Little Bill

Hogwarts: Before the War

Morris Fetterdam had been a ticket taker at Hogsmeade for a year, and then a trolly pusher for two, before he was even allowed to begin training for his magical conductor's license. It was a more difficult position to attain than he had imagined when it so humbly became his boyhood dream as an unpopular, ginger squib, though this did not make him any less determined. In fact, it fueled Morris. Never before was there a man so driven to attain a conductor's hat aboard the Hogwarts Express, and never before had the train had such a young conductor. Unbeknownst to the hundreds of bright-eyed students aboard the train, this would be Conductor Fetterdam's first passenger-carrying journey, a hallmark in the achievements of any conductor. Truly, if Morris had a proudest day in his life, it would have been Sunday, September 9th, 1957.

It would have been.

Morris was a straight-spined, measured man. He took a measured breath, looking out the window, and then a measured sip of his cup of tea. Even in his conductor's cab, he stood perfectly straight, eyeing the barometer of the engine and speed of the train like a hawk. His door was locked, his uniform was pressed, and his smoked herring sandwich was wrapped in two layers of wax paper in his conductor's cupboard, organized with the precision of a Japanese architect. Everything was as it should have been for a smooth entry into his career as a conductor, and it was for this reason that the voice behind him took him even more by surprise.

"Urr ye tha railroad bobby?"

Morris spun around defensively, stifling the instinctive JESUS CHRIST he had grown so accustomed to using living amongst muggle cousins, spilling the contents of his tea down the front of his starch-white shirt. There was a brown-haired boy in his clean, prepared conductor's cab, with the dirtiest hands he had ever seen. It looked as if the boy had finished a spot of afternoon gardening with his bare hands, or perhaps, just had a blackish, brownish, greenish pen explode in his hands moments earlier. Whatever the case was, he was staring at Morris, picking his nose with, yet again, the dirtiest hand Morris had ever --

Morris collected himself for a moment, stifling an audible gag as he handed the boy a tissue, ignoring the sandy brown stain on his shirt.

"No, young sir, I am not the railroad police. I am the train conductor, and you appear to be in my cab. If you would be so -"

"Me pa tell't me that if ah ever dinnae where a'm, ah should find th' train bobby." The boy said, turning his back and pointing a grubby finger an inch from the emergency break. "Whit's this wee rid lever dae?"

Morris placed the napkin on the boy's hand and calmly pulled it away, exhaling with a boiling anger. "That lever is a knob, it is the brake to this train, and you are in Rutland County, several hours from your destination. Get out of my conductor's cab, you cheeky imp. You are not supposed to be here." The boy giggled at Morris's use of the word knob, reaching into the pocket of his green corduroy trousers.

"But ah unly come 'ere tae give ye this shiny key ah fount, sur." The boy said, pulling the golden key to Hogsmeade Station from his pocket. If his supervisor knew he had compromised the station's safety, this would be his first and last day as a conductor.

Morris paused for a moment, dumbfounded, snatching the key from his hand and giving it a wipe with an additional napkin. The anger he had felt moments earlier disappeared "Why, thank you! Where on Earth did you find this, young man?"

The boy pointed to the cupboard to the left of Morris. "Ah smelt yer salty herring in yer lunch-pail, truth be tell't, and mah whole plan were tae get to that. But ah won't take yer key on account ah ah'm a honest young man like ye said. Give us a taste, then?"

"OUT! OUT OF MY CAB YOU LITTLE WELSH MONSTROSITY! OUT!" And, sure enough, the boy was gone in a flash, bolting like a hare with a giggle, past two members of the Hogsmeade Train Conductor's Union, holding a cake and balloon, respectively. His supervisor, Patty Kincaid, and the chairman of the union and president of the Welsh Magical Transport Committee, Alwyn Davies.

"S-Sirs! That's, fancy, seeing both of you, here, on the express. Happy first day Morris, that says? Oh, that's, uh. That's lovely, fellas. Sirs. Let me get you a cup." He said with a sheepish giggle, pointing to the brown stain on his shirt. He turned around to find his thermos in the cupboard. It was there as he expected, but his herring sandwich had vanished into thin air. His hand balled into a fist.

Mazemaster

Nobody else liked this idea, but I don't care, I'm still going to launch it.
This is all for you, sweet @Jobst.
All for you.

Mazemaster

A young child is whisked away to an ancient, magical land, where it has been prophesied that they will overturn the realm's dark ruler and bring about a new age. A cliche, perhaps, but a cliche that many young children create in their minds, hoping and waiting for all the same. As the protagonist delves deeper into the labyrinthine world, a dread sense of deja vu follows them like a shadow. Have they been here before, or perhaps, have they been here all along? Are they the chosen one, or, have there been many before? If they started in the center of the maze, how are they supposed to find this supposed Mazemaster? These questions and many more will all be answered as the story unfolds.

---

---

Some spoiled kid gets sent into another dimension. The universe, and thereby the whole story, have a few very concise list of themes and points to make.

1. Mazeworld is more like a dreamscape made out of a child's subconscious than a separate dimension, so get that squared away. All of the player-controlled creatures should be absurd, but follow the same vein of 70's Brian Froud-esque absurdity. Furthermore, they should all be found in the kid's room in less exciting, nonmagical incarnations. For instance, I will be playing the analogue to the kid's pet frog. If you haven't noticed already, this story is so inspired by the Labyrinth that I would get sued if I tried to make it into a book. This is a perfect segue into my second point.

2. Like in The Labyrinth, the main theme of the story is Growing Up. The kid (Named Riley, but I haven't decided on a gender and would like it to be voted on by applicants) is tethered to the child world through all of the fun stuff in their room that's found in Mazeworld. To grow up is to detach yourself from the notion that you might be some chosen one waiting on a Hogwarts Letter, Sword in the Stone, or magical maze universe, and furthermore, to detach yourself from symbols of childhood like toys and posters in favor of symbols of adulthood -- pets and plants you care for, well-written books, and so on.

3. The Mazemaster is the kid, I'm just gonna go out and tell you that. More specifically, it is an alternate version of the kid who never has to grow up Peter Pan style, but with a darker twist on the idea. The world is created by a child, so there is no basis for the sexual reproduction of the magical inhabitants. As a result, there is no need for families, and the world is populated entirely by drifters or gangs. Because Riley doesn't know what racism or classism is, the world's villains are purposely evil bullies. There is no aging because Riley cannot fathom it, but there are denizens created to live in permanent old age, suffering the maladies of whatever Riley assumes old people are like.

If you know me, you know I'm not exactly begging people to join. With the standards I have, although there's no limit to the party size, I expect a cast of four or five. Here are some requirements so you know what you're getting into.

1. Everybody plays the kid. If only one person plays as the kid, this RP will die when they're gone for a week fanning their balls or whatever, so, everybody plays the kid. Fortunately, the kid has a really easy-to-follow personality.

2. Everybody's magical character is a nonhuman, with something in Riley's room to tie them into Mazeworld.

3. Riley's quest is only half of this story. The other half is pure worldbuilding for the fun of it. Instead of writing a story and then adding things to the worldbuilding, we'll be adding things to the worldbuilding and writing the story to add them, if that makes sense.

---

With that, I'm open for questions, comments, concerns, interest, or a lawsuit from Brian Froud's lawyers.

C R A W L

>In that case, pump all remaining shots into strangler
>Finish Hawkeye Hullabaloo

Mazemaster

A young child is whisked away to an ancient, magical land, where it has been prophesied that they will overturn the realm's dark ruler and bring about a new age. A cliche, perhaps, but a cliche that many young children create in their minds, hoping and waiting for all the same. As the protagonist delves deeper into the labyrinthine world, a dread sense of deja vu follows them like a shadow. Have they been here before, or perhaps, have they been here all along? Are they the chosen one, or, have there been many before? If they started in the center of the maze, how are they supposed to find this supposed Mazemaster? These questions and many more will all be answered as the story unfolds.

---

---

Some spoiled kid gets sent into another dimension. The universe, and thereby the whole story, have a few very concise list of themes and points to make.

1. Mazeworld is more like a dreamscape made out of a child's subconscious than a separate dimension, so get that squared away. All of the player-controlled creatures should be absurd, but follow the same vein of 70's Brian Froud-esque absurdity. Furthermore, they should all be found in the kid's room in less exciting, nonmagical incarnations. For instance, I will be playing the analogue to the kid's pet frog. If you haven't noticed already, this story is so inspired by the Labyrinth that I would get sued if I tried to make it into a book. This is a perfect segue into my second point.

2. Like in The Labyrinth, the main theme of the story is Growing Up. The kid (Named Riley, but I haven't decided on a gender and would like it to be voted on by applicants) is tethered to the child world through all of the fun stuff in their room that's found in Mazeworld. To grow up is to detach yourself from the notion that you might be some chosen one waiting on a Hogwarts Letter, Sword in the Stone, or magical maze universe, and furthermore, to detach yourself from symbols of childhood like toys and posters in favor of symbols of adulthood -- pets and plants you care for, well-written books, and so on.

3. The Mazemaster is the kid, I'm just gonna go out and tell you that. More specifically, it is an alternate version of the kid who never has to grow up Peter Pan style, but with a darker twist on the idea. The world is created by a child, so there is no basis for the sexual reproduction of the magical inhabitants. As a result, there is no need for families, and the world is populated entirely by drifters or gangs. Because Riley doesn't know what racism or classism is, the world's villains are purposely evil bullies. There is no aging because Riley cannot fathom it, but there are denizens created to live in permanent old age, suffering the maladies of whatever Riley assumes old people are like.

If you know me, you know I'm not exactly begging people to join. With the standards I have, although there's no limit to the party size, I expect a cast of four or five. Here are some requirements so you know what you're getting into.

1. Everybody plays the kid. If only one person plays as the kid, this RP will die when they're gone for a week fanning their balls or whatever, so, everybody plays the kid. Fortunately, the kid has a really easy-to-follow personality.

2. Everybody's magical character is a nonhuman, with something in Riley's room to tie them into Mazeworld.

3. Riley's quest is only half of this story. The other half is pure worldbuilding for the fun of it. Instead of writing a story and then adding things to the worldbuilding, we'll be adding things to the worldbuilding and writing the story to add them, if that makes sense.

---

With that, I'm open for questions, comments, concerns, interest, or a lawsuit from Jim Henson's lawyers.

C R A W L

>AS THE GOOD WESTERN GOD AS MY WITNESS, WE WILL MAKE IT OUT OF THIS MINE ALIVE
>YOU THERE, NIGHT TERROR, YOU'RE DEAD
>EAT SOME FUCKIN' DEAD-EYE BULLET
>YOU'RE NEXT SPIDERS
>ONE LITTLE, TWO LITTLE, TWO DEAD SPIDERS
>REMAINING BULLETS DEPOSITED INTO THE BANK OF VOID HOUND'S ASS
>I AM DEPUTY HAWKEYE, AGENT OF WRATHFUL JUSTICE
>COME HITHER DANNY, FOR I HAVE CLEARED YOUR PATH

C R A W L

>Reroll missed shots
>Targets are as follows
>Void Sorceror at E3 (1 shot if fatal, 2 if not)
>Night Terror at E6 (2 shots if fatal, 3 if not)

Hogwarts: Before the War

Iorweth Caradog

Name
Iorweth Caradog
_{Yar-weth cah-rah-dog}

Age
15

Birthday
January 19th

Sex
Male

Ethnicity
Welsh

Nationality
British

Blood Status
Half-Blood
_{The youngest of an ancient family in Wales, Iorweth is the first in his family's current generation to attend Hogwarts. The Caradogs, one of Wales' oldest Halfblood families, are considered strange by most well-to-do wizarding families, with a relatively pureblooded lineage being tarnished by rumors that interbreeding with goblins, elves, and trolls was a common Caradog practice before written records -- This is also the assumed explanation for frequently occasional short stature of Caradog men like Iowerth's father Elgar, as well as an explanation for their strange behavior.}

---

School Year
Fifth Year

Hogwarts House
Hufflepuff
_{The sorting hat announced Iorweth's house before the headmaster could let go of its brim. Iorweth isn't even sure if he felt the hat touch his hair.}

Pet
Cat
_{Iorweth has a widely-hated cat named Taffy, who is a fifteen-year old Maine coon. It is known for loudly meowing until he can find Iorweth, and sneezing thick globs of mucus on the floors of the Hufflepuff common room. He is at the very least, a good mouser, if the number of voles, mice, and shrews he lines by Iorweth's bed is any indication. Considering that their dormitory is immediately next to the kitchen, many Hufflepuffs are quietly grateful for this task.}

Boggart
Kelpie
_{Iorweth was nearly taken by a kelpie as a young boy while on a hunting trip with his father, who had lured him onto its back by disguising itself as a beautiful white horse. When he climbed atop it, its appearance changed to its true form -- a waterlogged black horse, with long, sharp, teeth and bulging, dead grey eyes. Through the use of the Ridikulus charm, it is given four well-oiled rollerskates.}

Wand
Bloodwood, Phoenix Feather Core, 11 ¾ inches, Unyielding
_{"Bloodwood favors those who are kind-hearted, passive, reclusive, and free-spirited. This exotic wand type has the characteristic of working easily with all types of Elemental Magic (next to Birch and Ebony wands), but particularly in Water spells. Bloodwood wands help to uncover buried and/or long lost secrets, and are also one of the most powerful wand types for use in Divination and Healing Magic. However, Bloodwood wand tend to favor those who are reclusive and prefer to keep out of the limelight, thus it also makes for a good wand when used in the Logical Arts of Magic. This wand type is seen among all the Houses of Hogwarts and has no particular affinity to a certain House. However, it is suspected that Bloodwood wands have a leaning affinity to both House Ravenclaw and House Slytherin. Bloodwood has a brilliant red color that darkens with age."}

Favourite Lesson
Herbology
_{Iorweth, having farmed many of the magical vegetables and beaten back many of the magical weeds that are studied in the class, has an advantage almost like taking a language course in a tongue he speaks at home. Due to his effortless high marks in the class, the workaround Professor Beery has reached in order to fairly grade his pupils is to simply not assign Iorweth partners for projects.}

Least Favourite Lesson
Potions
_{Iorweth is simply bad at potions-making, and that would be a generous statement to make. He lacks the grace, patience, and attentiveness necessary for the delicate measurements, stirring, and pouring needed in the class. Watching him mix potions is like watching a child attempt to bake a cake, and he is frequently made to sit in the back of class or is outright dismissed for the day by Professor Slughorn in an effort to not waste ingredients.}

Extracurricular Activities
Frog Choir
_{To Iorweth's surprise, when he attended the first meeting of Frog Choir, the extracurricular had nothing to do with making choirs of frogs sing through magic. To his equal surprise, he was told he was a baritone-bass, which was precisely the range they lacked. The Frog Choir is one of the few things Iorweth takes very seriously.}

---

Appearance
Iorweth, while not exceptionally tall, short, fat or thin, Iorweth's appearance tends to stand out in crowds. He has a strangely alien look, as if he's both listening and drifting away, which isn't helped by the fact that he only ever smiles. He has brown hair which is never combed or brushed, but remains presentable regardless. His eyes are a deep reddish hazelnut, and his complexion is slightly sallow and pale.

He's known for having a feint damp smell with him, wherever he goes, and tends to carry himself with a relaxed fluidity when he walks, as well as a perpetual slouch. He favors simple clothes, and usually wears solid color sweaters, t-shirts, and jeans when out of uniform. He wears a thick plaid jacket in the colder months, although it's very apparent that the jacket is a size too large for him to fit, and wears the same pair of black boots twelve months a year, in and out of uniform.

Personality
Iorweth is strange, even by Hogwarts standards. He prefers his own company, or the company of plants and animals. When he ventures off into the forest, he's never seen practicing any spells or painting any landscapes, or even reading a book. He just sits. Aside from his penchant for lone hikes through the wilderness, Iorweth's odd mannerisms coupled with his near-unintelligible accent win him few friends. He has an oddly specific diet he does not break, never stops smiling, and has a distinct damp smell. Iorweth is weird, to say the least. In spite of this, Iorweth is unshakably nice. Although he's hardly the type to greet others with a hug, Iorweth has a deep-seated love for all creatures. He holds a firm belief that naturally, everyone is born good, and remains good deep down. He is almost unrealistically slow to anger, and only ever intervenes in situations without using violence. He is a vegetarian, and claims to have nursed a Hippogriff back to health, though this claim is disputed.

Backstory
Growing up on the Caradog Farm, Iorweth is a boy of simple tastes. He enjoys hiking through the wilderness, sleeping in trees, and shearing sheep. He has an older brother and two older sisters, and is the only male in his family to fluently speak English -- His home village of Cerrigydrudion is one of the smallest in Wales, hidden away from the English language and muggles alike. His life before, and during, his tenure at Hogwarts has been remarkably tame. No tragic deaths have befallen his family, no rugged battle scars decorate his thin frame. He has a quiet politeness about him bordering on classical stoicism, and his stories about his home life are all so boring that people interrupt him, which he takes on the chin. Iorweth isn't really the type to speak up about matters like that. He'd just smile.

Extra

Hider

There were lots of things about his farm Iorweth missed at Hogwarts. His missed his mother's porridge, a lumpy mass of oats he'd have to chew with his back teeth, and he missed his father's car and the warm rides it had. Right now, he missed his garden. It had all sorts of herbs and spices, and those were precisely what he needed. Taffy had been sick for a fortnight and didn't look like he was getting better any time soon. What he needed were some Snargaluff pods, and as a wee first year, there wasn't any chance he'd be allowed close enough to collect them, sick cat or not. There wasn't any place where he knew where to get them, but there was... A door? It certainly was,
but, Iorweth had been pacing to himself in the hall for quite a while. There wasn't a door there his first lap, or his second, or his hundred-and-tenth. And yet, there it was before him, as plan as the nose on his face.

Iorweth was the son of a shepherd. He wasn't one to blindly trust magical doors, but this door was too good to be true. It was in Hogwarts, and nothing bad ever really happened there, after all. He looked both ways, as if he were about to steal the hat off of Professor Beery's head, and entered the room. It was warmer than he expected. Brighter, too. It was filled with potted rows of every kind of plant he could think of. The windows, while too frosted to allow him to look out, let in a tremendous amount of light. Iorweth idly wondered to himself what time of day it had to have been for the room to have that much light, closing the door behind him. Almost immediately, he found what he needed -- Not just a Snargaluff, but three, all de-podded, with their harvested contents in five neat jars. They seemed oddly friendly, allowing him to get close enough to the shelf nearest them to grab a jar without so much as a hiss.

"Thank ye, mageck rum." Iorweth said with a nod, closing the door behind him. In his experience, thieving from them or not, it was good to thank the magic doors that opened up for him, like the mouths of a gift horse. Taffy's cold would be cured in no time.

C R A W L

>Move to D28

C R A W L

>Reroll damage