EDIT: Special request accepted.
E L S E W H E R E A D U L T
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Ceridwen MaddoxGender: FemaleAge: Unknown. She appears to be in her early twenties or late teens. She isn't.Education: Unknown, but formal education is probable in her background.Residence: An abandoned cottage in the immediate outskirts of London, bombed out in the aftermath of the initial Blitz.OccupationUnemployed, at least officially.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:
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: 8
- Divination: 21 (pending admin approval)
- 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? Legion of Doom None.Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Shepard Kedding etc. Biography: (300 words minimum.)When they asked for her name, she fashioned one from clay. It twisted and it writhed in her fingers and she watched it take shape, a split second slowed to a lifetime as every second had been, as every minute became longer than the birth of the world. It was grey, muddy clay from the depths of a river, a river she visited when she wanted to look in the mirror and know herself -- long red tresses to her knees, grown out from months of dreaming and sharp green-grey eyes. There were no mirrors where she lived and so like her name one had to be created.
Her name was Ceridwen.
Ceridwen Maddox, though the surname was just meant to be common. What her name had been prior did not much matter, for
she had been transformed and what was left chained to a tree.
She would be dead by now, starved and parched, a skeleton if her bones even still lay there, wherever she'd been left. Ceridwen did not care nor did she recall.
When the lifetime-second ended and Ceridwen had her answer, she offered a reply. The men nodded encouragingly, and looked for her on their roster. Whispers; she watched them puzzle, and frown, and shrug. Ceridwen Maddox did not exist, they said, but that was alright. Many of the records had been destroyed in the battle, obliterated. There were many things here that had followed a similar fate.
She foresaw their coming nearly a week previously, under the lights of wands that inflicted visions and the influence of a potion that burned acidic through boundaries -- steel trees with metal branches wide as torsos springing up from the ground, flaming and yet without scorch marks. Intrinsically good? No, they destroyed normality. Intrinsically evil? Not so, for in their making of pain, she was broken free of iron cages.
A faerie should fear iron, but not so steel and she told her captors so but they had not listened. She had not cared.
Ceridwen's most recent challenge was that the hospital gown the soldiers offered her did not suit her fancy and so she listened to the stories that old, dry bones spoke -- her bones, the bones of something she was beginning to remember had existed within her. It no longer had a name, but she memorized it, used it. Pretended that it lived still, and Ceridwen walked free, her medical file marked 'surprisingly sound of mind.'
Food was necessary; she ate a little, stolen while she had Seen shopkeepers would be none the wiser. Shelter was also necessary, for it was bitter cold and Ceridwen lacked galleons. She found it in the outskirts of London, an abandoned house in the immediate countryside. Half of it was torn apart by an exploded bomb.
It was not difficult to decipher what had happened here, for a child's playthings were among the wreckage. And the child's parents would likely not return to the site of their tragedy. The house was hers.
Ceridwen stayed.
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:Bodily functions were necessary. She had come to accept this when the growl of her belly told her she could wait no longer for sustenance, or when her shoulders shook and trembled in the icy December wind. Gusts bit cruelly here in England, sharpened by the dampened air, ignoring Christmas and the warmth of kind greetings.
In a way, she preferred it as such.
To address the bodily needs which drove her to this Diagon Alley in the last few days before Christmas, she had wrapped herself in a billowing, midnight blue velvet cloak. She searched hungrily for the stray apple never missed from a seller's cart, the cone of roasted chestnuts that would be mysteriously misplaced. She foraged easily; she would go home satisfied.
"Mmm..." she hummed as feet passed over cobblestones and her eyes shut briefly at the whisper of some minor conflict to come. Gold and silver; she caught a Glimpse of a face and laughed to herself as she walked. It was a lucid day, it seemed, for the sudden dreams were less and she walked alert.
Disappointing, for she thrived there in her ever-wandering mind.
She didn't even startle when the man stumbled into her. He body lurched but her expression remained impassive. It was another jostle, hardly something to acknowledge in the crowded streets of London, especially when the gold and red raining from the sky was nothing more than exactly what she had already Seen. Instead her green-grey eyes, almost too sharp to be sane, followed the trickle of golden tinsel floating down from the heavens, a drop of the sun's blood mixed with human crimson......
Oh and the sun bled, did it, like a creature, like a being? She reached out to touch it, to close the wound and found she could not. Oh well. Oh dear. So she ripped it apart instead!A tiny slip of a raspy chuckle left her mouth.
"It's just a cut," she told the man without even turning to look at him fully. "A bit of blood. The sun won't heal, dear, but I will. Will you?"
"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!""Don't apologize, darling," she trilled. "
You didn't make the sun bleed."
OTHERHow did you find us?
By following my dreams.
