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Author Topic: Ysbail Belmont  (Read 87 times)

Ysbail Belmont

    (10/05/2019 at 15:39)
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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Ysbail Belmont
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Blood Status: Mudblood

Beauxbatons - Papillonlisse - 1941
Salem 1942
Hogwarts –Hufflepuff - 1944

Wimborne, Dorset

Tree Farmer

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:
  • Charms: 11
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 6
  • Summoning: 7
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

Salem, 1952

The cottage stood alone in the night and a faint light glimmered through the hedge row to where she stood on the other side. Her brother’s voice told her to go on forwards and her feet obeyed. She would remember fondly the stories that her mother would tell them, the fantastical legends that surrounded the Belmont name and the rise of the Belmont fortune. It seemed a lifetime ago, only the grim reality stood before her, through the rickety garden gate and down the path that lead to the front of the cottage.

The stories of the Belmont family were true, they had been witch hunters, werewolf killers, Vampire slayers and committed more atrocities than she’d care to mention to Animagi and Veela. For centuries their family would travel across Europe, saving villages and townsfolk alike from whatever evil ailed them. Or so was made to believe, the simple fact remained that they had been mercenaries to the church to abolish abominations. Her brother, Ameron, had always warned her to not warm to the romanticism the way their parents had.

Ysbail loved her brother; she could always see the good in him where nobody else could. It had never meant that the feeling had been reciprocated. She was told that as a baby she would cry tirelessly if the pair ever parted with many theorising that it was the strong bond of twins. As the pair grew older, the gulf in personality grew with them and by their eleventh birthday the transition had been complete. By their twelfth birthday she had watched her home burn and family broken, generations of secrecy and heritage crashed down before her in flames.
It had been just the two of them; in parts Ysbail always knew that, through all the fake names and global movements. It had always been the two of them and Ameron had been convinced that the demise of the family ran deeper than a mishap of war.
Ysbail’s hand tapped gently on the door to no response.

‘Again’ Ameron said firmly.

Her teeth ground against one another and with a fist she began to hammer on the thick oaken door with a fire reignited. Signs of life came from the other side, a slight groan initially followed by the scuffling of feet which finally culminated in the unlocking of the door to expose a thin column of light down Ysbail’s front.

“Good evening Uncle” Ysbail would let out through a malicious smile as she dropped her hood that once previously covered her face.

‘You hated our father didn’t you?  Why are we to be punished for actions of five hundred years ago?! What about your sister? Your beloved sister?’ Raged her brother’s voice like an untamed fire.

The stout man looked out wide eyed, one stare of disbelief towards his niece directly in front of him and a second over her shoulder. Ysbail raised her hand and cleared her throat.

“May i come in?”

Wimborne 1956

The sun beat down through the cloudless sky as she walked through the woodland grove barefooted with her three dogs. She had managed to build a life in England since that night, one of calm, peace and use of a very generous hand out. There were only three people who worked on the farm, including herself, and it was a situation that remained favourable to her. Mr Thompson, a man tall of stature in which the locals could only describe as a big hearted, big fisted man would do most of the heavy labour though his temperament didn’t suit trading and his general demeanour meant that the farm would always be protected. Then there was Ava, the daughter of local farmer who appeared one day on Ysbail’s doorstep and just kept coming back. The girl was intelligent beyond her years, with the curiosity to kill several cats yet there always seemed to be a hidden sadness behind those big blue eyes.

“Miss Weathers –“ Began the girl from within a cedar tree.

“Ava, how many times must i remind you, it’s just Emily” Ysbail chimed as a gust of breeze swept her crimson hair across her face. The girl had very much reminded her of herself at that age.

‘Do you think the rains will come?’

She hoped to Merlin they would, the sun had been relentless and the quality of the wood suffered. Ysbail nodded her head agreeably “I’m sure they will, one could not live without the other”. She wished the same was true with Mr Thompson and his scrumpy cider.

‘Music cannot be appreciated if there is no one around to hear it’ Ameron would jest, usually before unveiling his next mischievous and hap hazardous scheme. He would always say it to her, the comforting warmth before the predictable bitter blow of him leaving her again. Even as an adult her heart mourned his absence. He was the very best and the very worst of her but she knew she’d be seeing him soon.

One could not live without the other.


Option Two -

Ysbail couldn’t stand her trip to Diagon Alley, she had been used to hiding in plain sight but the place always ran amuck with busy people doing busy owl things. She figured those who stayed inside were even worse, gazing out of windows and whining about ducks going to Paris. However, she had a wood farm and some of the best wandshops on the British Isles were based in London so it was but an unavoidable nuisance.

The snow crunched loudly under her thick leather boots and her black hooded cloak protected her from stray snow falls and prying eyes. She turned around the corner of a relatively quiet alley only to find the small path infront of her blocked by a couple of wizards decorating the alleys walls, bickering amongst one another as to the right size lights would suit the glimmering tinsel that ran along the alley way.

‘We must go around’ Ameron muttered in defiance of her sisters thoughts and all involvement that the journey brought.

“Are you daft in the head? We could just-“Her quip and notion to move forwards were interrupted sharply.

‘ We are not going through there’

Her eyes averted towards the main street, it was bustling full of people. Not favourable but acceptable enough. The once heavy cobbled stone street lay dormant under a thick blanket of white, even with the amount of people traipsing its beauty the snow never allowed the stones to show.

Christmas was always different in the city yet the air filled itself with cheer and aromas. It also brought out the best and worst in all of man, arguments over who’s hosting the feast of the day to smiles of children when they receive their presents. Christmas had taken a side note on the farm due to the hardship that winter usually brought to tree and bowtruckle alike. It was a lot quieter too.

‘Coming through!’

Ysbail turned around only to be greeted by a man focused entirely on a floating box. She looked back towards the street in front but before she could divert her path the man let out a terrible cry. Then followed the box into the back of her head, almost sending her to the floor.

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

Her eyes gazed upon the man for a moment, his coat littered with Christmas mess, much like her own. A smile began to form and with every moment that passed it widened until she heard herself audibly laughing out loud to the entire street.

‘I always suspected you to be adopted’

 “It’s quite reasonable for me to want to endure some frivolity and festive cheer during the season brother” She smiled as she offered her hand to the gentleman “Emily Weathers, purveyor of wand wood and tinsel enthusiast”

‘I think i’ve been here too long, i feel unusual’

Ysbail ignored her brother’s moans and continued “Though i am loathed to discard this latest fashion sense i do feel it would be better served on the walls at your current destination” She needlessly explained whilst her fingers shed the first strip of tinsel from her cloak to pass back to the gentleman.


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Merryl Midthunder

    (11/05/2019 at 21:05)
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