Rappaport's law strictly forbids any fraternization with non magical folk. Witches and Wizards have long been forbidden from any intermingling; no friendship, certainly no romance. Support for a repeal grows, though, and many fear North America's magical line dying out without fresh bloodlines. Mysterious disappearances tied to witch hunters have occurred throughout the magical community, however. So, which fear will win out? The fear of being wiped out or the fear of fading away?
Mount Greylock, Massachusetts
Ilvermorny Staff - 3
Horned Serpent - 4
Wampus - 4
Pukwudgie - 5
Thunderbird - 5
MACUSA Employee - 3
Wardwell Employee - 1
Berkshire Hills Resident - 2

Male - 12
Female - 15
Nonbinary - 0

Total Characters - 27
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 Warren Wamboldt Ii, Merel
Warren Wamboldt II
 Posted: Dec 20 2016, 05:56 PM
15 Years Old
1st June 1949
Horned Serpent
Horned Serpent

Warren Wamboldt II

Warren Alistair Broderick Alyosius Wamboldt II

1ST JUNE 1949
Life is a dream for the wise, a game for the fool, a comedy for the rich, and a tragedy for the poor

Warren Alistair Broderick Alyosius Wamboldt II sounds like a very long and pretentious name. It is very suitable for a very pretentious boy. Warren Junior is the second son to the great Warren Senior. The Wamboldt’s are a powerful Pureblooded family. Have been for many generations. You may find that the name is familiar. Well you would be right. The Wamboldt’s own a bank. Or at least half the wizarding bank. So, yes, they’re a big deal. They also have big heads. They are full of themselves, and never let anybody forget how powerful they are. And rich. Very, very rich.

Warren Senior is now the man who looks after the business. He took over after his father, Herman, died many years ago. Warren married Regina, formally Regina Starr, it was an arranged marriage which was a huge deal at the time. Being married into the family at a young age had advantages for Regina, but she was expected to have many children, to continue on the bloodline of Wamboldt’s. Neither loved each other, but they did seem to be good friends. Their feelings were never enough for love. A loveless, but necessary marriage. And they didn’t disappoint the Wamboldt legacy.

Geralt was the first to be born, then Virgil 5 years later, Gwendolyn another 3 years later and finally Warren the Second, 2 years after Gwen. Now, you probably wonder why Warren, the youngest son took on his father’s name. Well. Let me tell you it’s because Warren the First was waiting, for the perfect boy. His wife refused to name her firstborn son after him, it wasn’t a tradition after all. It was not something she wished, and he respected that. It was his wish to give one of his children his name. And therefore when Warren came into the world, early in the morning of the 1st of June, Warren Senior knew that this was him, he would be his named legacy. It’s all rather odd if you ask me.

Warren was a whiny baby, he demanded everybody’s attention. A needy child protected by his father. Warren was clearly the favourite, but even that didn’t matter much other than his father’s attention was on him. All the children were treated the same, no special treatment was given out. They were taught how to be adults well beyond their years. They were taught that the world was their oyster and they could do almost anything they wanted if they believed it. A lesson was taught that they were above everyone else, because of the power they held within the wizarding community. That was their life- lessons on how to be douchebags.

Throughout his childhood Warren seemed to be able to get away with anything. He barely got in trouble, most of the things he did went either unnoticed, or there was no punishment. If he could, he would definitely be able to get away with murder. But luckily that hasn’t happened yet, or else we would all be in trouble. As a young child Warren, like the rest of his siblings had tutors. They were a prestigious family, so of course they needed the best education money could buy before they were supposed to head off to Ilvermorny- assuming they all got in. Warren was a troublemaker with his tutor, Mr Underhill. A tired old man who was used to spoilt little brats. Warren liked to tease him, and disrupt the lessons. He also tried his hand at manipulation. Warren didn’t want to learn what Mr Underhill had to teach him. He was just constantly bored. And acting out was the best way to gain any sort of entertainment when taught how to read, write, or learning about boring things such as history. Mr Underhill took things well enough, but never disciplined Warren. One lesson, Warren was running around which this old knife that he had found whilst going through his mother’s things. Mr Underhill didn’t even notice, and Warren accidentally-on purpose cut Mr Underhill’s arm. It wasn’t bad, but Mr Underhill never came back to teach Warren. The incident was swept under the carpet and left alone, gathering dust. Warren pretended that nothing happened, having made a deal with Mr Underhill to leave without saying a word. A small victory for Warren. And although Mr Underhill was replaced by someone else, that didn’t matter to him, the fact he had won lifted his spirits enough to behaving slightly less troublesome.

Some of the attributes that Warren had could be traced back to his older brother.. For some unknown reason Warren took to his eldest brother, Geralt, like a duck to water. They were close, and Warren looked up to him. Geralt taught him things, and that was the only time Warren was keen to learn. Warren loved Geralt, despite their 10 year age difference (ish-Depending on age Sandy has chosen). Warren supposed that Gwen was his second favourite sibling. His sister if he had to describe her as anything would be a ‘bitch’. A really mean one at that. And he loved that about her. But he also loved to tease her. Hearing her shouting at him gave him a strange feeling of pleasure. It made him want to laugh. He thought it was funny. But other than that the two got along rather well. Virgil was just seen by Warren as another brother, part of his family, but not as significant as Geralt or Gwen. No, Virgil was just THE other brother. A brother he liked but not loved.

From a young age it was clear that Warren had a darker sense of humour compared to other boys his age. He’d play with some of the other boys, but when they would want to run around in the garden, he prefered to chase after them for fun and not because it was a part of a game. He didn’t want to be like them. He was Warren the second, he was much greater than they all were put together. He didn’t need to act like those other boys. He was the far superior boy, and he could do what he liked. Sometimes he would throw rocks after them, wanting to watch them scatter like ants. Most of them were all insignificant to him. But some. He knew he could use to do his bidding. Warren was good at getting the other boys in trouble. Got them to steal things that he may have wanted. That way he couldn’t get in trouble, because he wasn’t involved, or caught red-handed. Because a prestigious boy like him didn’t need to do everything to get what he wanted. That’s what the lesser people were for.

Once he got to Ilvermorny he realised, he didn’t need to get his hand dirty. He quickly and easily gained a small posse. Boys he pretended were his friends, but were in fact just pawns. They didn’t know that. He could be charming when he wanted to be, manipulative. A bully. When someone did something he didn’t like, he would let his posse pay that person a visit, and let them know that it was Warren who was sending them a message. And so began his reign.

Warren genuinely hated most people. Some he could tolerate. Mostly those who had money. People just annoyed him, and he never gave much thought to those around him. The only ones he cared about were his competition (which were the people he wanted to hurt for various reasons), his pawns, and his family. He had no real allies in his life. None he wanted to deal with. His posse was enough. People were boring creatures, who were easily afraid or manipulated. People didn’t understand him.

Peasants. Mortals. Plebeians. All are names Warren liked to call those lesser beings. All those he saw as below him, which included every single person except his family. Even with some of his family he found himself superior. His posse were seen as his pawns. Nobody came close to being an equal to him. He was an emperor, a king. His posse were his eyes and ears around the school, bodyguards, henchmen, hitmen, whatever he needed them to be. They were used to his advantage.

During Warren’s first year he had already established a group. Boys he carefully picked out over the course of the year. He needed to make sure they would fit in together, that they could all bring something to the group; each would have their own purpose or talent. People his age soon began to realise how prestigious this group became. They all knew who Warren’s family were. And they wanted to be received into the group. They wanted to be friends, with him, and that boosted up Warren’s ego further. He felt on top of the world, already the dogs were begging for his attention.

As if Warren couldn’t get even worse, he had another terrible trait. His lust for other people’s pain. Warren takes pleasure in other people’s pain, causing them pain. But he above else he loved to see other people inflict pain on others. It didn’t always have to be HIM that hurt the person, whether that was mentally or physically. More often than not it was just fun to see other people do the damage. But it all depended on the situation. All that mattered to him was to see those lesser beings be hurt, to keep them at bay. They had to know their place, right? That’s what he told himself. He didn’t always resort to violence, sometimes the situation didn’t warrant it. Sometimes it was best to go through the route of the mind. The mind itself was a powerful asset. And to mess with that, to get into people’s minds and under people’s skin, was a gift. It helped to keep the people in line, to know who he was and not to mess with him. He’s very calculated and forward thinking, never wanting to rush into any decisions.

The moment he knew he was going to Ilvermorny filled him with pride. Of course it was to be expected anyway, he was a Wamboldt. And they all went to Ilvermorny. His father had given him a congratulatory handshake and a small smile. “Remember who you are, where you come from. Make us proud.” They were words to live by. And they were words he would always recall. They were important words in his eyes. And the same words that went through his mind while the sorting took place. The moment he was sorted into Horned Serpent he was satisfied. This was now his chance to rule the school, now that he was officially sorted.

His grades were rather good, considering how much he didn’t like doing study. But he knew that when it came to real work he had to do it himself. There was no point paying someone else to do his school work for him. Pointless. They would just do a shit job, and he didn’t want that. Even if his grades weren’t important to him, they were important to his family. He wanted to impress Geralt most of all. He wanted to follow in his footsteps. Walked where he walked. He passed relatively well, but never with anything that could be considered as talented. In his mind he didn’t need perfect grades to get where he was going. The lifestyle he was going to have didn’t require perfect grades. They didn’t matter. The knowledge he gained could be useful, and he knew that it could work in his favour in the future to know these things.

People are governed with the head; kindness of heart is little use in chess

Warren had to have a hobby to break up his days of being a leader and doing study. His hobby of choice was not sport or reading or drawing, or anything that was particularly boring. His hobby was wizarding chess. A strategic game. He had always found joy in the game, and would constantly ask people to play with him. Which often annoyed his siblings or whomever he dared to ask. Even when he lost he didn’t get upset, he saw that as an opportunity to learn. Because this was about strategy, and sometimes the long game was the best way to go about doing it. It was a hobby befit for a rich kid like him, and it never bothered people in any sort of way. He would spend hours on end, sitting in his room, the music playing, and he would play. It’s how he came to see life as a big game. And he knew that in the long run he would always win. Warren Wamboldt II would always win, for things that mattered. He was the king, who needed to be protected at all cost, who didn’t go that far in his domain, for good reason. The king who had pawns as the front line. A king who stood tallest amongst the rest.

Life is not always like chess. Just because you have the king surrounded, don't think he is not capable of hurting you.

Thus far, while at Ilvermorny he has tried to stay out of trouble, but he did always like to bend the rules. He has landed himself in detention more than once, but honestly he should have been there many more times than he had been caught for. Each time he landed himself in detention he learned a bit more about himself, and how to stay out of trouble. He learned where the boundaries were, and tried to bend them to his will. His tactic of staying back while he got his dogs to do the dirty work has paid off over the years. But he’s changing, wanting to do a little more himself, getting his hands slowly more and more dirtier. Sometimes you just had to do things yourself.

 Posted: Dec 20 2016, 11:41 PM
21 Years Old
Global Moderator


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