Marlen Gaskell

[Dashiell Vallen]

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Marlen Maximus Gaskell
Gender: Male
Age: Thirty-Two

Education: 
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Gryffindor

Residence:
221B Cook Lane, Diagon Alley
Unknown Cottage in English Country Side – During the full moon

Occupation:
Auror, Specialized Hit Wizard

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (example St Mungo's, the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Work closely with the Ministry as a Dark Wizard catcher and consultant

Requested Magic Levels:

• Charms: 11
• Transfiguration: 18
• Divination: 9
• Summoning: 12

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
The Order – Marlen has a particular vendetta against the dark forces at work, and wants to use his condition to be of service to those forces fighting against them. However, his positions in the French and UK Ministry branches do not give him the trust he looks for, or the reach he feels he could use.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Matilda Gaskell (niece)
Michon Dubois

Special Phrase: Tibbles beard of power.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
" Nous dire que vous savez."
"I…already told you…I don't know anything."
"Marlen?"
The darkness faded into light. Mustard, salami, and cheddar… The scents, though lingering on the fingers of Dr. Gregorith Watson, burned strongly in Marlen Gaskell's nose. He pressed his fingertips to his throbbing temple and shut his eyes again.
"No, Greg, I won't have a salami sandwich. I will have a cuppa though."
Almost as soon as the words left Marlen's mouth, the distinct sound of boiling water hissed into the air of 221B Cook Lane. The stuttered sigh of Greg Watson, a plain and almost gray sort of young man, barely made an indent in the sounds pushing Marlen's ears. I just want this headache to go away.
" Fermer! Vous ne vous rendez pas compte que nous pourrions vous faire?"
"Tea it is."
Marlen nodded slowly. He sunk his perfectly clipped nails into his thick brown hair and took a deep breath. In, and out. In, and out, In, and-
"You okay?"
His eyes opened for the second time in that small span of a minute. Dull sunlight poured in through the bay windows that spanned between the east side of the flat. It'll rain in an hour. The neat-as-a-pin two-bed-two-bath flat sat without dust in it, save for the particularly dusty shelves of books which lined all of the midnight gray walls. Dust locked volumes remind me of home.
" Dites au revoir à votre humanité, M. Gaskell."
"Marlen."
"Yes Greg."
"Are you… Are you having a bad day?"
The question provoked a sarcastic comment from Marlen, but he kept his mouth shut. He avoided the inquisitive gaze of his best friend, nagging doctor, omniscient psychiatrist, and personal keeper, who already knew the answer to his own question. Instead, Marlen's fingers absently stroked the top of his black Egyptian cotton shirt directly over the spots where he knew the deep gashes of teeth and claws had left pale scars Marlen would have for the rest of his life.
Until the moment Victoire Lefrenan's lycan venom broke Marlen's skin ten years before in an abandoned cottage in the French countryside, he would have said without a doubt that his life would remain free of bad days once he was rescued. Les Batons Noir (The Black Wands, as they were referred to by English-speaking Ministry officials who didn't have the time to translate the meaning of the terrorist group's name) had been dismantled as Marlen had hoped for. Victoire Lefrenan, a convicted dark wizard and rogue werewolf working for The Black Wands, had been executed for his crimes in Azkaban while the rest of his comrades rotted in inescapable prison cells. 
But hopes are often dashed, and living a double life was never as easy as it seemed to be.
"It's just the memories. Nothing a cup of tea can't fix."
Most of the man Marlen Gaskell had been had diminished on the evening he was turned into a werewolf.

ROLEPLAY
Reply as your character to the following:

Mr. Grunch smirked as stepped into the shadows beneath the overhanging eaves at the side of the street. There was a sort of alcove here, where two buildings came together, and the wall was set back just a couple of feet to make space for a drain from the battered lead guttering. It made it difficult to see if anyone was standing there until you were almost on top of it, and the shape of the roof up above cast an almost permanent shadow even then.

There were a number of such places along Knockturn Alley and Mr. Grunch knew them all.

Seeing nobody was nearby, he quickly cast the concealment spell that would obscure his features, making him unrecognisable, just a blur beneath the cowl of his thick, but worn, robes. He knew his target, had identified them some time before, as they entered the Alley. He had shadowed them, discretely, and now, he knew, they were heading back out again, towards the safety of the better lit Diagon Alley.

He heard the footsteps approaching. This was it, then. Just before they reached the alcove, he stepped out suddenly in front of his target, wand raised and ready.

"Give me all yer galleons, and any jewellery yer got! Don't try to hide nothin', 'cos I'll know, right? Do it now!"

Roleplay Response:

Howard Grunch was not the sort of genius criminal the Ministry had to worry about.
In fact, he was rather low on the scale of danger in comparison to many other dark witches and wizards. But Mr. Grunch was sneaky. He knew the exact areas of Knockturn Alley better than anyone other brigand on the street, and he'd already robbed several passersby. He had a way. He would latch onto someone he believed was wealthy, important, or both. Most recently Grunch successfully attacked and robbed the High Judge of the Wizengamot. Why His Honor was in the back streets of Knockturn Alley was a mystery to Marlen Gaskell, but he accepted the assignment without questioning the motives of the victim.
Marlen knew the stench of the criminal better than his own at this point. After peaking the interest of Grunch by dropping a handsome sum at The Waltz, the very place Marlen deduced Grunch chose his victims from, Marlen made his way back towards Diagon Alley. The rich, important, and guilty made the perfect sort of prey for those trying to justify their crimes. Marlen walked through the nearly barren street of Knockturn Alley. The dust caked into his dark dragon skin boots and blew into his heavy wool coat. Marlen hated Knockturn Alley for many reasons, but appreciated that it was just a quick walk away from his flat. Hopefully Greg picked up our messages on his way home tonight. He always forgets to bring milk. The majority of smells touched him – boiled cabbage, dark mead, pickled eyes, expired cologne, and hickory smoke – while the sounds rushed his ears – drunken laughter, whispered conspiracies, slurred proposals, maniacal shrieks, and frenzied breathing. Suddenly, there it was. The scent made Marlen pause in his walking to concentrate on the pattern it left.
Judging by his scent, he'll be waiting in the… Marlen took another deep breath of the musty air. The distinct smell of mothballs, rum, grease, and a hint of blue cheese created one of the worst smells Marlen had ever traced to a target in his life. …the crossway.
No sooner had Marlen stepped into the shadowed alcove than a distorted figure popped out at with its wand drawn and pointed directly at Marlen's face.
"Give me all yer galleons, and any jewellery yer got! Don't try to hide nothin', 'cos I'll know, right? Do it now!"
Marlen let out a steady breath. He could make out the lines of the perpetrator's face. Blurred… Concealment spell… Very good. Unfortunately, not good enough to cover that wretched stench of yours. Marlen locked eyes with the man. Grunch couldn't see Marlen, but Marlen could very easily see him.
"Alright…" Marlen said, trying his best to sound somewhat frightened. "Let me just get my money…"
Unfortunately for Grunch, Marlen wasn't reaching for his sack of galleons and sickles in his right breast pocket. His fingers slid across a soft package. In case Grunch was skilled in legilimency, Marlen kept his mind running blank until it was time. His fingers squeezed the package lightly before he slowly pulled it out from his coat.
"Here you are."
Two seconds later, the alleyway was filled with inky black smoke. Marlen heard Grunch fire a spell off in the opposite direction of where Marlen had moved to: behind the stinking robber. With one swift hit to the back of the head Grunch was knocked to the floor.
Pertrificus Totalus, Marlen cast with a sharp wave of his wand.
The black smoke cleared the alleyway. Though the shadows nearly engulfed the cobblestones and rickety wood in blackness, Marlen Gaskell could see the frozen figure of Mr. Howard Grunch lying still on the ground as if the brightest sunlight was pouring into the secluded area.
"Sorry Mr. Grunch. Unfortunately, you chose to trail a werewolf this evening. I could smell you from a mile away." Marlen frowned down at the slimy, blotchy mess of a man. "And, more unfortunately, I happen to be a Hit Wizard. You'll be facing the Wizengamot first thing in the morning. I would suggest not mentioning anything about his Honor visiting The Waltz. It won't get you very far."

[Esme Vartan]

Accepted!