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Full Character Name: Aleron Nuadha Farraday
Character Birthday & Age: March 14th, 1993
City & Country of Birth: Falkirk, Scotland, UK
Pureblood, Halfblood or Muggleborn: Halfblood
House & Year: Ravenclaw - Six

Wand: 12 inches, maple wood, dragon heartstring

Physical Description:
Aleron stands at a moderately tall 5'10", making him taller than average, but not exceptionally so. At somewhere near 150 pounds, he's more or less of average build. As a person, he's not insanely athletic, but well within the bounds of health.

His hair, characteristic of his Scottish heritage, is a rather light, ashen color of brown. Naturally wavy, he puts relatively little more effort into it than a combing. As for length, that too has varied over the years depending on his particular mood - anywhere from ear to shoulder length. In the front it hangs down to eyebrow length.

His face is somewhat oval in shape with angled sides. His skin tone is within normal parameters for northern Europeans, possessing a rather light tan; it can burn relatively easily if unprotected under intense sunlight for extended time. He has a curved, somewhat flat nose, and straight somewhat slender lips.

Aleron's eyes are of a particular hazel-grey that can seem to vary from outright blue to dark grey, depending on a variety of his factors. To an extent this correlates with mood, when in a more elevated mood than normal, they seem to hold greater color. When angered, they can grow a very icy grey. In normal circumstances, however, a simple hazel is observed.

As a rather conservative individual in terms of his appearance, Aleron presently possesses no tattoos or body piercings. However, he does possess one prominent scar down his back from an incident in his childhood; one night while in a library in his home, Aleron had inadvertently disturbed a rather volatile potion, causing it to explode and shatter the glass vial containing it. One of the shards had lodged itself in his back, a few centimeters to the left of his spine, nearly missing paralyzing him. Though the injury mostly healed, a running line of about 2 inches in length can still be observed there.

As with all aspects of his life, Aleron attempts to avoid anything he deems to be too heavily influenced by muggle culture – given his status as a technical halfblood, he’s kind of self-conscious about it. As such, even outside of a structured class environment, he generally still wears his school robes. He pays relatively no heed to any "modern" fashion, as he deems it almost all influenced by the muggles.

Though in a somewhat paradoxical way, when a formal enough event calls for it, he's perfectly content shedding his wizard robes in favor of a muggle suit and tie. Only because they seem to visually attribute the high status he believes himself deserving of. In terms of comfort, however, he prefers the feel of wizarding robes - either those of his school or family, depending on the occasion.  Finally, at almost all times, Aleron prefers to a necklace with an obsidian pendant, the red crest of the Farraday family blazened upon it surrounded by the family motto: " Nostra est lux quae illuminat mundum" (Ours is the light that illuminates the world).


Personality Description:
Put simply, Aleron is obsessed with perfection. Aleron is an elitist through and through. But not the sort of petty elitist who bases their status on something so mundane as their popularity in the dull and transient world of student interactions or even more arbitrarily based upon blood status. As if the opinions of the mundane, or the mere act of being born gives one value. Pathetic. No, Aleron believes in a much higher standard than that - intellect, the subtle art of turning a given scenario to one's advantage without having to resort to more ... boorish methods. In all honesty, Aleron doesn't think too much of the "average" student at Hogwarts. In his mind, simply having the geographic coincidence of attending the same school is not sufficient grounds alone to consider forging bonds of friendship.

While he holds a perfect understanding of the social norms and unspoken rules of society, and is more than capable of manipulating psychology to his advantage when needed, he has little real interest in socializing with the "mundane". In most cases, Aleron will interact with others to a level of basic politeness - nothing out of his way to offend those undeserving of offense - but little more than this. If you manage to catch his attention though, it could be either a very good or a very bad thing depending on where you're standing. If it's because he actually finds you interesting - someone superior to the distressingly high population of mundane individuals - he'll probably be your friend for life unless you cross him first. If it's because you've given him reason to dislike you, you'd be best to get a good mirror; you'll need to be constantly watching your back. Either way, bear in mind that he has a lot of resources behind him, and he's not beyond using any tool to further his goals, whatever they may be.

He's quite a studious individual, almost always to be found with some book or another on hand. Knowledge is power after all, and as he desires power, knowledge is much to be sought after. Knowledge for its own sake holds perhaps even dearer value than its cousin of power, however; perhaps the one thing Aleron enjoys more than manipulating scenarios to his advantage is holding philosophical discussions with the few he can find with their minds on such higher affairs than the mundanity of life. As far as classes go, Aleron is extremely studious, content with nothing short of absolute mastery of whatever material is before him. While this normally would endear him to the professors, there were a few instances in his first year where he became so frustrated at the pace of the class lagging so far behind his own efforts that he made outbursts in class. He's since learned to restrain himself and direct such energy elsewhere.

Towards authority figures, or anyone holding some advantage he could obtain for himself for that matter, Aleron always makes every attempt to gain their favor. To an extent he's willing to "brown-nose" for self-advancement when all else fails, but he much prefers to subtly manipulate them while all the while acting within the norms of proper social etiquette. Primarily he sees most others as tools for self-advancement; a simple utilitarian view towards humanity, aside from those select individuals who manage to rise above the common and stand out in his mind.

He can be incredibly self-absorbed and arrogant at times, but he's not altogether uncaring. A true believer in the principles of meritocracy and noblesse oblige, he honestly believes that in a sense he's doing humanity a favor by seeking power; believing himself to be far more competent and just than most of those currently in power. In his eyes, the world would be better with him and other worthy individuals in power instead of the current, mostly mediocre leadership. And in most respects, he's a pacifist, viewing violence as quite crude, and a tool only to be used in the most extreme of circumstances - and he holds nothing but loathing for those quick to violence, causing needless harm upon humanity, regardless of the perceived status of the perpetrator or victim.

Directly correlated with his elitism, he tends to view the muggle world as rather beneath the wizarding world, as muggles lack the ability to perform magic. In some sense, he sees muggles as "defective" humans, inferior in capability to their magic-using cousins, and he holds them in lower respect. Truly believing himself their superior, he does whatever he can to demonstrate his connections to the wizarding world. That said, he finds prejudice based upon blood purity rather than magical talent to be baseless and irrational; and certainly holds no disdain for any wizard or witch based upon their blood status - talent is all that matters to him. And, while he seeks to distance himself as far as possible from the muggle world, and the unfortunate connotations of his muggle heritage, he certainly would not condone baseless violence against them.

He’s also quite a secretive individual – partly out of self-preservation, because of some of his … less savory … interests, partly because he’s afraid of admitting any sense of weakness even to himself – depending on who you are, you might see more or less of his ‘true’ character, but everyone is ultimately receiving one charade or another. It’s a pity really; he sometimes thinks it might be nice to have a confidant in his quest for power, but he simply can’t bring himself to trust others that much.

Finally, he has fairly acute hemophobia, probably dating back to the incident in his childhood that nearly paralyzed him. Ever since he can remember, Aleron has been repulsed and outright sickened by the sight of blood. If he receives anything more than a slight cut and looks at it, he'll immediately feel lightheaded and might even pass out. In an actual life or death situation, he figured that adrenaline would overcome this phobia, but he isn't entirely certain. Possibly another reason he shuns actual violence whenever possible.


History:
If you had gone back in time even a generation and told someone that a member of the Culmore and Farraday houses would get along, let alone get married have a child together, you'd sure to have been laughed out of the village. From time untold, the two major wizarding families of the region had been feuding; though sharing a common ancestry some countless centuries back, as far as anyone could remember, the two families had always viewed one another with scorn, competing for land and resources.

And in recent years, the two families could not be more opposite. Though once the Farraday house had been the far larger and more powerful, through centuries of rumored, twisted, unthinkable experiments leading to decay, and intermarriage with muggles, it had fallen into disarray. Many branches of the family were no longer even capable of magic, and those remaining had lost a great deal of influence and nearly all of their wealth squandered on one erratic plan after another. The Culmore house conversely had once been significantly smaller, yet grew in the space left by the Farraday house's decay, remaining true to its blood purity.

In the year 1985, only a single family of the Farraday house remained, the one surviving patriarch of any magical ability - Seanán Farraday, and his son Edward. And in that year as Seanán caught ill and passed into the next world, Edward was left alone in the world, haunted with being the last of the Farraday. Determined to restore his house to greatness, he set out on a crusade of vengeance upon the Wizarding World at large - believing in his father's paranoia that the outside world had been conspiring the downfall of House Farraday.

An extremely intelligent man, Edward Farraday traveled across the Wizardkind communities through the United Kingdom under a number of aliases, conning the local populations, generally posing as a well-to-do young wizard with a Ministry position seeking bribes in return for behind-the-scenes favors. And in his mind, it seemed like a perfectly rational "profession"; after all, the sort of individuals who would seek such a deal were likely the same devious individuals who had been responsible for his family's downfall - and certainly, he considered, his victims would not report to the Ministry that they were conned attempting to bribe what they believed to be one of its own employees.

The scheme worked incredibly well, and the money continued to roll in; the once prosperous Farraday home seemed to be returning to its roots of greatness, and he was well considering returning to his home, and find a suitable wife to continue the family. 

That was, until he met her.

Kaevee' Culmore had grown up in all the luxury and opulence of the Culmore House, and in most respects seemed perfectly content with her position in life. As the daughter of the patriarch of the head branch of the family, Kaevee' was almost guaranteed to live a life of luxury for her entire existence, never having to work a day in her life. Primarily her outlook was to fit in with the social class she was in; and so, without any real consideration, she adopted all of her family's beliefs and preferences - in turn being sorted into the Slytherin House. Though not necessarily as malicious as some of the others, she intuitively believed all she had been taught regarding blood purity, and was determined to marry some wealthy pureblooded wizard and carry on the Culmore family.

Her father had seemed intent on matching her with a number of suitors, but she had found none of them pleasing, growing somewhat weary of their faked flattery, when all they really wanted was her wealth. And so, somewhat distraught at being treated more like some sort of prize to be won than a human being; having others desire her only for her status and not who she was - she decided to run away, at least for a time. Sneaking away in the dead of night, she fled London. Finding temporary employment in the Leaky Cauldron under the presumed name Sarah O'Connor, she observed the young men passing through, not finding any of particular interest. She was about to leave when a particularly interesting event happened.

Edward Farraday, posing as Charles Fairfield, a Ministry employee and secretary in the Department of Mysteries had entered the Leaky Cauldron, expecting to hold a meeting with a new victim of his scam there. As fate would have it, the mark never shown - and in fact was no mark at all, but an investigator with the Ministry into a series of fraud that had been occurring by someone impersonating one of their employees.

It was then that "Charles" and "Sarah" met for the first time; the latter had seen the well-dressed "Ministry Employee" sitting alone at a table looking most distressed as time wore on, and struck up a conversation with him. Immediately an attraction sparked between the two, and when even after sundown and the close of the pub, his contact hadn't shown, "Charles" barely even noticed, so captivated was he by the barmaid.

So much so that, considering he had already acquired more than enough money to live a comfortable life, he considered stopping his way of life as a conman in order to pursue a romance with "Sarah". It was ironic this meeting, for it was hardly the first time they had known one another; though their families hated one another, and so they never interacted with one another in their homes, they had attended Hogwarts more or less during the same time - Edward a year older than Kaevee'; but due to the passing of time and the fact that they never interacted at Hogwarts, neither recognized the other.

As the days and weeks progressed, and "Charles Fairfield" continued to be a patron of the Leaky Cauldron and "Sarah the barmaid" continued to keep him company, both began to feel increasingly guilty for hiding their true identity from the other; both completely unsuspecting that the other two was acting under an alias. And so finally came the day when Edward worked up the courage in his mind to reveal to "Sarah" his true identity; that he had been born Edward Farraday, and that his family had fallen into poverty, so he had been driven to play this con, but that he had fallen in love with her, and wished now that he had restored his family's wealth to take her back to his home with him.

With a heavily beating heart, he opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron hoping to see his beloved "Sarah O'Connor" inside; instead, as the "Ministry Official" opened the door, he was greeted by a number of actual Ministry officials and several Aurors, and most disheartening of all, an extremely irate and heartbroken "Sarah" screaming at him about how he had been deceiving her all along and was just using her like all the men in her life had.

And so with that seeming to be their last farewell, Edward Farraday was arrested and taken away to Ministry custody, facing over a dozen charges of fraud and impersonating a Ministry Official; a sentence to Azkaban seeming likely. For days he brooded in his holding cell awaiting a hearing, simply wanting to die; he had lost everything, his family's status, his freedom, and even the affection of the young woman he had thought loved him in turn. And looking to only Azkaban in the future, he very seriously contemplated suicide.

That was, until, but two days before the hearing he had a visitor; strange, he had considered, as the guard first told him that, as any family he had was long since dead, and surely none of his former friends would want to associate him in light of this turn of events. Even more shocked was he to see the visitor approaching was none other than "Sarah O'Connor", though dressed now very much more pretentiously than she had been before.

Seeing his shocked expression she just smiled, explaining how she too had been deceiving him as to her identity; and while she had been furious at him when she had initially learned that he had misled her as to who he was, upon thinking of it, he had been the first man to love her for who she was without knowing her status, and so determined that she couldn't abandon him. And so she had hurried back to her home, and explained all that had happened to her parents, pleading with them to intervene on their behalf.

Needless to say they weren't pleased - not only had their daughter ran off to who knows where fraternizing with their social inferiors, but now she had fallen in love with a criminal and member of an enemy house in their minds. It had taken a few days, but after pleading to her parents about how she would never love another man and would live in despair for the rest of her life if Edward went to Azkaban, finally they relented, and agreed to pay in full any fees Edward had incurred.

And so Edward Farraday was released, and returned with Kaevee' Culmore to her home. In February 1988, the two finally became married, thus uniting the formerly feuding Farraday and Culmore Houses forever.

On March 14th, 1993, the newly united family gained another member, as Kaevee' Farraday gave birth to a baby boy. It had indeed been a fortuitous year for the family; as Kaevee's parents had finally consented, upon actually growing fond of their son-in-law despite their family rivalries, to name Edward and Kaevee the heirs to the entirety of the Culmore House's holdings; and in an ironic twist of fate, the Ministry had offered Edward a position as a criminal investigator and certified legal practitioner.

And so the child was named Aleron Nuadha Farraday - Aleron at his father's suggestion,  after a Roman name he’d always taken a liking to; and Nuadha at the mother's suggestion after her own father's name, without whose aid, none of this would have ever occurred.

As young Aleron grew, the couple made every effort to ensure that he had access to every resource available to grow and prosper; and after learning to read at the age of three, the young boy could hardly stop reading, taking a particular fascination to his parents' old textbooks from their days at Hogwarts dealing with spells. The idea of magic was utterly fascinating to him as a young child, even before he possessed the ability to perform such acts himself - and the dinner conversation almost always revolved around different facets of magical discipline; growing more complex in nature as the child grew. The boy seemed to have an utterly insatiable thirst for knowledge, which his parents did well to foster in him.

Yet curiosity was not without its dangers, as young Aleron would discover. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep at night, Aleron would sneak into the library of the estate they were staying in and take a book back to his room. And on the night after they had moved into another of their estates that they had recently inherited from a deceased Culmore great uncle - unbeknownst to his parents, that the library had not been properly cleared - six year old Aleron made his way once more into the library of the manor to find an interesting book to read, figuring that a new home would certainly bring with it new and interesting books. While rummaging through one of the shelves somewhat about his eye level, but not above the reach of his hands, he knocked over a book by mistake, that in turn sent something falling to the ground.

Before he even had time to react, the vial containing the potion hit the ground and exploded, sending shards of glass flying in all directions - including one straight into the young Farraday's back. The force of the blast knocked Aleron to the ground, and the glass shard cut directly into his back, almost a centimeter deep, only a centimeter or two away from his spine. In terror, he had tried to scream out for help, but his voice wouldn't come to him; only a slight whimper as he lay there on the ground bleeding out. Moments later his mother arrived, awakened by the sound of an explosion and coming to investigate. She herself had suffered a near panic attack at seeing he son in this state, only further adding to Aleron's trauma, and upon hearing her screams, Edward Farraday had come running. Quickly Edward hurried with Kaevee' and Aleron that night to St. Mungo's to get their son treated, fearing some of the potion may have become lodged within the boy's skin from the glass.

Fortunately, the injury was nothing so serious - in fact, as the doctor had told Aleron, he had been very lucky in the incident - if the angle of the glass had been but a few degrees different, it might have penetrated his spine and paralyzed him. His injury was easily enough treated and he was released the next day.

This event had a somewhat strong effect upon Aleron's psyche, making him absolutely hate anything having to do with blood, or more so the feeling of utter helplessness he had suffered that night before his mother had arrived, thinking he might bleed to death there unheard. Ever since then, beyond a simple quest for knowledge for its own sake, he's had a deep internal desire to be a master of everything in his life, to never again be powerless.

Though shaken by the event, life moved on for Aleron, and he soon continued his habit of studying magic. And on perhaps the most memorable day of his life, he approached his father as he returned from work, asking him if he might borrow his wand to try a spell he had read about. And after several tries, seven year old Aleron managed to cast Lumos, his first spell. Overjoyed, his father had arranged a feast in Aleron's honor that night, and it was truly one of the happiest moments of his life.

As time progressed, Aleron studied other spells, becoming somewhat proficient at performing the more basic of them, and trying to understand at least cognitively the principles of many of the more complex ones. He could hardly wait until at long last the glorious day came when he received his Hogwarts letter. He had jumped up and down and ran all across the estate when the letter finally arrived, in utter euphoria - he was going to Hogwarts, to learn more of the ways of magic.

Literally the day after he had received his Hogwarts Letter, Aleron's parents had taken him to Diagon Alley to buy him his needed school supplies. With a bag full of fresh textbooks, and his very own wand, eleven year old Aleron Farraday could not have been happier. In a flurry of excitement, he'd started reading through all his shiny new textbooks in the days that followed, before he'd even boarded the Hogwarts Express.

And finally the fateful day came when Aleron walked with his family to the 9 + 3/4 platform, his mother trying to look refined while shedding a single tear as she bade her son off for the first time, his father making a bet with her on whether their son would be sorted into Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Well, only time would tell.

Aleron could barely contain himself with excitement while as the Hogwarts Express set off for the school. He was finally on his way, he thought, to a place where he'd be surrounded by others like himself, other magic users with a passion for learning every facet of spell working. Unfortunately such high hopes could be shattered ever so easily.

It was an unfortunate truth he discovered as soon as he relayed his family’s surname to a fellow first year passenger in the same cabin as him that his reputation went before him. The Farradays had, well, a reputation as a rather dysfunctional, and at times ‘dark’ family. It was true, he supposed in a way, that several of his family had spent time in Azkaban, as a result of their … research, some of which fell astray of the strictest interpretation of Ministry law. And if one wanted to be quite technical, he had some muggle blood in him as well. But what of it? It certainly wasn’t his fault simply because he was related to them. And, rude words certainly didn’t help anything.
In a bit of a huff, he’d retreated to another cabin on his own, content to just look over his books for the rest of the trip. While an unfortunate memory, the prospect of going to Hogwarts was still sufficient to avoid such a dull occurrence.

After finally sailing across the lake to the school, he was taken to be sorted by the Sorting Hat. Something he was admittedly somewhat nervous over, mostly as his parents each had suggested to him their preference of him joining their respective house. And indeed, the Hat itself deliberated for some time between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, saying he might have fit fine in either. It was only because Aleron couldn’t stomach the idea of being in the same House as the rather rude boy from the train – who’d already been put into Slytherin – that he suggested Ravenclaw, which the Hat found no real objection to.

And with that, First Year began. Aleron, being an only child, felt somewhat awkward at the prospect of living with complete strangers, so was somewhat slower than others at making friends, but overall settled in comfortably enough into his house and really could see himself as nowhere else. For the first few weeks, he came across as somewhat of an ‘insufferable-know-it-all’ in classes that he found frustratingly easy with introductory material – but after the negative social feedback from such, he learned soon enough to appreciate the advantage the ease with which he could take classes that he already knew most of the material to, using his free time to study into … more interesting topics.

And so the years continued. Summers were mostly spent at his family’s estate, occasionally visiting friends, but mostly in the company of his family. As he grew older, his father began to take him more and more under his wing into … clandestine studies. Aleron grew more and more interested in the theoretical facets of magic, as the years went on, and expressed interest in working for the Department of Mysteries as a career – something he hoped his father’s own ‘research’, and political connections, could give him an advantage for, following Hogwarts graduation.

In school, he’s a devoted enough student, as far as professors are concerned. He’s not really above bending the rules to his advantage, but is smart enough to realize that most of the material that’s taught in classes, it’s actually to his empirical advantage to learn and get proficient in. He has fairly good study skills, and generally reads his textbooks over the summer, so he can remain several weeks ahead of class materials over the school term.

Beyond that, his major goals are making what social connections he can that might be to his advantage in the long run, and getting better at … theoretical magic. There’s a lot of … ‘research’ that goes on in the quite thankfully discovered Room of Requirement that he’d never dream of telling anyone else.


Classes:

Core Classes Astronomy Charms Defense Against the Dark Arts Herbology History of Magic Potions Transfiguration No

Electives Study of Ancient Runes Arithmancy No Divination No

How Do You Fit Into Your House?:
To be honest, Aleron would either be a Slytherin-ish Ravenclaw or a Ravenclaw-ish Slytherin. While he's quite intelligent in an academic sense, he's astute enough to use that to his own advantage and holds ... a certain disregard for what he deems to be more petty rules. That said, he views prejudice based on characteristics defined by accident of birth to be irrational and unbecoming of one, and in some ways - perhaps merely jealousy - he holds the more established pureblood families in disdain. Adding to that a personal incident with a prospective Slytherin, that was sufficient to push the pendulum in his mind over sufficiently to Ravenclaw, which the Hat accepted without much argument.

Writing Sample:
(From a short story I wrote back in my university days. The only thing I had available offhand on my computer. Sorry, had sort of a writer's block for writing literally for this character outside of a plot. If you still want me to, I can try to work something out though...)

The moon hung full in the late fall night, its streaks of silver light setting aglow the ancient city of Hanseong, capital of the Joseon Dynasty. The year was 1622 by the reckoning of the Westerners who were just beginning to make an entrance into the Korean Peninsula; or as the city’s inhabitants would know it, the fifteenth year of the reign of King Gwanghae.

For the most part tonight, a lulled silence filled the air. The craftsmen and merchants had retired to their homes, many probably finishing their evening meal with their family. An aura of peaceful serenity enveloped the town tonight. It was a night of which the poets would write, a night of beauty and harmony. On a night like tonight, it would be difficult to believe that a mere thirty years prior the same city had been overrun by the Japanese invaders; its temples and palaces desecrated, its riches stolen, its citizens brutalized. It had been a great travesty; one which the citizens of Hangseong had put forth all possible effort to forget.

The Imjin War had ended in victory for the Koreans – if it could be called that. The objectives of the King had been realized; the Joseon Dynasty remained intact; the peasants, the laborers, the Yangban, the soldiers all continued to labor for the Joseon monarch’s command and pay taxes into the Hanseong treasury, rather than to Kyoto. For the King of Joseon, it had been a victory.

For the Korean people, it had been a nightmare. Most of the peninsula that served as their homeland had been overrun by the marauding invaders who had taken little hesitation at pillaging and destroying whatever happened to be in their path. Peasants and city dwellers alike fell prey to the Japanese advance; many lost fortune, home, or even life.
But in the end, the wave of Japanese invaders was driven back and the war had ended. In victory; a hollow victory.

The wounds of war had been slow in healing, but the people had set to work to rebuild, to move back into their old homes, to return to their old way of life. It was all they could hope for in such turbulent times. And now, thirty years almost to the day from when it had been overrun by the Japanese, Hanseong looked almost as if it had never been touched. The residential homes of laborer and noble alike had been rebuilt on the ashes of those destroyed. A generation of children had grown up, never knowing the horrors of war, who now made up the mainstay of the population. At last, it seemed, life was returning to normal.

For most, that was. An aged man, his face wrinkled and worn from years of life’s hardship, his hair a grey approaching a soft white made his way slowly through the city’s streets, a walking stick in his hand helping him along his path. Making his way through the moonlit street, he stopped upon a plaza – one that he had visited every full moon for the last twenty-eight years.

Sitting down on a bench overlooking the courtyard, his eyes followed the movements of the dancing maidens, each of them dressed in a brilliantly white hanboks, the moonlight reflecting softly over their delicate features. Long raven hair fluttered in the gentle cool breeze as the dancers moved in time to the melody played by yet another maiden, kneeling with one knee on the ground as she played the soft tune that the old man had heard so many times before, yet could never grow old.

The waves of sound from the woman’s gayageum seemed almost to draw the listener in, to suck them into some sort of magical vortex in which only the melodious sound of her instrument existed in all of the cosmos. Yet even more beautiful by far was when she opened her mouth to sing, hitting every note with such delicate precision that some might say a bodhisattva itself possessed the petite girl’s lips.

“Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo...”

Her words rang out softly and yet strongly. At the sound of her voice, the old man closed his eyes, drifting away to the influence of the song - the song that resonated in his heart more than any other. For a moment or so, he remained with his eyes closed, allowing the music to fill his very being


“Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo, Arirang Pass is the long road you go”
the words echoed in his mind as he flashed his eyes open. No longer an aged man, but a young and aspiring Yangban, dressed in their indicative manner, he stood before the same courtyard. The same silver moon hung high in the sky, the same song played throughout the courtyard. The dancers dressed and moved just as did those he had watched only moments before.

The Yangban stood there, his mind enraptured, not by the song itself, but by the young woman at the gayageum. His heart fluttered as he stood there, his gaze fixated on the glorious creature who played the music of the heavens; surely she must have been born of the gods to possess such beauty and talent.

Three times before he had come here, once every full moon: The first by mistake; it had been his first night in the capital, and he had unknowingly happened across this gathering. Esteemed as they were amongst the common people for their talent, such street musicians were seen with derision by the members of the Yangban class at large. It would not do well for an aspiring magistrate such as himself, still low on the ranks but with ambitions of climbing much higher to be seen at such an event. But on the first night, while laying in his bed trying to drift off to sleep, he had heard the most heavenly sound of his life – far superior in his estimation to any court musician. Enraptured by the sound of it, he had left his bedchamber into the moonlit night to happen upon this unassuming courtyard where first he had beheld her. The delicate flower with a voice of a daughter of heaven.

Twice more he had returned, unable to resist the heavenly scene. Each time, he had told himself, he was to approach the young singer afterwards and ask at least for her name. But each time as the music finally drew to an end and a lingering silence fell over the courtyard, he had been too hesitant and apprehensive to actually go through with such plans. Ironically, the ruthlessly ambitious young Yangban, who was viewed by his colleagues as holding no fear in his aspirations of making a powerful name for himself in the world, a man surely to succeed in nearly anything he set his mind to, was utterly terrified of approaching a simple girl of humble birth on the streets.

But this time would be different, he promised himself. This time he would overcome his fears. This time he would no longer cower. As the song continued and drew to its conclusion, he stood, never taking his eyes off the young singer except perhaps to blink. Finally the last note was hit, the vibration dissipating away tranquilly into the air. Now was the time to act, he told himself; it was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward into the courtyard; most of the crowd had already dispersed, heading back to their homes; the woman in question stood packing away her gayageum.

”I-it was a beautiful performance.” The Yangban said, standing a few meters away.

For a moment the girl said nothing, turning her face slowly towards the man, as she rose to stand fully, a soft smile gracing her expression. “Thank you.” She nodded in gratitude.

“I, I meant to say.” The Yangban continued, taking a step closer to her, “I feel in a way indebted to you. Never before have I heard a song, so beautiful and yet the words so sad… I feel it would be the lowest of thievery to not repay such a kindness. Please, take this…” he said, extending his hand, a small bag of silver coins inside.

The young woman’s eyes widened with disbelief as the bag fell into her hands. For a moment she took the coins out one by one, passing them from one hand to another, as if to test if they truly existed. “Sir,” she said, in a tone of true gratitude, shaking her head slightly, “Surely you do not mean to give me such a sum of money. Never in my life have I seen so many coins at once. There must be something more I can do to make even this great sum of generosity. Please sir, if there is anything you want of me, let me know. I am a woman of humble means, but all I can do I will.”

“I ask only to know the name of the woman who made so beautiful a song.” The Yangban smiled softly at her.

“Mi-Young.” The woman replied in a tone as melodious as the song itself.

By this point, the two had begun to stroll slightly towards a bench on the edge of the courtyard. The Yangban sat down first, motioning for Mi-Young to sit beside him. “Tell me, Mi-Young, why is it that a woman with so beautiful a voice sings a song so sad?”

“The reason is simple.” She replied, “Arirang tells the tale of departing lovers. The origin is unknown, but some say the spirits of departed lovers may reunite whenever the song is sung under a full moon. It is a song of mourning of loss for one’s lover’s passing, but also of joy at their memory. It is a song of celebration as much as of sadness. I know of other songs of course, but few others convey so deeply the spirit of love than this one. You are a Yangban, and so must have studied well the works of Confucius and Laozi. Does this not follow with the teaching of the yin and the yang? That only when juxtaposed with sorrow can one truly know love. My life so far has been one of sorrow; but I hope that I might one day find a love to balance and harmonize it it. Until that day, I will sing Arirang; of love and sorrow juxtaposed in hopes that spirits of past lovers might look upon me with grace and grant my own hidden wish to find the harmony within the song. Do you also search for this balance in your life?”

By the time Mi-Young had finished her explanation, the Yangban was almost dumbfounded. Rarely had he heard even a fellow member of the scholarly Yangban class speak in so poetic and philosophical a tone, much less a commoner unlearned in the formalities of Confucian and Daoist philosophy.

“I-it is the goal of all life to seek harmony both without and within,” he started, his mind searching for the right words. “I have studied the works of the great philosophers of old since my childhood, but never have I understood the true nature of harmony until I heard your music. Even as I first heard it, I felt as if something within my very soul spoke to me. And now that I have heard it, I know that I will never truly find harmony in life alone.”

“I see.” Mi-Young spoke softly, “A wise answer; as one should expect from a Yangban. So, sir, if it is not too much an affront to ask, do you perhaps have a lover?”

“No,” the man replied shaking his head, “Originally I was to be wed in an arranged marriage, but my prospective wife died before I had ever met her.”

“A sad act of fate,” Mi-Young said consolingly, placing her arm over the man’s shoulder, “But as we’ve already discussed, sorrow rarely comes without complement of blessing. Perhaps destiny has conspired to draw you together with another soul, in true harmony with your own. I think, in our hearts, the song of Arirang is shared.”


“If you leave and forsake me, my own, ere three miles you go, lame you'll have grown.”

The moon again shone down over Hanseong. Mi-Young now stood no longer in a white hanbok, but an elaborate one of azure, crimson and gold – as worn by those of the wealthy women within society. Her hair was now done upright and intertwined with golden metal. It had been three years since they had first met that night in the courtyard, and the two were now engaged. Taken under the wing of the Yangban’s care and affection, Mi-Young had grown into a beautiful, elegant woman of nineteen years of age – the sort of woman even the highest-ranking of nobles would desire for a wife.

Winter had come over the land and the night grew cold, but Mi-Young stood outside waiting for her lover to exit his home, her breath visible and silver in the moonlight. When finally he exited, she came to embrace him tightly in her arms. “Myung-Dae…” she whispered, “Must you really leave tonight?”

“I have no choice, Mi-Young; if I could stay here I could, but I’ve been offered a temporary post in Hamhŭng. It’s only for a year, and when I return, I’ll surely be granted a higher officer here in Hanseong, and we will be married and live the rest of our lives here together, never wanting for anything, my love.”

“But that’s so far!” She protested, “Is there is no way I can travel with you?” she asked, though already knowing that such a thing would be impossible.

Myung-Dae shook his head sadly. “We are not yet married, and as such, I am not allowed to bring you with on my commission. If there were any positions for me here in Hanseong, you know I would never leave you. But this is an opportunity I must take, for both our futures. When I return, all will be right. Stay strong, my love.” Kissing her passionately, he turned and walked away into the night. A single tear flowed down Mi-Young’s cheek once she thought her lover to be far enough away to be unable to see it. It was for the best, she convinced herself.


“Wondrous time, happy time—let us delay; till night is over, go not away.”

Though separation was sorrowful for Myung-Dae and Mi-Young, so in love with the other were each that the time seemed to flow rapidly. And it seemed almost days later that Myung-Dae appeared once more on the long road leading into Hanseong. He was appointed a high-ranking magistrate in the city after performing with the greatest of competence in his duties in Hamhŭng.

But even his exhilaration in attaining so high an office paled to that of the prospect of finally marrying his beloved Mi-Young and spending the rest of his life together with her. The wedding was an elaborate affair, attended by many of the Yangban class, with the newlyweds given many new gifts from friends and well-wishers.

By all accounts it was the happiest time in each of their lives. Myung-Dae earned a reputation as a just and competent magistrate; the very archetype of a devoted Confucian scholar; respected by nobility and commoner alike. Few would know, however, that the greatest depth of his inspiration came not merely from his own ambition, but from the brilliant flame of love that burned in his heart.

Their home was a large, luxurious manner in the Yangban quarter of the town, and in order to please his young wife, on every full moon, Myung-Dae would commission a performer to sing and play Arirang. The beautiful melody that had brought them together. If only by some great magic, he could have made such times last forever, but it is said in the course of Samsara that even great joy, in its transience, must give way to sorrow.


"Arirang Mount is my Tear-Falling Hill, so seeking my love, I cannot stay still."

“Myung-Dae, you cannot go!” Mi-Young exclaimed, now several years older, but still radiant in her aura of beauty, even in the presence of her obvious grief.

“My love, I must.” He spoke sadly. “The Japanese are approaching, General Yi Sun-sin needs men loyal to him with experience in leading others to help organize the troops. If I do not leave now, all we have made together in this world will fall.”

“Please, Myung-Dae!” she wept, “Stay with me. Let another go in your stead. If Joseon shall fall, let us die in each other’s arms. If it shall live, let us remain here forever. In whatever case, let us never part.”

“I wish it could be any other way but this,” Myung-Dae shook his head, “But there is no other. My nation needs me. When Joseon is safe, I will return.”

“At least let me go with you this time.”

“No, Mi-Young, the battlefield is no place for a woman.”

“Then at least let me accompany you for half a day’s march.”

Myung-Dae nodded, allowing her that concession.

For the most part, the journey was a quiet one; Myung-Dae and Mi-Young spending their final hours together before their inevitable separation. As much as either of them would will it, time would not stop its progression, and so the appointed hour came to pass. Much as in the song, the two lovers stood at the base of a mountain along the road.
“We must part ways here.” Myung-Dae stated as stoically as possible, though his heart tore inside of him.

“So we must.” Mi-Young replied with a tone of absolute sorrow.

“Mi-Young,” Myung-Dae said, turning to face his wife and running a hand through her hair one last time. “Before we go our separate ways, can you sing to me Arirang one last time?”


"Man's heart is like water streaming downhill; Woman's heart is well water—so deep and still."

The turtle boat on which Myung-Dae now found himself rocked violently in the storm’s waves. The moon, though full tonight, was obstructed by the clouds. It was a precarious position in which he found himself, in part of a fleet ever on the lookout for the Japanese invaders.

Unknown to him or his fleet, some Japanese vessels had already reached land. An army of them marched north towards Hanseong, and by the time word had reached his fleet, it was already too late to intercept them. Disturbed by nightmares more violent than the sea itself, Myung-Dae had lost all sense of calm in his heart. His only thoughts now were of somehow mobilizing the soldiers stationed under him to fight, and defeat the Japanese before they reached the city.

Such thoughts were in vain. The Japanese reached Hanseong under cover of darkness, sacking the town of its valuables, burning down many of its buildings and killing many of its citizens who resisted in any way the Japanese soldier’s marauding of their possessions. The Yangban quarter was especially strongly hit, as they were thought to hold the most material wealth.

Myung-Dae’s home, wherein Mi-Young had taken up a quiet and lonely existence, praying daily to the bodhisattvas for her husband’s safe return was no exception to the Japanese’s pillaging. With all of the soldiers and most of the city guard commissioned into the army under General Yi, there was no one to stop them as a group of soldiers ran through the home, stealing all of their valuables.

As they ransacked the home itself, Mi-Young remained quiet and calm. Possessions were not worth her life. Her husband would return a hero, she was sure of it, and all would be right again. And so she offered the Japanese soldiers no resistance.

Soon, however, the soldiers grew bored of looting and approached Mi-Young herself – their less than pure intentions towards her evident.

“Please, I am married!” she had exclaimed, “I cannot; I must remain loyal to my husband.” But the soldiers paid her no heed, forcing themselves one after another upon her. Mi-Young wept deeply but they took no pity on her. When the terrible act finally ended, Mi-Young found herself lying on the ground too weak to move. It is said she died there in sorrow of a broken heart, wishing only that she might have Myung-Dae with her for her final moments of life.


"Young men's love is like pinecones seeming sound, but when the wind blows, they fall to the ground."

It was another six years before the conflict with Japan finally drew to an end – though a formal treaty would not happen for another eleven years beyond. Though with a heavy heart from all the carnage he had seen in warfare, Myung-Dae’s heart lightened at the thought of seeing his beloved Mi-Young once more, now that the terrible war was over, and spending the rest of his life together with her. When she did not greet him at the door, as he would have expected, his heart quivered, though not wanting to move to hasty conclusions, he entered the home.

There he was greeted by a single servant, the only survivor of his estate, who told him the dark news of what had happened. Myung-Dae had screamed Mi-Young’s name dozens of times in anguish, but it would change nothing. His beloved wife was dead. All he could do was see to it that she was laid to rest with dignity.

With Hanseong back in Korean control, he was able to arrange a formal funeral for his fallen wife. With a part of what remained of his wealth, he dedicated a large portion of it to  the upkeep of a monetary wherein monks would meditate towards the prospect of her attaining enlightenment and escaping the cycle of suffering that both of them seemed so bound to.


"Birds in the morning sing simply to eat; Birds in the evening sing for love sweet."

Following news of his death, Myung-Dae was never the same again. For three years he dressed as in mourning for her, never ceasing to pray for her enlightenment in the next life. A good part of him wished to die as well, so as to perhaps be with her again, but he could never actually bring himself to take his own life. Instead he continued on in the drudgery, his life a hollow shell of what it had once been.

He was reinstated as a high-ranking magistrate in the new Hanseong, and bestowed with great honors for his leadership in battle, but none of those things meant to him what they would have once. In his youth, before meeting Mi-Young, he had dreamed only of power and fame for himself. Now having attained both, he felt empty.

Though he could easily have married nearly any woman in Korea with his status, he never did. None could ever replace the one he lost, and it would be an insult to her memory to pretend otherwise. He found himself growing increasingly lost, spending every moonlit night wandering the city’s streets, until by chance he happened once more upon the same courtyard as from years before. Surprisingly, even in the war’s devastation, it had remained intact.

And there, as before, on every full moon, Arirang was performed.


"When man has attained to the age of a score, The mind of a woman should be his love."

Remaining unmarried, Myung-Dae grew older and older without children to support him. Though early into the new Hanseong he was a highly respected man, his prestige and wealth seemed to atrophy along with his body and soul. His home fell into disrepair, his clothes turned pale; he became old and sickly with no one to look after him in his old age. And still Mi-Young never departed from his thoughts.

Month upon month, Myung-Dae returned to the same courtyard to watch the Arirang performance, closing his eyes as the music played and looking back over the time spent with his beloved Mi-Young. Even after all these years, he had never forgotten the words she spoke about the song when they had first met: “Some say the spirits of departed lovers may reunite whenever the song is sung under a full moon.” And it was his last, desperate hope as an old man that her words were true.


"The trees and the flowers will bloom for aye, But the glories of youth will soon fade away."

“Sir!” exclaimed the singer, approaching the aged Myung-Dae. “Sir, the performance is over.” She frowned as the old man, failed to open his eyes. His body was at rest, his eyes closed. Perhaps he was asleep, “Sir!” she exclaimed again shaking him, “You really shouldn’t stay out here alone at your age.”

Her expression suddenly turned to one of dread as she realized that the old man was not asleep at all. No, perhaps in the course of her performance itself, he had passed on into the next life. The girl shrieked and ran, horrified by what she had just seen.

If only the girl had been more attentive to the spirit world, she might have seen the spirits of Myung-Dae and Mi-Young embracing in love once more in the courtyard before departing together into the next life.

“I told you when we first met,” Mi-Young said with a soft smile, “That I sang this song for those lovers separated by death who preceded us. And now it has been sung for us.”


Sum up your character in one paragraph:
Aleron, a sixth-year Ravenclaw is the only son in a new family forged by a very strange alliance of two formerly feuding lines. While academically gifted, he's drawn somewhat to the darker, more mysterious arts, viewing the rather (in his eyes) puritanical views of the Ministry on the more ... intricate ... areas of magic with some degree of disdain. That said, he's a very ambitious young man, and realizing the power that the Ministry holds, hopes to join it one day, much as his father already has; preferably working for the Department of Mysteries. He can come across as a bit arrogant or self-absorbed at times, and is certainly ... confidant in his own abilities, but generally isn't the sort to go out of his way to be malicious to anyone else unless they actively crossed him. He's also relatively secretive, and prefers the company of a few close friends to many acquaintances.