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Elsewhere Accepted / Karl Thaler
« on: 07/11/2012 at 18:55 »
E L S E W H E R E A D U L T
CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Karl Thaler
Gender: Male
Age: 18 • 29th November 1919
Education:
Wadsworth
Residence:
RUINE HAUTE-MARNE, Austria (Staff Quarters)
Occupation:
Groom
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: (see here on how to do this)
If you want levels above the usual 32 total, please read the roleplay instructions carefully upon scrolling down.
- Charms: 6
- Transfiguration: 5
- Divination: 8
- Summoning: 7
Yes - Staff of the Malthus Castle. We’re going to have fun times in German-Occupied Austria.
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Theodore G. Beauchamp, Elizabeth Reinhardt, Et Al.
Biography: (300 words minimum.)
The Thaler Family is a small, quiet, Romanian pureblood family which resides in a small village on the outskirts of Brasov, a medieval city in the Carpathian foothills in Romania. The family consists, currently, only of Karl Thaler and his younger sister, Romy, who attends Wadsworth as Karl did.
Karl was born in 1919 to Dawid and Felicia Thaler. Both of them were of relatively older ages, 32 and 44, when they finally conceived, after years of attempts.
When he was four years old, he showed his first signs of magic - by levitating a feather - and his proud parents welcomes their final addition to the small Thaler household; his sister, Romy.
He had a relatively peaceful childhood; They were not a rich family; they had a modest, traditional, rustic home which was in fitting with the local muggle community. He spent his days caring for the livestock - goats, cows, bulls and sheep - that the family depended on to sustain themselves; a necessity, because the elevation and seclusion of their abode meant that they had to be self-sufficient. As his only means of socialising was with his family or the animals, he grew very attached to the livestock. When he was nine, he was also permitted to begin to take care of the family’s two horses.
His favourite memories of his childhood was when, one a month in the warmest season in Romania, him and his father, Dawid Thaler, would travel down to the nearest market by train, where they would swap the cheese they made from the cows and their goats (with the help of magic) for cloth, soap, and textiles, and, if there was enough left at the end of the day, he would be treated to a rare Metitei, a popular romanian street food.
Soon, he was Eleven, and waiting for his acceptance to Wadsworth with bated breath. He was worried, though. Who’d be left to take care of the animals? His Father was elderly, now, and not able to stay out for long periods in the cold. His Mother was clumsy, and her joints not up to the manual labour that came with animal care, which was testing even with the help of magic. And his sister was young - too young, though already more magically capable than he was.
Wasted, working with animals.
The letter came, though it was decided by Dawid and Felicia that Karl - whose magic had shown little progression by the time in between his first sign of it and turning eleven - was to be deferred entry to school in order to allow his magic to mature, but also to help with the animals until his sister was old enough to take over the task in his absence.
At the age of twelve, finally, in 1931, he was finally admitted into Wadsworth Academy. His career at the school was relatively unimpressive; his exam results were average, and his effort and participation was stifled by his shyness. He did, however, excel in Care of Magical Creatures, drawing on the passion for animal care that he had developed as a child.
When he was seventeen, disaster struck the tiny household of Thaler. On his return home over winter, he opted to forgo his Father’s traditional trip to the market to trade goods, opting instead to stay home and care for one of the horses who’d been recently acting out of character. With a sigh and a fond look at her caring son, his mother volunteered to go instead.
They left early, though that was nothing unusual. The village they occupied was remote and a good way away from the market, so it was essential to leave before sunrise in order to make good time. Karl spent the day as planned; he’d risen before the sun, and released the animals from their pens, counting them as he did so. He’d taken the other horse out for a ride, before milking the cows, and before he knew it, all his old, favourite chores were done, and the sun was beginning to set. He went back inside.
There was an eery mood about the home that night. Candles would light, but a breeze would snuff them out fast, and the air seemed full. They were hungry - so Karl prepared a small meal of bread and goats cheese for him and Romy to eat, but neither of them touched it.
At around eight pm, there came a knock on the door, and news of a train accident.
The knock on effect was astounding; Seventeen year old Karl, in his sixth year of study, was suddenly the sole carer of a thirteen year old girl, and there were debts - gambling debts he was unaware that his beloved father had accumulated - to be paid. The animals were sold off, one by one, starting with the cows and bulls first (as they were the most expensive to keep). Then went the sheep. Then the goats. Then, one of the horses.
Out of pocket, out of time, Karl - who’d taken to forgoing meals to guarantee that his gifted sister had all that he could give her - began a risky journey to London, travelling on a horse and cart with a little-known companion into the democratic Czech-Slovakia, on horse back through Germany. His longest stop was in the Ruhr, and it lasted a total of five days - where his partner came to rest after contracting Tetanus. He was forced to steal to survive, but he kept his goods basic; only bread, or vegetables, only little amounts he was sure wouldn’t be noticed. Eventually, he made it to Belgium, and onto a shipping boat which carried him to Dover.
The journey from Dover to London was the easiest; he was quick to learn that all trains going in a certain direction led to London, some how, so everytime he was thrown off for dodging the fare, he found a way back on.
But London wasn’t easy. As an immigrant, he was kicked down, sometimes literally, sometimes a few times a day. He slept on the street, he begged for work. He made little money, only by fixing things in the street whenever he could.
Dismayed at the lack of prospects, He considered the lengthy return to Romania. It was dangerous, now, especially with the spread of the Nazi’s across Europe, and though he was able to send home just enough money to keep Romy in education, he was worse off than he had been in Romania.
It was foolish, he realised, to come here on so little a guarantee of prospects.
He remembered exactly where he was when he heard of the opportunity; Coventry Market, amongst the flowers and the crowds, he slipped a stolen apple into the worn and thinned pocket of his jacket.
“Right pre’y thing she was, too. Blonde, like’ah best of ‘em. Was lookin’ for staff, she was, an’ I fink I would ‘av go’en it, as well, if I ‘adn’t gone an’ done my back in.”
He turned towards the balding, blubbery man.
“Sorry, Sir,” His accent unaffected by his time in England, he spoke uncomfortably, unsure of himself, unaided by his shyness. “Who ... looking at staff?”
The ‘geezer’ laughed at him loudly, and he felt his eyes drag up and down his body.
“Li’lle blonde thing. Ov’r there, she is. In’erviewing.”
He looked in the direction the man’s stubby finger was pointing.
“She won’ wan’ a lanky thing like you, though.”
A nagging voice told Karl that the man was right; that he was a mess, his blonde hair almost brown with dirt. His slacks had holes in the knees and were draping off of his hips.
But he had to try, at least, for Romy.
Roleplay:
Roleplay Response:
Night time was always the most miserable time in London, but things, if only for a night, were better.
There was only so far you could go with begging; most londoners, the ones in beige trench coats, and hats, and finely tailored suits, and gelled hair, stayed away. Perhaps it was the smell. For Karl, who was usually a clean, hygienic guy, to go so long without washing was uncomfortable, more than uncomfortable, undesirable, and the only thing wrong seeing someone be dirty was seeing someone who was uncomfortable with being dirty.
His only meal, that day - a bun, stolen from the steel bins behind a bakery. He’d spent the day looking for work, fixing punctures on cars, shining shoes, offering to walk jobs. Anything and everything to show his worth. And he had hit a jackpot, it seemed, because some big-shot with an as-big-as-his-ego mustache hadn’t looked to check that the handful of muggle coins he was tipping him was appropriate, and Karl was overjoyed to see that it was a handful of shillings.
A moment of weakness; the cold had seeped to his boned and the downy hair on his arms were about as useful as the thin, wearing material of his shawl. His money, he was supposed to be saving, because Romy had an education to pay for and she was his responsibility now, but the panging in his stomach was too much to bare, that night.
He cracked; the lights and the laughter from the nearby inn were calling, and if he shut his eyes he could smell the gravy-whatever that the free house had prepared. He stepped in, hesitantly, through the door. It was comparatively early, but the punters were mostly too drunk to stumble away from him. He walked up to the bar, put a few shillings on it, and pointed, wordlessly, at a nearby meal.
He didn’t care what it was. He just wanted to eat.
A glass of ale, and he was as content as he had been since making the decision to leave Romania. He took a sip, and just as he put the tankard down, he felt a tug on his grimy coat.
He looked down at the little girl.
"I'm lost and it's dark and I wanted to know where I am but I'm not scared but I am worried that Sambundeakin is scared because he's little and needs something to eat and wants to go home."
Another sip of his tankard; because the little girl was dark haired, with an olive complexion and hazel eyes and if he squinted it might well be Romy in front of him, and they could be back in Romania, asking him to help her find her doll.
”He misses my and his mommy."
He bent down towards the girl.
“Don’t worry,” He spoke extra clearly, to ensure she could understand him through his thick romanian accent. “We find your mother.”
He looked around, but saw no sign of a woman.
“Now ... where last seen?”
