Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Jorge Amado Garcia
Gender: Male
Age: Nineteen (19)
Blood Status: Halfblood

Education:
Private tutoring - 1955-1960
Castelobruxo - class of 63’

Residence:
London

Occupation
Junior Healer

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?
St.Mungos

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 Exceptional Levels special request form here.

• Charms: 10
• Divination: 10
• Transfiguration: 6
• Summoning: 6

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
None

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

---

Jorge hails from a place of warmth, constant and everywhere - from the sun, the colors in every street, to the very spice-scented, sea-salted air. A place of closeness, security, and family. Sanctuary. Three generations piled under the same humble roof, plus occasional others - the battered and famished, the lost, the ones in search of guidance.

He was a boy raised in a house of women, of mothers, with their spines strong and resilient as a cypress, hands calloused by effort, faces lined with wisdom and severity, yes, but also fondness - in the glint of the eyes, in the corner of a mouth that always seemed to want to smile and say ‘hush and come here, you dear child’. He was both friend and warden to squalling armfuls of cousins, siblings, and neighbors - to be the eldest, an implicit responsibility and subtle expectancy of leading by doing better.

And in this safe cocoon called home, magic also flowed like a river - not the one he would learn of later, with wands and dust-lined tomes, but that which comes from shared belief, from knowledge sung from one to another of faith rooted deep. Not many of his kin shared the abilities of a bruxo, but anyone - having seen, having lived what he has - would be a fool to call them powerless.

Filhos de santo, their boon comes in the form of many herbs to heal and protect - in teas and baths and fragrant oils and incense. In amulets, charms, guias and patuás. They keep a truth close to their chest: that nothing comes for free nor without meaning, and so even the passing clouds bring a message. The portents and warnings were given by the deck of cards or a game of búzios. Advice was offered by spirits wearing the mouth of another, luring under the booming sound of drums. He needs not to fear crossing upon holy ground, nor threading on empty crossroads - for one is nevertruly alone.

It was a happy life.

That doesn't mean it was a fulfilling one.

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:
"'Oh, you will love snow-" the Brazilian young man sarcastically mimics to himself with a snort, earning a dirty look from a passerby. Ah, damn it. "- just wait till you see it'. Uma merda, é o que é..." With the sharp bark of his muttered curses muffled against the thick cotton of a scarf, Jorge wobbles through the overcrowded, slippery streets like an awkward duck - a rather grumpy, hurried, job-interview-late one at that - as his improper shoe soles skim against dangerously wet, snowy cobblestones.

He would rather not face plank himself (again), thank you.

Well, still, it was kind-of-truth that he wasn't unaffected by the still novel sight of white falling from the sky and blanketing everything, almost hypnotized by the sense of calmness as he stared the steady fall outside his window every morning for the past week. Jorge just would prefer it wasn't followed by uncomfortably cold wet socks, cold wet slushy street dirt, and [/i]cold wet[/i] everything.

His reflection stares back from a shop window, enough to halt the hurried trek and the sullen train of thoughts for a moment.  He looked like, like – what was that phrase Jim used to say all the time? Ah, yes, 'like shit that has been run over twice'. Dark rings lining the underside of his eyes, testament to the last few poorly (i.e barely) slept nights. Tossing from side to side in his lumpy mattress, fitful dreams under closed eyes.

Well, but that’s that - nothing to be done at the present besides trying to tame that ever-wild tangle of hair, fix the front of his coat for what should be the umpteenth time, and move on. With haste.

Or so he wishes.

No sooner has he turned back than someone crashes right into him, the impact hard enough to expel the air in his lungs with a hard 'oof' as he falls (face first, god damn it) down - no way to stop it, barely enough time to close his eyes and grimace as the floor gets ever closer.

Oxalá, why of all the worst possible days for all of this--- ? There's a scream of frustration lodged somewhere in his throat that Jorge forces himself to swallow, brown eyes blinking owlishly for just a second as they take into sudden splashes of glistening bright red - blood? no, that can't be. Wait, that can't be,  but... tinsel? Really?- all around him.

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

Deep. Breaths.

"It's fine." murmured in a clipped tone as he scrapped himself (and the rest of his dignity) up from the ground even if no, it was really not fine. Cursed tinsel clinging to his clothes as if he had been thrashed by Santa Claus elves be damned. "Look, I really must --" Jorge makes a lame gesture with his hand in lieu of finishing that phrase, already taking a few steps away from the man and further down the street. "Just --- take care, yes?"



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