In-Character
Full Name: Angharad Matild WarbeckNicknames: n/a
Birthdate: August 4, 1877
Current Age: 11 years
Occupation: Student
Reputation: 6- Taken in as a ward, arising suspicion that she may be a bastard child, will be perceived as unusual and unsocialized by most
Residence: Hogwarts/ The Hebrides (permanent residence)
Hogwarts House: unsorted
Wand: Fir, 10”, unyielding, phoenix tail feather
Blood Status: pureblood
Social Class: working class
Family:
Appearance: Even after years to catch up from her early food scarcity, Angharad is a relatively small girl at 4 ft. 4 in. tall. She’s about average build for her height and age with blue eyes and hair that, after being cropped off a few months ago in a moment of frustration, has only just reached down to her neck. She still has the long, looped braids, topped off with a ribbon that she sported her entire life previous. They’re just sitting at the bottom of her trunk now, wrapped in a cloth. She doesn’t bother doing anything with the new hair except sometimes putting the sides back with a hairpin or a ribbon. She considers it too ugly to do much with. Not that she’ll ever mention it. Hair shouldn’t matter. She’s no priss, so she doesn’t gripe. She writes (at maybe a first grade level) with her right hand, so she carries her wand with that hand too, and she wears simple dresses when not at school. No sense in wearing anything too fancy to gut a rabbit. Now, she’ll be in her robes, most of the time, but she hates how much they get in the way, so the outer layers will likely be shed whenever possible- get ready to lose house points on her account if she gets sorted in with you.
History:
1877: Angharad is born to a young, newly married couple in wizarding London. Both moved to London after dropping out of Hogwarts, but were raised in other places, her father in Wales and her mother in Scotland. She is a hearty, happy child and their small family is a loving and content one despite the fact that they have very little by way of wealth or possessions. Gruffudd works a day laborer and Arlene stays at home to care for Angharad.
1878: Angharad’s father, Gruffudd, dies of Dragon Pox, leaving Arlene alone with a baby whom she had no way to care for. Her mother had raised her alone as well after being disowned by her family for having her child out of wedlock and with an absent, lower class father, but that is not what she wants for her child. She moves with Angharad to the Hebrides where her father, Dunmor, with whom she began to correspond as a teenager, resides.
1878-1880: The two live with Dunmor, who is always referred to by his first name, and practice subsistence farming and trapping to get by. Neighbors are very far away, but Arlene makes the effort to visit some of the nearer ones from time to time with little Angharad. Angharad is never told that Dunmor is her grandfather and she is never terribly fond of him, particularly because he and Arlene quarrel often with some of those quarrels turning physical on Dunmor’s part. It is during one of these quarrels that Angharad shows her first sign of magic. Dunmor grabs Arlene by her hair and begins dragging her into another room when a cooking pot flies off the stove a Dunmor’s head. He dodges it, but it’s enough to turn his attention to then three year old Angharad. She is black and blue for weeks afterward.
October, 1880: Arlene disappears after a late night argument with Dunmor. He tells Angharad that she left to start a new life without a child to worry about so that she could find a decent husband and the neighbors that she left in the night with Angharad so that they could start a new life in London together and find a husband to round out their family. Angharad, who now must hide in the root cellar whenever they have visitors, is devastated by her abandonment too young to question the story’s veracity. The neighbors are suspicious about the story, but cannot prove that it is untrue. Eventually they stop visiting and life goes on with a new normal for the two remaining members of the Quintin-Warbeck household. Dunmor cares for Angharad’s basic needs (feeds her, clothes her, etc.), but largely ignores her aside from that. She sleeps alone in the root cellar and isn’t allowed to venture out of the house unless ordered to do so.
1881-1884: As she gets older, Dunmor begin to give her more duties around the household such as cooking and cleaning. Eventually, when he goes out trapping, he brings her along to teach her the tricks of the trade, so that she can take over once he is no longer able to do such strenuous work and provide for the both of them. They rarely come across other people when they’re out, but, when they do, she is forced to hide behind trees or bushes and make no noise.
Summer, 1884: Dunmor made a poorly timed visit to Hogsmeade just before the quarantine and contracts the laughing sickness. After a protracted illness, he dies. Angharad, who survived a mild case of the illness, which she contracted from him, tried her best to bring the body outside and give him a proper burial, but he is too heavy for her to even get him off of the bed. Instead, she closes up his room and stuffs his old clothes and blankets under the door to staunch some of the smell. She continues to cultivate their little garden and uses some of the trapping skills that he taught her to catch rabbits and other small animals for food.
October 1884: Angharad is almost eaten by a dragon because it stole the rabbit she trapped and she tries to get it back, but is saved by a visitor from the other side of the island, a wizard, on his way back from a hunt of his own. He grabs her and apparates away with her in tow. He insists on taking her home afterward and finds out that she lives alone with a rotting corpse and an owl. He takes her against her will to the family home because, for reasons which are beyond Angharad, he doesn't think a corpse is a fitting guardian for a seven year old girl. She protests and resists as much as her little body is able, but, in the end, the family to take her in so she won't starve or put herself at risk of getting eaten by any other dragons. She runs away quite often at first (usually ending up at her old home), but is always found and brought back.
1884-1885: Angharad continues to resist both socialization and schooling as much as she can. She trusts few, and still slips away to hunt and trap with Aulay whenever she can (usually when she’s meant to be in lessons- which she stubbornly ignores anyhow). She resigns herself to living as a ward of the family, but keeps to herself for the most part, and insists on sleeping in the basement or in a nest of blankets under the bed.
1886- As her ninth birthday rolls around, having made little progress in her reading and writing, she begins to notice the younger children in the family exceeding her. Her competitive nature kicks in, and she resolves to teach herself her letters. She cobbles together her own journal from scraps of parchment, and gets to work practicing with interest that waxes and wanes over time as the frustrations of learning clash with the frustrations of being bested by babies (which five and six year olds absolutely are).
1888- Even after two years of moderate and intermittent devotion to developing her literacy, Angharad has not been the best self-teacher, and that, combined with her misgivings about being stuck in some school where the forests are off limits because some headmaster thinks they’re “too dangerous” makes her dread her eleventh birthday. One day, in the throes of her frustration and dread, she is skinning a rabbit she caught in the dilapidated main room of her old house (to which she still wanders off from time to time for privacy). Her long hair, which she has always worn in looked braids, tied off with a ribbon just like her mother did for her falls into the blood. Her patience lost, she uses the knife to chop both braids off just below her ears. Straggling back to her benefactors' home with a rough and bloodstained bob hours later, she refuses to discuss the change and creeps under her bed without supper.
August 4, 1888- When the letter comes, it makes her feel sick. She can’t read it. The writing is too funny, and when she gets someone to read it for her, she can almost convince herself it might be a mistake. It’s written to Miss Angharad Matild Warbeck, which sounds much too snobby to be her. She’s only ever been Angharad, although Warbeck sounds a little bit familiar. There’s a part of her that can vaguely remember it. Mrs. Warbeck. She would look up and hear it from giant people, once, really long ago. She doesn’t want to go, but they say she has to. They don’t say that they don’t want her around anymore, but she’s sure they never really did. It doesn’t matter. They’re not her blood. She knew that all along. She won’t stay at the school, anyway. They won’t have someone who can’t read fancy writing or write proper. She’ll be back before winter, and maybe then, everyone will think she’s adult enough to go it on her own. At least she can bring Aulay. So, that might make it less rotten. Some of the other kids try to tell her about the houses, but she doesn’t much care. She won’t be staying long enough for it to matter.
Personality: Stubborn, prefers her own company. Quick to anger. Willing to stand up to perceived injustice (violently if need be), not always aware of her small stature when it comes to picking her battles. A bit like a Chihuahua made human, though very slightly more sociable with strangers under the right circumstances.
Other: Changed to another Hebrides family. I'll change it again if the Hebrides are out of the question.
Sample Roleplay Post:
(an old post, pre-MacFusty reboot, when she was their ward)
Angharad turned around with a start when she heard the angry voice of her rival snapping at her from the doorway. Before she knew it, his voice had grown even closer and the pillow bag full of things was snatched away from her, her plan foiled. Inwardly, she cursed herself for not having closed the door behind her, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of hearing that out loud. Instead, she gave a derisive snort and, as calmly as possible, as if she had been expecting him all along, she rivaled his outrage with a snippy and entirely unrelated dig “What did ye dae tae yerself?” she asked, pointing at his hair as if it were some sort of ugly, diseased animal sitting atop his head. “Ye swatch e'en uglier than afair.” Of course, she had already seen his new hair the night before so she wasn’t really as surprised by it as she was letting on, and it didn’t really look all that terrible, but it made him harder for her to recognize and that made her uncomfortable (besides, he deserved to feel bad whether it was because of something true or not).
“And I wulnae gie it.” She added in a somewhat more biting tone, taking hold of the bottom of the bag again. “If ye can donner intae mah hoose an' bury things 'at ur mine, 'en ned me an' trap me haur, I can donner intae yer room an' bury things 'at ur yoors.” She punctuated this statement with a hard yank at the bottom of the bag, which caused the thing to jostle around inside of, crumpling some of the letters if the crinkly sound that they made was any indication. Encouraged, she gave another hard yank, followed by another in quick succession. Each time, she could hear the items moving around inside and after the third, one of the glass drawings that she had put in second rattled close enough to the now drooping opening of the pillow bag that it came tumbling out.
At first she reached out to catch it, just out of instinct, thinking that it would surely break if it hit the floor, but before it hit her hand, it occurred to her that, if she wasn’t able to bury his things, her only chance of getting back at him properly might be to destroy them. Just as she felt the chilly glass of the drawing, touch her fingers, she pulled them back and allowed it to topple to the floor, where it promptly shattered to bits in a small, but resounding smash. She felt a bit bad for the little person in there. She didn’t recognize any of the people in the glass drawings and they surely hadn’t done anything to harm her. Some had even been little children, but she supposed that was just what was bad about being a drawing. You belonged to someone else, so sometimes you had to pay for what others did wrong. So, she decided, would whatever else she could get her hands on from the bag. As swiftly as she could, she stuck her and inside the drooping end of the bag and pulled out a handful of letters, tearing them to in halves and quarters before the huge MacFusty before he had a chance to act.
Out-of-Character
Name: AddieAge: 28
Contact: PM
Other Characters: None that are active
How did you hear about us?: RPG-D (many moons ago)
![[Image: TrSGeWR.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/TrSGeWR.jpg)