"We set sail once more and a feeling of déjà vu hits me, the same nightmare creeps into my mind every night... " ~Dresden Markolav~
- Joined July 2021
- Member of Slytherin
- 79 House Points
- 1st Year
- United States
Name: RP: Averan Ferro Bebenburgh IRL: John Evans
Sign: Aquarius/Libra rising, Aries moon, Pisces venus
House: Unsurprisingly Slytherin
Patronus: Doe (Several sources points to a doe)
I had a life and death experience when I was five IRL.
I am a creative writer and love poetry, romance and building close relationships with people and helping others.
I have always been fascinated with potions.
I will be honest and extremely foward to everyone and will answer every question you may have with an open heart and mind.
You can only build a close relationship by being open and honest.
I am a simple man, a "muggle" as this world would seem to have it, and a tavern owner deep within a forest unknown to many. Bourne of my newfound identity as the chosen protector of the wicker forest. In the beginning, I was but a host to sailors and other muggles within my "Realm" of Elchria. A home I will never forget. After perilous and daunting tests of my own nature and the world around me, I became that of a beacon of hope for my people. Through events following my evident departure of my world, cast from beyond the cosmos of a plane not known to my new peers or renowned astrologists.. My child, the very reincarnation of my long deceased partner, Anoura, had cast me from my realm for the greater good so that a lasting peace between the primals and Elchrians would be at peace as I posed as the catalyst for a fate once discovered in the later years of and for my world. I, however, see the positive in it and within the wizarding world of this realm, I sha'll dedicate my immortality to the study of witchcraft and wizardry lest is be much different fro mthe magiks of my kin. Curious though, I ponder the link between my own relic of magik focus, a dagger of which that came to me through a once believed nightmare, though turned out only to be that of a temporal time loop of which I had full awareness as only a man named Dresden also experienced the same awareness of repeated history until a momentus occasion. It seems that the dagger had been affected by this realms tranference energy shaping it similar to that of a wand, however this time I believe it seems to have a mind of it's own, and the overwhelming energy is much more than anything i've ever experienced. Though with time I had learned to communicate with nature, to hear the energy and flow of Elchrian words within the stream of magik. Though now, with this realms twisted energy, it can communicate back to me. Mutually respective of each other as we have several centuries of close bonds and fate changing experiences that will never break. This relic I believe in this realm would be considered a "Wand" if I am correct.
I was able to bring this piece of myself written by a dear and very old friend and foe ages before the time of which I hailed. Read if you will, to know more of my history, but that of a very important part of a hidden path I had followed once with many friends I had made along the way. I have told a story many times, but my old friend and foe Wes Elchria was very accurate in his words and the words speak true of what I spoke in this time. The beginning of my life anew as the chosen.
The Scripture reads as follows:
Journal Entry 10.17.00:00OET
I am Wes, a long time patron at the Wicker Heart Tavern. Tis an enjoyable and jolly place, filled with sailors, friends, adventurers of all sorts and sometimes those of the deviant. Today we know this place we call The Wicker Heart as a place we can all go to get a drink, and pass out. There are some who even call it home. Of course the most intriguing aspect of this place, it feels of home, even more than a home sometimes.
Why is it called The Wicker Heart, you may ask. Tis a story told many different ways, but of course the one who truly sees the truth of it is the man who experienced such a travesty a long, long time ago. This man is Averan Bebenburgh. Very generally happy and easy to talk to. A man with a big heart, and wise outlook as well as an observant eye of all things.
I love the story behind the name, but there was only one time, when Averan was not himself, very downtrodden and drunk even. He told me the story again, but in a way I will never forget.
All of it began, many years ago, when he was just a wee boy of only five years old. His day began as any day he had lived before. Of course this is the way Averan liked to tell his stories, but the expression on his face was not as it were each other time. He seemed very sad..lonely even, but very focussed and serious. His father had been out hunting, but then again he could have been with a harlot over at the Howling Wolf or off betting all his earnings on pit fights or on those silly game-of-luck events over at the nearest village from his home. His mother of course did all the cooking, and would sell her goods to the neighbors for a source of income, as well as washing the laundry and spotlessly cleaning the cottage. Unwitting of her, his father was in fact out betting on a pit fight. This time around, his mother came to Averan crying. She said to Averan, "Why must your father always do this? Tis hard enough feeding all of you lot. Would be much better off not having to burden myself and leaving you all out in the woods for someone else to find and feed you." As young as Averan was, he was very self aware. His mother continued, "What must I do? What do you want me to do?" Averan replied with confidence, "Leave him, there is much more to his behavior when he is home with me alone anyhow when you are out selling your goods. Grandmama will tell you the same." After having said this, his Father trots into the house, with nothing but an empty pouch and grunts at his wife, "I've lost it all, they are coming." His mother knew nothing of what he was talking about, so Averan was sent outside while his mother and father argued.
Moments later, Averan away from the house, notices a group of southern men of the Wykrian region. These were the typical brutes that would normally visit only for the benefit of gold, silver, or copper. That or revenge. Averan heard his father scream and then suddenly quiet down..he had been badly injured, but was still alive, his mother unharmed. His mother threw his stuff out onto the front porch and with that he left to travel to his mother's farm.
Not Long after, Averan was sent out to play while his mother went to her job in the next town. Averan was very adventurous, always loved to explore. At this point I knew this was the story I could believe. Averan then reached over to place his hand on my shoulder and told me this is where it really began, and at that moment I didn't know what to expect. I felt bad for Averan about his parents, it wasn't like he could have taken on such a big responsibility, and how could he have handled the pressure so well. Averan continued with his story again, looking out of the window from his chair with a worried look on his face almost like he was still scared. Averan had always wondered, even if a silly thought, if he were the only one, and felt like he was the only one in this world, that could see in a first person view. Like if there was a reason he could only see what others could not or not if he was the only one who could see as if he were I looking at himself. This all seems like drunken rabble, it did however cause my mind to ponder this thought a while. Maybe it is part of our entwined destinies, as well as to control our destinies, we all take our own path.
Averan was out in the woods playing as was mentioned and again while his mother was out. Now he started to pretend he was a skald, and would sing the most ridiculous things, he would find a secret path to a secret location, like a circular trimmed opening in the middle of a wild looking bush and call the tree that was in the center a sacred tree. These were of course games he'd play. It wasn't soon after that he'd realised he'd gone too far. Averan became lost, and remained in this area he called his secret lair.
It allowed him a comforting feeling to know he could at least recognize where he had been before. The light of day had seemed to go by very fast and before Averan knew it, it was already dusk. A light fog then appeared from the base of the sacred tree he had named sacred to begin with and from that tree sprouted a stairway up into the bushel of leaves and branches to the canopy of the tree itself where an unimaginable fort had been built. Reasonable enough, it was possible someone may have made a home up in the trees. Without fear, Averan was curious and thought of this as a way to pass the time, to have an adventure of sorts. He climbed the stairs to the top and reached a small wooden passageway. Averan pushed through the wooden door, and entered the dark room. Then suddenly a whisper came from a distance, crackling as if the tree was creaking, high pitched as if the wind were blowing, and slowly as if the one speaking was trying to be clear about what they say, a calm and quiet tone like they were trying to not let anyone hear them, only Averan.
Averan took a couple steps forward and a thick, short, and dark figure with what looked like hair over her face then approached. Startled, Averan took a few steps back and fell through the door. Trying to catch himself he clung onto the tree, but he wasn't strong enough to catch himself completely, so he continued to fall and slide down to the base of the tree. Faint as he felt, Averan noticed his body was wet. Entirely covered with a liquidy substance and what felt like he had been stabbed a thousand times by a wooden spear. The tree branches and sticks were lodged into his stomach and chest. Moments later Averan had lost consciousness.
Awake again, but barely able to keep his eyes open, a familiar voice from the dark room began whispering a chant, "Sweet sap and branches of dusk, guide your leafy breath into thee. For his life of purity, and thine own of sin, death, and grim tidings. Let this boy be replenished, rejuvenated. I sacrifice my Wicker Heart so that this boy may live. Turn his heart into a thicket of twigs and twine, so that it may be called a wicket and a whirring of cacophony. Make the bleeding of his heart stop and give me his life for a chance to be redeemed and this boy shall be cursed with my curse as from now he.. he will hold the wicker heart within his chest and be forever yours..a child of the midnight forest". Upon waking again in his bed at home, his mother worried he would not wake. She wondered where the scar on Averans chest had originated. Averan looked at me, rather he looked at himself in a mirror and said, "That is why I call this place The Wicker Heart".
A story I know I can put my faith on. No matter what, I know I’ll be there for Averan when he becomes the man he needs to be… Just hope that time isn’t soon; Journal Note: Lest the reader of this entry be that of a spriggan. Quit poking your nose in places you shouldn't, you old raggedy oak of a witch.
Journal End - 10.17.18:24OET