters to himself. Rare moments of intense brilliance and lucidity.

Hopes and dreams. Why are you teaching at Hogwarts?:
Bedwyr considers formal education to be a waste of time. A bunch of snooty, overwashed lowlanders all staring at writings so boring that noone thought to memorise them. Nonetheless, he is willing to walk among these folk for the purpose of seeking those with the capacity and the drive to join the Yr Wyddfa Stone Circle as druids.
Does not have long-term goals, dreams or ambitions beyond comfort and the continuation of life as it is.

Biography (500 words minimum. There is never such a thing as too much.):
It was daybreak in Winter, though noone could tell the date or the year, when Bedwyr had his first brush with magic. Over the paddocks where his family kept their livelihood,  a pair of young lovers fled silently through the air astride a beauteous carpet of the richest blue. Bedwyr was young, barely a pup by his pa's reckoning, and his stories were too fanciful to be believed. The boy's hair was tussled, his words were disregarded, and the instruction to watch the sheep firmly restated. It would be supper soon enough.

There was a letter, but neither Pa nor Ma could read it. The town priest, a man of many letters, burned the thing and called it sinful. Bedwyr had not written the letter, had only passed on what the owl had given to him, but he was to blame still. He kept the envelope, and treasured it, and never once connected it to the lovers on their wondrous carpet before he was a young man.

English folk showed up soon after the letter, and brought an invitation that did not require letters or numbers to understand. They wanted Bedwyr for a school of magickry where a boy would learn malediction and seerage and all manner of unnatural things. His parents, right and good folks, had good reason to refuse the offer on Bedwyr's behalf. They were humble folk and knew their lot and Bedwyr would follow in their humble, good ways. So it was, and Bedwyr did not meet another person who called themself warlock or witch for several decades had passed.

Yet a druid is not a witch.

In his eleventh summer, there came another visitor - a man of renown, who healed what English folk in their fancy hospitals could not and read the stars for harvest and kept flocks healthy and lived always by the will of the tides. This was a man that Bedwyr's parents would not dare refuse for, as they explained Bedwyr as he tearfully packed his scant possessions, druids served powers older by far than the land and sheep and the will of man. No proper celt would refuse the call of a druid and the Bedrydant line had long been proper celts.

There passed a time of tutelage. There was physical growth but physical growth exists in all things. A shadow can grow but never learn. So it was the lot of a druid, and a druid's apprentice, to learn and surpass the power of the shadows. Bedwyr did what he could.

In his twentieth summer, Bedwyr returned to his parents' home. All that stood was dust and mud and trees. The hovel in which he had been born was not destroyed - it was unmade through time. In due time, the people who had built the home would do so again. Such was the nature of time and untime, but not the fascination of druids.

Druidry is a slow magick. As a young river is weak and lacking in influence, a young druid means little to his circle. For long years, Bedwyr grew old and the circle grew smaller. And for all those years, the circle of Yr Wyddfa grew smaller. Old druids do not live forever and only the patient could be young druids.

In 1958, the circle is three. Bedwyr, the low druid, has been tasked by the ancient high druid and deep druid to seek out new blood with which to replenish the circle and protect the natural flow of power across the isles.

SAMPLE ROLEPLAY

It was the largest office in Hogwarts and, perhaps to students and newcomers, the most intimidating. The shelves were filled with various odds and ends, with a place of honor for the Sorting Hat, and the walls held all the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses.

In the middle of the room sat a large desk. Everything was in order, for the current occupant had always despised a messy desk. It was the sign of a messy mind, and she had always favored neatness.

A clock sat on the desk, which currently showed the time to be 2:05. The meeting was supposed to begin at 2:00 precisely.

Along with order, Anneka valued punctuality. She was a very busy woman these days. Even during the summer, she had a number of matters to attend to. Interviewing and hiring staff was only of those matters. The newest potential member of her staff wasn't making a good impression.

She paced the room, black heels clicking against the stone floor. When the door finally opened, Anneka turned, her expression reminiscent of a Russian winter. "You are late."

Explain yourself was what her face said.

Roleplay Response:

"You know..."

His tongue paused for a moment, busily playing with the gap where there had once been a tooth on the right side of his mouth. Bedwyr did not look at the woman. Looking at something that was angry was too often a threat. He wanted to make a good impression. With this in mind, he rubbed at his leaking nose with a sleeve and continued.

"... we don't have much time for timekeeping back home. Go by the sun, we do."

His fingers fiddled at the lower part of his beard as he spoke. A perfectly good wand had disappeared into its depths last week, and no amount of work seemed to be able to pry it loose. Bedwyr lay a grimy paw on the benchtop between them, lowering his eyes in submission.

This room, like many rooms, smelled like the absence of life. Not death or decay or anything such as that. This room had never nurtured true life - a terrible waste. It was a druid's job to bring life to places such as this.

"It is a slight for your people, I know, I know, to be made to wait for things."

A bad start. Bad tidings. There was only one way to repair the damage. Bedwyr spat in his hand and extended it to the stern woman.

"I meant no slight. We should begin again, as friends."



In addition to posting a completed application in this forum, we also ask that you submit a PM to Anneka Ivanova with details of your class and with the lesson plans for that class (include at least a minimum of 4 lessons). Also, please be sure to check the Available Positions thread located in this forum to make sure the class you want is available before applying.

2

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Bedwyr Bedrydant
Gender: Male
Age: 41 (born 1917)
Blood Status: Muggleborn.

Education:
No.

Residence:
Yr Wyddfa Stone Circle Encampment

Occupation
Low Druid

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:
  • Charms: 8
  • Divination: 12
  • 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:
Lysander Stone, Elias Greenwood, Orion Greenwood, Dorothy Dowd

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
It was daybreak in Winter, though noone could tell the date or the year, when Bedwyr had his first brush with magic. Over the paddocks where his family kept their livelihood,  a pair of young lovers fled silently through the air astride a beauteous carpet of the richest blue. Bedwyr was young, barely a pup by his pa's reckoning, and his stories were too fanciful to be believed. The boy's hair was tussled, his words were disregarded, and the instruction to watch the sheep firmly restated. It would be supper soon enough.

There was a letter, but neither Pa nor Ma could read it. The town priest, a man of many letters, burned the thing and called it sinful. Bedwyr had not written the letter, had only passed on what the owl had given to him, but he was to blame still. He kept the envelope, and treasured it, and never once connected it to the lovers on their wondrous carpet before he was a young man.

English folk showed up soon after the letter, and brought an invitation that did not require letters or numbers to understand. They wanted Bedwyr for a school of magickry where a boy would learn malediction and seerage and all manner of unnatural things. His parents, right and good folks, had good reason to refuse the offer on Bedwyr's behalf. They were humble folk and knew their lot and Bedwyr would follow in their humble, good ways. So it was, and Bedwyr did not meet another person who called themself warlock or witch for several decades had passed.

Yet a druid is not a witch.

In his eleventh summer, there came another visitor - a man of renown, who healed what English folk in their fancy hospitals could not and read the stars for harvest and kept flocks healthy and lived always by the will of the tides. This was a man that Bedwyr's parents would not dare refuse for, as they explained Bedwyr as he tearfully packed his scant possessions, druids served powers older by far than the land and sheep and the will of man. No proper celt would refuse the call of a druid and the Bedrydant line had long been proper celts.

There passed a time of tutelage. There was physical growth but physical growth exists in all things. A shadow can grow but never learn. So it was the lot of a druid, and a druid's apprentice, to learn and surpass the power of the shadows. Bedwyr did what he could.

In his twentieth summer, Bedwyr returned to his parents' home. All that stood was dust and mud and trees. The hovel in which he had been born was not destroyed - it was unmade through time. In due time, the people who had built the home would do so again. Such was the nature of time and untime, but not the fascination of druids.

Druidry is a slow magick. As a young river is weak and lacking in influence, a young druid means little to his circle. For long years, Bedwyr grew old and the circle grew smaller. And for all those years, the circle of Yr Wyddfa grew smaller. Old druids do not live forever and only the patient could be young druids.

In 1958, the circle is three. Bedwyr, the low druid, has been tasked by the ancient high druid and deep druid to seek out new blood with which to replenish the circle and protect the natural flow of power across the isles.

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

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:
A beautiful day. A beautiful one. Beautiful in that it could be admired for a moment and then forgotten. Bedwyr jibbered to himself as he walked, to keep his lips happy. The whole city smelled like metal. It was part of the system of a city.

Several times small dainty men and big burly women (and some of the reverse as well) attempted to accidentally crash into the druid as he made his way to the goblin place.

At last, the big man gave in to the will of the crowd. Obviously the mass wanted him to be collided with. Bedwyr was not one to go against the grain so when the frowning, yelling man pattered nearby, the druid seized his opportunity and threw himself into the way.

There was some unimportant crashing and whatnot, and some apologies, and also glittering rope that didn't seem strong enough to tie anything at all. For his part, the druid had probably earned himself a great yellow tushy bruise where he had connected with the icy artificial-stone footpath.

The frowning man looked apologetic, and so Bedwyr's role was to be strained but patient. He tolerantly replaced whatever leaves and twigs had fallen from his hair and raise the weight of the street by taking once more to his feet.

"No, no. I won't have it," he replied curtly, "Keep your apology, and take mine with you. I am sorry."

He dusted himself off, tapped himself with a wand to redust himself, and collected a beefy handful of coloured rope from the slush. Then, with a suspicious glare (his favourite kind) at the man in the black coat, he took a step back.

"Your rope is a kind of - what is it? Red and gold icicles? It's not cold. Your fake icicles aren't very convincing. No, it's a bit of a disappointment, if I'm frank."

That was wrong. So wrong. So against the truth. Three of the druid's fingers twitched in a tiny rectangular pattern.

"I'm not frank, though. I'm Bedwyr. I don't know frank. Don't ask."

He shook his head dismissively now. Some people...

OTHER
How did you find us? maybe topsites?

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