In-Character
Full Name: Clementine KwesiNicknames: Clem
Birthdate: April 7, 1878
Current Age: 11
Occupation: Hogwarts Student
Reputation: 9
Her mother is an activist.
Residence: Hogsmeade
Hogwarts House: Gryffindor
Wand: Larch, 11", Swishy, Dragon heartstring
Blood Status: Halfblood
Social Class: Working Class
Family: Esi Kwesi, Mother [1855]
Yafeu Kwesi, Father [1850]
__ Kwesi, Brother [1885]
Appearance: Clementine is a girl with an endearing appearance, her West African features compliment each other in a symmetrical angle including a broad nose, full lips, and large dark brown eyes. Her skin is dark brown with slight hints of acne since she's blossoming into later adolescence. Her black hair is kinky and shrunken into tightly coiled curls, if straightened it stops down at the middle of her back (It is rarely straightened due to her dislike of the straightening spell and or a hot comb). A small child, Clem stands at four feet and nine inches with a skinny build that is evidence of her lower class position.
Because her family is part of the Working Class or 'working-poor' as her dad calls it, her style is practical and consisted of dull colors such as gray and navy blue. She loves wearing a simple working shirt and trousers and would always anticipate the weekends when she could wear such, to the dismay of some classmates.
History:
1878: Clementine Kisi Kwesi is born to Uagadou graduate and former Quidditch Chaser Yafeu Kwesi and muggle-born activist Esi nee Oboye Kwesi in a farming town of Scotland.
1880: Yafeu is injured during a Professional Quidditch match. Despite his bones being successfully mended, he develops Post- Traumatic Stress disorder and retires from his career. At the age of two, Clementine begins to display a few magical quirks such as levitating her nappies onto her baby dolls during play.
1883: Clementine is homeschooled due to both parents fearing that her magic would go haywire in a muggle preschool.
1885: A boy is born to Yafeu and Esi, and Clementine a new brother. During a day at the park, a Muggle boy started hassling her and tugging on her curls. Irritated, she yelled at him to stop and when he didn't listen - she accidentally turned him into a yellow-spotted toad. The Kwesis' quickly ran for Hogsmeade.
1886: The year is spent living in boarding houses and inns, Clementine feels as if she is at fault for their homelessness. Her cheerful and upbeat personality disintegrates the more they move. Finally later into the year, they find employment with an upperclass Pure-Blood family. They're greeted warmly at first due to the assumption that they were Pureblood but soon their employers become a bit apathetic after finding out about Esi's Muggle-born heritage. They moves to Pennyworth and travel to work every day with the children, and they're hard workers which is enough to keep them around. Clem likes this new change - she is good at digging and plucking vegetables for the cooks as well as de-gnoming the backyard gnomes.
1889: Using the First Year Fund, Clementine was admitted into Hogwarts and sorted into Gryfinndor based on her adventurous personality. A courageous girl, she goes off into adventures that can easily get a muggle child skewered if they dared - the moving staircases are her favorite and she has tried to dive into the lake at lease once...? Maybe twice, but who's counting? A bit of a wild-child, it comes as a surprise that her favorite times in the school are the calming and soothing lessons of Herbology.
Personality: Adventurous, Brave, Friendly, Reckless, Impatient, Energetic
Other: N/A
Sample Roleplay Post: Her arctic hands, her empty eyes, and her immobile body... The Northern Prince couldn't get the mental images of Queen Phillipa out of his head. No matter how many times he maneuvered the room comforting cousin to cousin, the imagery shook him to his imminent core. After word reached Rickard about her assassination, he along with his cousin Willem were the first to call out for a removal of the murderer's head, and the first to start a hunt for the killer who was still at large. Enraged by the injustice, they both had to be restrained and sent into one of Winterfell's large rooms filled with younger and terrified grief-stricken occupants. Many hours and maybe a day passed and the emotion was overwhelming coupled with his and Willem's wolf-like passion, however, Rickard had no problem with it at first. He paroled the room, doing his best to console the others whilst his father's direwolf Summer remained at his side. But even someone as empathetic as he had his limits: the screams, the mourning, the cries and the mental imagery caused him to walk across the room over to his cousin. "Look after Anya and the others," He'd command, raising his palm to prevent Willem from protesting. Giving Summer a scratch behind the ears, he approached the guards blocking the door and asked them to excuse them.
"We don't wanna' restrain ya again, Prince Rickard."
"You won't have to- I just need a silent place to pray."
"Very well then, we'll send a few guards to escort ya just in case ya tryta' run off."
The emotionally weary prince found that fair and walked past the guards into the halls. Four guards were positioned around him and Summer, though only two of them stood a few feet away from Summer with their shoulders pressed up against the wall. The boy of sixteen would've made a quip about the men's caution, but he begun to head straight to the ground floor with slumped shoulders. The harvest feast was sweet dream devolved into a horrific nightmare. He joined the hunting trip and although inexperienced, he felt at home with the sound of horse hooves pounding against the forest grounds and the flying arrows marking their territory among the various animals being tracked. Regardless of being average with the bow and arrow, he was able to shoot down a few animals along with the other men and was rather cocky about it. He appreciated that his father stayed long enough to see him before falling off of his horse due to poor strap handling. Rickard was urged to give the page a handful but his father handled it on his own as was standard of him. The Prince had somebody else to fill his father's spot, a boy named Lachlan Snow. He'd seen the bastard around Winterfell yet was too occupied with other things to interact with him. Their conversation was jovial and Lachlan was decent company before they went their separate ways. Winterfell became Winterfull and everyone celebrated with large smiles and full spirits. There was nothing to do besides wish he was back in the forest, hunting with the others in the forest. Oh how he was cheerful only mere hours ago... He passed a couple of nobles running and talking about the race of the assailant: an Essossi refuge? He almost snarled, how despicable can these gossips be!? To blame this on a refugee? For all they'd know, it could be someone living directly under their noses!
Once they were all downstairs, the guards stationed themselves outside as if to wait to escort him and Summer back into the room. Taking a few steps, Rickard's dark eyes wandered and shifted from Sept to weirwood. At first, he walked to the Sept and stood into the doorway. It's emptiness sent a surging calm to the boy- but once he looked up, he only saw statues with permanent emotion masking their faces. Well, now he could tell why the Sept was always empty! The faces of the Seven must've frightened the others away from it. Well, he wished it was that simple. The Sept of Winterfell had it's fair share of visitors including foreigners, his mother, perhaps House Manderly, and himself. His mother- he wondered how she was handling the death for she was one of the people to witness his body. His eyebrows knit with worry, was she also hurt? He looked up at the faces once more to seek comfort or ask, but found nothing but reminders of his cousins and the younger highborn and lowborn children in the room. Tears welled up in his eyes for the first time today, marring his vision as he turned his heel and left.
Summer, sensing his master's son's sorrow nuzzled against Rickard's leg as he stopped behind one of the trees in the weirwood. With a dejected smile, he reached over and patted the direwolf's head in appreciation that he was there. Summer had been there for him and his family ever since his father was very little- he was always there to protect and offer subtle comfort if need be. The Prince wiped his tears with his sleeve until more rained down on his cheeks, he was never one to cry in front of others. He used to as a child in King's Landing but stopped after growing older and being teased about it. Now as a man of sixteen, he was expected to only let women cry while he stood there stoic and offering only a consoling word or two. He was too affectionate to do what was expected of him, except he never cried not even in front of his own loving parents. Thankfully Summer was there to be a witness to his dejection, so he bawled albeit silently for he did not want to disturb the Old Gods or the Seven.
"Thank you," Whispered Rickard, stroking Summer's mane before going on his merry way- wherever that would be. He swiftly decided to head to the glorious Weirwood tree that stood witness to everything important going on in Northerners lives. There was a sense of hesitance in treading there, what if the Tree turned him away for not swearing certain loyalties to it? What if they didn't hear his prayers? He shook these concerns away and headed towards it whilst noticing someone beat him to it.
Walking past the river that lay in front of the tree, Rickard noticed it was Lachlan from earlier that was there. Why didn't he join the Prince and the others in that large room, he was certain that bastards were welcomed there. He overheard that Lachlan was one of the people that captured the killer. That was very brave of him, and the younger man couldn't help but feel a little envious that he was on the hunt. Well, Rickard did not want to disturb him and only remained a a small distance away. Lowering himself into a kneeling position with his right knee bent and his left knee onto the ground, he bowed his head and shut his eyes to silently pray.
Once his prayer was over, he'd wait for Lachlan to raise his head as well out of respect. "I'd like to thank you and the others for capturing the my aunt's killer," Rickard would say, breaking the silence. "I can't imagine how difficult it was tracking down the man, yet you all managed unharmed." With a sigh, he wrapped his hand around his knee whilst Summer sat beside him in silence. "She was a good Queen,". He was unsure what the Snow was praying for, but quickly assumed it was the Queen. His bloodshot eyes shifted towards Lachlan to prepare an inquiry. "I don't know why anyone would do such a terrible thing... do you?"
Out-of-Character
Name: RouxAge: 22
Contact: PM or Discord.
Other Characters: -
How did you hear about us?: RPG- Initiative
