personality

Positive Traits: Steadfast in his ways, crafty, curious, punctual



Negative Traits: Holds grudges for a long time, confrontational, quick to anger



Quirks and Habits:

He always has a little Norwegian flag pinned to his chest;

He has a bad habit of correcting the pronunciation of the Ancient Rune’s professor;

He refuses to wear his glasses, because he thinks they make him look like a weak nerd. This can cause issues in class, as he can’t see the blackboard very well.

He bites the ends of his pencils as an unconscious expression of stress.





Likes: Sunny weather, Italian cuisine, the smell of old parchment



Dislikes: Winter, his family, ice-skating



Boggart: A Durmstrang student by the name of Felix Sorensen, one of his bullies



Mirror of Erised: Himself, older & stronger.



Patronus: Pine marten

history

Lars’ middle name -- Fridtjof -- means “thief of peace”. When his parents found out that they were having another child, 5 years after their daughter, they’d choose the name as an inside joke. Little did they know it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts, because little Lars was a handful. He was always a rather sickly child, and until it was time to pursue his education, his parents sent him to spend his days with his grandparents who had retired in Sicily. The hot climate did wonders for his immunity system, but, when it was time for him to go to Durmstrang…



See, Norwegians are supposed to be able to ski and ice-skate and adore the cold weather, right? Well, Lars despised the cold weather as it always made his nose runny and his existence rather pitiful. And to his great dismay, Durmstrang was located way up north, where the sun and warmth were a rare sight. And all the other boys in his year and up? They thought he was a little wus, that he would never be a real northman. So they took every chance to dump little Lars in a large snowbank, stealing his warm clothes, and other petty nonsense like this. His sister, 16 by that time, had much better things to do than help her brother.



This made Lars become quiet and closed in. But it wasn’t long until Durmstrang started teaching him about the Dark Arts and the power that they held. Lars was absolutely fascinated, and spent his nights dreaming about how once he’ll be strong enough to get back at everyone who’d wronged him.



The summer after his 2nd year ended, in a completely normal conversation with his parents, he mentioned his preoccupation with the Dark Arts to his parents. His father didn’t think much of it because it was just part of the curriculum at Durmstrang, but his overbearing mother became alarmed and convinced his father that the Dark Arts would cause Lars’ downfall.



Lars felt betrayed by his parents decision to transfer him to Hogwarts. Yes, they’d removed him from the people that made his life hard, but they also removed him from his source of power, from his source of knowledge! They were denying him his birthright as a Norwegian Pureblood to know about these things and use them!



Since he couldn’t learn about the Dark Arts anymore, he started to fear that Hogwarts would be just as bad as Durmstrang, that he’d get pushed around and put down. So the tween hatched a plan -- if he’d have the upper hand, nobody could push him around. The bullied was becoming a bully, to a certain degree.

roleplayer

RP Alias: Leo Sorrel

Pronouns: He/Him

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Other Characters: WOLFGANG KALLENBACH , RODRIK BELANGER , IVAN KAREV , RICHARD LINWOOD , @vaughnbelanger , @seanokeeffe , ASKOLD PANIN , JĀNIS SMILTIŅŠ , @ezekielensor

Roleplay example:



Their conversation had entered deep, murky waters, like a swamp on which the stench of death lingered upon. Ezekiel didn't want to spend his evening comforting a mourning widow. Lucky for him, Hope didn't seem to be on the verge of a breakdown, even when his gesture of comfort made her wide-eyed for a few moments.



"No, no such thing. Work takes up too many of my mental and emotional resources to even think of committing to a relationship. I must admit, some days I do wish someone would take care of me once in a while, " he took another sip of his wine, "In one way or another."



"I suppose I could tell you the story of my leg in more detail," he continued, "Though the Bite Ward rarely has humorous stories, so you've been warned. I think I might need a refill for this, first," he reached out for the wine bottle and poured it, his eyes fixed on the red liquid as he began to tell his tale.



"This was about four years back? Yes, it would be four years by now. A man, about 30 years old, very big and broad shouldered, the kind I wouldn't want to stumble into at any time of day, he'd somehow, and I don't even want to know how or why, had encountered a Manticore."



"This encounter had reduced him into a nervous wreck. One day I was just changing his bandages, routine work, done it before, and I genuinely, to this day, don't know what I did to tick him off." Ezekiel paused. His throat was already going dry.



"It was as if a switch had been turned in his head. He lifted me up like I was a pillow full of feathers, and the next thing I know -- I am on the floor, there are several large open fractures in my left leg, and he's throwing a fit. A rather gruesome sight, I'll say that much." There was no resentment in his voice, though. After all, it was just another day on the job.



"Even after healing, I was made to take a vacation for an entire month. Don't know what happened to my patient, though."