#also feat. the rare but deadly machinations of Ravenclaws | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vas-ncrmandy · 6 years ago

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B A S I C S :

FULL NAME: Emery Alexander Parkinson

NICKNAME(S): Emery, to one and all.

DATE OF BIRTH / AGE: June 19th / 23

ORIENTATION: Bisexual, largely not interested.

OCCUPATION: Necromancer.

SPECIES: Wizard, pureblood.

ETHNICITY: Scandinavian, some Irish descendants.

NATIONALITY: English.

P H Y S I C A L :

FACE CLAIM: Paul Wesley

HEIGHT: 6��1′’

WEIGHT: 172lbs

EYES: Green

HAIR: Light brown, tending to blonde.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: A few deep scars along arteries - remnants of what the sacrifices demanded, and a large black tattoo along his neck that states his profession and lifestyle as a necromancer.

B A C K G R O U N D :

HOMETOWN: In what was once Kungahälla, in the more modern Bohuslän.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Blackstone - what is a ruin of a castle to muggles, one that repels, is actually a soaring castle of obsidian settled over a vast kingdom of catacombs and tombs beneath the earth.

LANGUAGES: Necromancer sign language, english, gaelic, and old viking.

EDUCATION: Five years of magical education at Hogwarts, a lifetime of learning necromancy.

PARENT: Adalrico Parkinson

PARENT: Christine Parkinson

SIBLING(S): Iolite Parkinson (older sister), Jasper Parkinson (younger brother)

ROMANTIC STATUS: Single.

PET(S): None.

T H E A B S T R A C T :

FEARS: Inadequacy - to be a chosen of Death is no small feat. Through a series of exchanges, sacrifices, and negotiations, Emery learned not to fear the things those living a normal life fear. The dark is the friend of the dead, and to fear one’s own end is to fear everything. The only thing Emery fears is not fulfilling his duty - speaking or interfering where it is forbidden. He is beholden to powers far greater than any walking the earth at this moment - and thus a betrayal of those powers would reap far greater consequences than anyone can imagine.

GENERAL LIKES: The cool side of the pillow when he lays down his head to rest his eyes, the soothing press of darkness on his senses as he steps into the Catacombs, and the sweet heady scent of Death. Deep red wines, the sticky feel of summer fruit in his hands, and a fireplace burning late into the night casting warm light over a chiseled jaw and dangerous hands. The sound of laughter in the distance as he walks towards Pack grounds, and the sense of belonging he feels when the tower’s of Blackstone soar over the horizon as he heads home after a long night out. The color blue, smooth marbles and obsidian under his palm, and the scent of vanilla and cloves.

GENERAL DISLIKES: The hope in people’s voices when they ask him the only question every one asks him, and the disappointment when he shakes his head no. The loneliness he feels sometimes when he watches the Pack or the Order laughing with each other. Melancholy instead of gravitas, fear of death, and metals with no purpose other than that of looking beautiful. Liars, and people who climb the ladder of influence on the backs of those they love. Empty promises and the cloying taste of too much sugar.

USUAL MOOD / EXPRESSION: Stoic to a fault, he’s prone to small smiles through his usual unchanging demeanor. His lack of expression can throw some off, but once they understand his sign language they can see the small hints of body language that betray his mood.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Lack of speech, and an interest in the lives of those around him, have lead to him being an extraordinary listener. Necromancy requires an infinite patience, and a deep understanding of human behavior. His neutrality allows him to see both sides of every conflict. Emery has a dry sense of humor, and a fondness for his family that makes him warm to those who pay attention.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Loyal to a fault to his calling, Emery will never take sides. This can frustrate those who expect him to fight for them because they are friends. That and he can be incredibly judgmental. First impressions are hard for him to shake. He is prideful, and tends to forget that time does not move as slowly for others as it does for him. He’ll sometimes show up late to appointments or forget them entirely.

HABITS: He has a small, smooth stone he carries with him everywhere, and fiddles with in his pocket. Its a safety net, a reminder of home even when he is very far from Blackstone’s walls. Emery also tends to run his hands through his hair when he is uncomfortable - usually its an indicator he’s seeing a Death he does not like.

HOBBIES: He is a gifted sculptor, like all Parkinsons, and enjoys creating new pieces in his free time. He also loves to walk. Apparating makes him feel like he’s going to slip from one world to the next and forget how to find his way back, so he tends to talk a walk at least once in the day.

MORNING ROUTINE: He rarely sleeps, but he does like to find himself in either his bed or a bed for at least an hour in the night so he can meditate. When the sun rises, he wakes with it. He’ll eat a piece of fruit for breakfast, usually while walking the grounds of Blackstone, and watch the sun rising. He’ll then decide who to visit that day, and begin his trek to their residences. Some days he simply heads into Diagon Alley and spends his day observing the world and marking notable Deaths.

NIGHTLY ROUTINE: The night is deep and full of shadows, and Emery usually finds himself staying awake long into the wee hours of the early morning. If he is at home, he’ll wander the Catacombs under the cover of the darkness the Dead find most comfortable. If he is elsewhere, he’ll seek out those who find comfort in the hours most ignore and listen to them - finding the roles they play in the drama of the current times.

DEADLY SIN: Pride

ZODIAC: Gemini

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Ravenclaw.

CLASS & SPECIALIZATION: Necromancer, duh.

S T A T U S :

DEVELOPMENT: In progress.

SHIPPING: None, as of yet.

CANON VERSE: Marauders era AU OC.

AU VERSE: None yet.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S :

RALEIGH FIELDSWORTHY: There are few people who respect Death the way Raleigh does, and thus Raleigh provides an eye of the storm for Emery to be calm. The blood on Raleigh’s hands does not offend, but intrigue, and Raleigh’s quiet pride matches Emery’s own in a way that leaves him breathless.

PASHA BESMERTNY: Where Raleigh is an embodiment of the calm of Death, Pasha is life. Emery finds himself drawn to the man. He does nothing but listen, and still isn’t entirely sure Pasha knows what he is saying when he signs it, but Pasha is blood pumping in Emery’s ears, a heartbeat racing against his ribs, and sweat on his brow running down his sternum - a reminder that, first and foremost, Emery is still alive.

MARY MACDONALD: She is kissed by Death, caressed by Life, and a magnet for Emery’s attention. A woman who stands as a perfect mix of the two poles of existence, who throws herself with wild abandon into Death’s embrace and yet will remain Alive long after the one’s she protects are gone. Emery adores being around her, and finds any excuse to watch her life unfold.

PETER PETTIGREW: A complicated man with complicated reasons and too many eyes for Emery to be ever completely relaxed in his presence. Peter will be the cause of many Death’s that Emery has seen, and that makes him irresistible. He is also the only man to know Emery’s language almost as intimately as Emery’s own family. That creates a draw that cannot be ignored.

H I S T O R Y :

“Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear.”

The Parkinson family pledged itself to Death many ancient centuries ago.

When the Kunghälla still bustled, teeming with generations upon generations all living and dying in the same homes as those who came before; when Blackstone still soared above the countryside, proud and strong, and the people still looked to their lords to lead them out of the cold dark of the long winters into the light of spring; the Third Lord of the Blackstone sought knowledge above all else.

He spent decades scanning horizons, mapping the surrounding lands, and taking down history after history of the families that lived in the Kunghälla. He wrote volumes on the traditions and the beliefs of the people he loved and protected and wrote even more on the things he learned from the celestial heavens above. Strange, the other pureblood families would murmur, to take such an interest in the muggles – its bizarre. But Cobalt Parkinson never heard them.

Year by year, the Parkinsons grew more remote in their home of black obsidian. They came to fewer and fewer gatherings, until the only time they emerged was Walpurgis night – but who in their right mind would miss the Walpurgis celebration after all?

They say he must have found the rituals at Durmstrang – where else would magic so Dark be found? But some still say he found them in one of his travels to the South American jungles. Death magic was strong there, they said, he must have heard a whisper and brought its foulness here.

In truth, Cobalt would laugh to himself at the irony, the rituals and their ceremonies had always been in England. Who else would seek to conquer Death, but those who thought themselves the conquerors of the world?

It seemed the obvious next step for a man such as he – one who had learned all he could from the world of the living and burned with the desire to learn from the land of the dead. So, he found them, each and every one, and, with the aid of his wife – once an Innes daughter, now a Parkinson made of stone – Cobalt traded his voice, his life, and his birth-rite to learn the secrets of Death.

Cobalt Parkinson saw Death and knew its secrets. He walked among the purebloods and knew their faults, knew their virtues, and knew their ends. He saw them, as they were without their gilded robes and magic, and he pledged that the Parkinsons would, from now and forever more, be separate from their games and their machinations.

They would be Deaths own, and no more.

For some time, they remained that way. In their distance the family built their crypts and their Catacombs. Deeper they dug, and families traveled far and wide to reserve their space in the great City of the Dead with its silent caretakers, and reverent rituals. As their renown grew, so too did their influence, and as their influence spread across the Wizarding World, so too did the greed of the new Caretakers.

As the centuries marched on and Cobalt’s intent was forgotten, the Parkinsons slowly rejoined the rest of the world, allowing themselves to bring their influence to the meetings of the Great Houses. As they allowed themselves to twine more closely with the secular world of the living, fewer and fewer Parkinson sons allowed themselves to become Necromancers as Cobalt did.

The City was still cared for – what did it matter if they could not speak to the Dead? What could they have to offer anyway? Did their ancestors not keep detailed records? Could they not find all they needed in those?

The old paths grew dusty, the ritual circles lay dormant, and, bit by bit, the books were set aside.

This was the world in which Emery was born – one of influence and design, one of the old mixing with the new.

A voracious learner from the start, his father doted. Cobalt reborn, he would boom with pride, running a hand along his wife’s hair, He’ll walk the old paths, mark me.

And walk them he did. His father hid nothing from him, and Emery grew up knowing the names of his ancestors long gone better than the names of the Aunts and Uncles who visited for the holidays. By the time he could walk, he knew every twist and turn of the Catacombs below Blackstone as though the map were imprinted in his very soul. Emery Parkinson grew up with the knowledge imprinted deep in his bones that he belonged, completely and utterly, to the old magic.

When he came home, his third year and began the transitions, his parents were hardly surprised. His elder sister, Ionite, was always the heir, so Emery was hardly needed. His mother helped him learn the sign language – she had always had a gift for languages, born of the Lestrange’s affinity for codes, doubt – and his father held him steady to the pledge of truth.

His fourteenth year of life was spent speaking only to three people – each chosen for their symbolic presence in his life. By the time Emery reached the year of silence, he knew he had chosen the right path.

His year amongst the Dead – locked in the Catacombs alone – is a year he does not dwell on. It is for him and those who came before to know, and not for the world of the Living. The first time Cobalt rose from his tomb and wandered the twists and turns with him, Emery thought he was going mad – by the time he walked the paths for the last time, he found himself loathe to leave.

Now, three years past his initiation as a Necromancer, Emery finds himself watching the world plunge into madness. It is a dangerous time to be bound to neutrality – especially when his own family name is pledged to the side of a man who seeks to defile Death.

Conflicted in his choices, bound by rituals that cannot be broken, and utterly surrounded by visions of the inevitable deaths of the ones he is coming to love; Emery must find a way to navigate this war as a port in the storm.

He must find a way to ensure that all does not descend into Darkness. The world must remain balanced, and he is the only one who can see where that balance might yet still shift.

#;;character: bios #;;muse: emery parkinson

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