02-20-2023, 03:50 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-20-2023, 03:57 PM by Helga Hufflepuff.)
Name: Edgar Thorne
Age/Sex: 31/Male
Birthday: November 14 (Scorpio)
Blood Status: half-blood
Wand: Yew, dragon heartstring, more rigid than flexible; unusual thickness and length of 16 and a half inches, akin to what would be a heavy-duty rock band drumstick in the future.
Teaches: Dark Arts & Defense (pending)
Family Members: Father: Thegn Godric Goodwill, Pure-Blood Anglo-Saxon wizard, elder in King Aethelred the Unready’s Witan.
Mother: Asra, origin unknown (in truth, Bedouin Muggle), rumored Succubus.
Stepmother: Lady Hilda Leifsdottir, Norse, Pure-Blood, Squib.
Half-brother: Victor Godricson (27), Pure-Blood, Squib, Bishop.
Personality: (Advisory: shocking opinions below. Please note that none of the views expressed below are endorsed by this character's typist.)
Edgar is the kind of person who’s able to easily remain unnoticed in a crowd, but who’s as easily able to draw attention with his magnetic, austere dignity. Despite being a socially awkward gentleman when transplanted in lighter, trivial context, he conveys a natural authority; everything about him – looks, voice, behavior - is disciplined to the extreme, carefully studied like the sound of a musical instrument designed to be effective without being loud. It gives him an aura of mystery, as though he isn't familiar with his own nature as a human being.
Edgar’s lifelong quest is to investigate about the nature of the human soul and the potential damage the Dark Arts often produce on it. His research has led him to acquire an impressive amount of knowledge from various cultures.
He has embraced some views of a Pure-Blood supremacist and his ideal of power is to submit Muggles, whom he regards are inferior, to the will of the wizarding world while avoiding as much as possible their elimination. His own status as a half-blood, as well as his past, only goad him further to excel in his goals and beliefs. But despite being convinced he has a mission to restore the wizarding world’s natural authority upon all, as a teacher, he’d be professional enough not to openly take any standpoint on the matter at Hogwarts. Further, his affection for the school may very well be the only thing that might prevent him from becoming a Dark wizard.
History: Like it was the case among many Pure-Blood families, impoverished Godric’s marriage with noble Hilda Leifsdottir had been arranged without much concern for the mutual appeal of the individuals involved. It was first and foremost an alliance designed to unite the prestige of two ancient families. Alas, Hilda, who suffered from chronic migraines, was barren as well as a Squib; to spare her own self-esteem, she wished to live as a Muggle, among Muggles. Her husband was compelled to follow suit.
When the Thegn took up an opportunity to escape from his constrictive family with a trip to Aquitaine with a merchant friend and unexpectedly came back with a Middle Eastern beggar he had rescued, he had planned to introduce her “as a servant to help our house elf Minnie” in an attempt to avoid Hilda’s wrath. Surprisingly, however, it was Hilda who encouraged her husband to take Asra as his more danico concubine, thus allowing him to sow his wild oats. It was the only way for them to insure their succession.
Thus, Edgar was born, at twilight on a bleak mid-November day.
However, when Edgar was almost four years old, Hilda took everyone by surprise and became pregnant. She gave birth to a premature, sickly boy named Victor, who immediately replaced Edgar as the legitimate heir. The new infant became the center of everyone’s attention. Inevitably, jealousy rammed Edgar’s inner fortress. He became a bully to his impaired half-brother. It didn’t take long for Hilda to retaliate.
“Get rid of that woman and her bastard son”, she told Godric one day, before he had to depart to the Witan. “He keeps hurting Victor and I will no longer bear with it”.
Of course, the outraged Thegn refused. He made some arrangements for Asra and Edgar to stay at his merchant friend’s inn.
But the resourceful Lady Leifsdottir has other plans.
Asra and Edgar were taken away in secret by the merchant’s eldest son to be sold as slaves in Constantinople. Slaving was a lucrative business after all, so why not add the Lady’s favor to his benefits?
However, no one had expected that the boy would put up a fight, and not just any fight, but a magical one. A ball of fire accidentally erupted from Edgar’s right hand and singed his captor’s hair. The furious slaver grabbed a branding iron used by Norsemen to mark the new slaves on their shoulders with the letter “thorn” (Þ), for the Norse word “thrall”, which meant “slave”. He contemptuously pressed it on Edgar’s forehead, by his hairline. The poor lad screamed and fainted under the helpless gaze of his mother and of the horrified sailors.
“What are you staring at”, the merchant growled spitefully, as he had dropped the iron. “He’ll be dead in a mine or quarry a fortnight after leaving the slaver’s selling block. Sultans want blond eunuchs to guard their harems.”
But fortunately, the merchant was a skilled fortune earner, but a weak fortune teller. Determined to survive at all costs - initially, out of pure instinct and later as an act of defiance against Fate - Edgar was haunted by one profound question that would need an answer to make his survival worthwhile: why? What had he done to be rejected by his father - or so he thought?
Little did he know that Fate itself would help him in his quest. One day, he’d be able to return home to right the wrongs, and that would mark not the end but the beginning of a new life.
*
Twenty-four years later
A luxurious carriage stopped in front of Thegn Goodwill’s long house. In a matter of half an hour, all the residents of the sparse cottages in the area were informed about the illustrious young guest who got out of it, leaning on a cane like an elder: Bishop Victor Godricson had been urgently summoned at his mother’s bedside: she had apparently gone insane, “most likely because of her headaches”, the physician had supposed. No one paid heed to Hilda’s panicked delirium about some dark mage who came back from the dead to curse her: she obviously wasn’t her pragmatic self anymore.
Meanwhile, a foreign-looking scholar in tabard-like black robes, who had spent a few days at the inn, politely enquired about the innkeeper’s merchant son who was away at sea. He had a small, dark, cryptic tattoo on his forehead, just below his hairline.
Edgar’s question had to remain unanswered for some time as Thegn Goodwill, now an Elder, was in Northumbria, with the Witan. Edgar headed north in the hopes of meeting him there.
But little did he suspect that he was about to encounter a very different kind of gathering, which would change his life forever.
Colorful flashes of light and small explosions were coming up from a clearing in the forest he had decided to spend one night in. As he discretely went closer to take a peek, he saw two men facing each other on a platform. They were dueling with wands! He had finally found a community of his peers. Deciding to take a chance of making his presence known, Edgar stepped into the light of the camp fires, among the spectators. One couldn’t imagine a more ideal, antagonistic pair for a duel: one of them looked as straight as a King’s sword with his powerful, direct spells and defense; while the work of the other one was more like his own - sometimes subtle, always vicious, with the clear intent to harm his opponent. It was fascinating to behold.
After their exhibition, the two men engaged in conversation with a few people. There was no better time for Edgar to introduce himself as the wizard that he was, and to make new acquaintances after nearly a whole lifetime of exile.
He hadn’t expected to be drawn into a duel by the one whose work he had admired, Salazar Slytherin, with the other man, who was introduced to him as Godric Gryffindor. Without having a clue about what the outcome of that test duel would entail, apart from the sake of simply winning it and thus pampering his self-esteem, Edgar ended up being offered a job as a Dark Arts teacher at a new wizarding school.
Age/Sex: 31/Male
Birthday: November 14 (Scorpio)
Blood Status: half-blood
Wand: Yew, dragon heartstring, more rigid than flexible; unusual thickness and length of 16 and a half inches, akin to what would be a heavy-duty rock band drumstick in the future.
Teaches: Dark Arts & Defense (pending)
Family Members: Father: Thegn Godric Goodwill, Pure-Blood Anglo-Saxon wizard, elder in King Aethelred the Unready’s Witan.
Mother: Asra, origin unknown (in truth, Bedouin Muggle), rumored Succubus.
Stepmother: Lady Hilda Leifsdottir, Norse, Pure-Blood, Squib.
Half-brother: Victor Godricson (27), Pure-Blood, Squib, Bishop.
Personality: (Advisory: shocking opinions below. Please note that none of the views expressed below are endorsed by this character's typist.)
Edgar is the kind of person who’s able to easily remain unnoticed in a crowd, but who’s as easily able to draw attention with his magnetic, austere dignity. Despite being a socially awkward gentleman when transplanted in lighter, trivial context, he conveys a natural authority; everything about him – looks, voice, behavior - is disciplined to the extreme, carefully studied like the sound of a musical instrument designed to be effective without being loud. It gives him an aura of mystery, as though he isn't familiar with his own nature as a human being.
Edgar’s lifelong quest is to investigate about the nature of the human soul and the potential damage the Dark Arts often produce on it. His research has led him to acquire an impressive amount of knowledge from various cultures.
He has embraced some views of a Pure-Blood supremacist and his ideal of power is to submit Muggles, whom he regards are inferior, to the will of the wizarding world while avoiding as much as possible their elimination. His own status as a half-blood, as well as his past, only goad him further to excel in his goals and beliefs. But despite being convinced he has a mission to restore the wizarding world’s natural authority upon all, as a teacher, he’d be professional enough not to openly take any standpoint on the matter at Hogwarts. Further, his affection for the school may very well be the only thing that might prevent him from becoming a Dark wizard.
History: Like it was the case among many Pure-Blood families, impoverished Godric’s marriage with noble Hilda Leifsdottir had been arranged without much concern for the mutual appeal of the individuals involved. It was first and foremost an alliance designed to unite the prestige of two ancient families. Alas, Hilda, who suffered from chronic migraines, was barren as well as a Squib; to spare her own self-esteem, she wished to live as a Muggle, among Muggles. Her husband was compelled to follow suit.
When the Thegn took up an opportunity to escape from his constrictive family with a trip to Aquitaine with a merchant friend and unexpectedly came back with a Middle Eastern beggar he had rescued, he had planned to introduce her “as a servant to help our house elf Minnie” in an attempt to avoid Hilda’s wrath. Surprisingly, however, it was Hilda who encouraged her husband to take Asra as his more danico concubine, thus allowing him to sow his wild oats. It was the only way for them to insure their succession.
Thus, Edgar was born, at twilight on a bleak mid-November day.
However, when Edgar was almost four years old, Hilda took everyone by surprise and became pregnant. She gave birth to a premature, sickly boy named Victor, who immediately replaced Edgar as the legitimate heir. The new infant became the center of everyone’s attention. Inevitably, jealousy rammed Edgar’s inner fortress. He became a bully to his impaired half-brother. It didn’t take long for Hilda to retaliate.
“Get rid of that woman and her bastard son”, she told Godric one day, before he had to depart to the Witan. “He keeps hurting Victor and I will no longer bear with it”.
Of course, the outraged Thegn refused. He made some arrangements for Asra and Edgar to stay at his merchant friend’s inn.
But the resourceful Lady Leifsdottir has other plans.
Asra and Edgar were taken away in secret by the merchant’s eldest son to be sold as slaves in Constantinople. Slaving was a lucrative business after all, so why not add the Lady’s favor to his benefits?
However, no one had expected that the boy would put up a fight, and not just any fight, but a magical one. A ball of fire accidentally erupted from Edgar’s right hand and singed his captor’s hair. The furious slaver grabbed a branding iron used by Norsemen to mark the new slaves on their shoulders with the letter “thorn” (Þ), for the Norse word “thrall”, which meant “slave”. He contemptuously pressed it on Edgar’s forehead, by his hairline. The poor lad screamed and fainted under the helpless gaze of his mother and of the horrified sailors.
“What are you staring at”, the merchant growled spitefully, as he had dropped the iron. “He’ll be dead in a mine or quarry a fortnight after leaving the slaver’s selling block. Sultans want blond eunuchs to guard their harems.”
But fortunately, the merchant was a skilled fortune earner, but a weak fortune teller. Determined to survive at all costs - initially, out of pure instinct and later as an act of defiance against Fate - Edgar was haunted by one profound question that would need an answer to make his survival worthwhile: why? What had he done to be rejected by his father - or so he thought?
Little did he know that Fate itself would help him in his quest. One day, he’d be able to return home to right the wrongs, and that would mark not the end but the beginning of a new life.
*
Twenty-four years later
A luxurious carriage stopped in front of Thegn Goodwill’s long house. In a matter of half an hour, all the residents of the sparse cottages in the area were informed about the illustrious young guest who got out of it, leaning on a cane like an elder: Bishop Victor Godricson had been urgently summoned at his mother’s bedside: she had apparently gone insane, “most likely because of her headaches”, the physician had supposed. No one paid heed to Hilda’s panicked delirium about some dark mage who came back from the dead to curse her: she obviously wasn’t her pragmatic self anymore.
Meanwhile, a foreign-looking scholar in tabard-like black robes, who had spent a few days at the inn, politely enquired about the innkeeper’s merchant son who was away at sea. He had a small, dark, cryptic tattoo on his forehead, just below his hairline.
Edgar’s question had to remain unanswered for some time as Thegn Goodwill, now an Elder, was in Northumbria, with the Witan. Edgar headed north in the hopes of meeting him there.
But little did he suspect that he was about to encounter a very different kind of gathering, which would change his life forever.
Colorful flashes of light and small explosions were coming up from a clearing in the forest he had decided to spend one night in. As he discretely went closer to take a peek, he saw two men facing each other on a platform. They were dueling with wands! He had finally found a community of his peers. Deciding to take a chance of making his presence known, Edgar stepped into the light of the camp fires, among the spectators. One couldn’t imagine a more ideal, antagonistic pair for a duel: one of them looked as straight as a King’s sword with his powerful, direct spells and defense; while the work of the other one was more like his own - sometimes subtle, always vicious, with the clear intent to harm his opponent. It was fascinating to behold.
After their exhibition, the two men engaged in conversation with a few people. There was no better time for Edgar to introduce himself as the wizard that he was, and to make new acquaintances after nearly a whole lifetime of exile.
He hadn’t expected to be drawn into a duel by the one whose work he had admired, Salazar Slytherin, with the other man, who was introduced to him as Godric Gryffindor. Without having a clue about what the outcome of that test duel would entail, apart from the sake of simply winning it and thus pampering his self-esteem, Edgar ended up being offered a job as a Dark Arts teacher at a new wizarding school.
"Man is something to be surpassed. What have ye done to surpass man?"
-Friedrich Nietzsche, Prologue from "Thus Spoke Zarathustra"
-Friedrich Nietzsche, Prologue from "Thus Spoke Zarathustra"
