Accepted! ~Elle

About You, the Writer:  Num.  Nayanagum hu.  Rully.  I’m boring
Your Nickname: Sissy
Have you read and do you agree to the Code of Conduct?: Yuppers.
How did you find us and decide to write with us?  Followed the trail of breadcrumbs from an AU Marauder site…
If you have written other characters here, list them all: Izadora Franti

Full Character Name: Algernon Aimon Shepherd
Character Birthday & Age: January 6, 1939; 69 years old.
City & Country of Birth: Potavia, Arkansas, USA
Pureblood, Halfblood or Muggleborn?: Muggleborn
Alma Mater:  Red Rocks. 
Job: Gamekeeper

Wand: Shep’s wand was handcrafted by his umpteenth great-grandfather nearly 200 years ago for his son’s first wand and was passed down as first wand for succeeding generations.  It was placed into storage, when Shep’s great-grandfather proved a Squib and intervening generations showed no magical talent.  The family folklore of Wizard blood continued to be handed down from generation to generation—along with the wand.

The wood is Cherry and springy and its core contains a single teardrop shed by the last surviving Dryad on Wildcat Mountain, where Shep and his family have been raised for generations.  Burnished a warm, nutty-brown from years of use and care, the wand is an astounding thirteen inches long… however, Shep and his ancestors found it easy to wield, as the Shepherd men tend to great lengths, themselves.

The wand’s shaft is marred in two places by knots which create interesting whorls in its grain as well as warping it from a true line approximately ¼ inch in both cases.  Its grip is made of nearly-white cottonwood, with a matte finish and knots and bumps at regular intervals which assist in a firm grasp.

Both the core and wood not only reflect the Shepherd family’s closeness to the mountain upon which they were born, but naturally assist them as wardens of the Wild.

Physical Description: Shep is a big man—6’9” in height, and broad-shouldered.  Though as a young man he was gangling, thin with over-large hands and feet and a thin face, years of labor and traditional living have added muscle-mass and bulk to his frame.  Though not as large as a grizzly, he quite possibly could carry one across his shoulders, if he felt the necessity.

Though he “cleans up purdy,” Shep’s typical appearance is rustic and practical: his hair is long, thick and flowing—dark blond, with only a hint of grey creeping in as streaks and salt-and-pepper at the temples.  His beard is another story: though not extremely long, he spends little time trimming and it sometimes looks a bit scraggly.  His age is clearly seen in the color of his beard: shot through with grey and white, it is apparent that his hair’s only saving grace (from grey) is its natural blond coloration.

He dresses in overalls quite frequently, with flannel, plaid shirtsleeves rolled up; also sometimes in denim trousers, pink long-johns and suspenders.  In cooler weather (and since coming to Britain) he wears turtleneck shirts and always a thick, woolen sweater knitted for him by his adopted daughter.  It is a natural beige, with patterns of tiny, leaping deer.

He has blue eyes, the color of a crystal-clear sky on a crisp, autumn day… which frequently twinkle with amusement.

Personality Description: Shep is a good-natured giant.  Though soft-spoken and generally nurturing of all things living, he can be boisterous as a little boy when discussing or dealing with the denizens of the wild.  It has always been such, with the Shepherd men.  He is quiet and unassuming, however he is anything but shy.  The sparkle in his eye belies his great humor, and his faith in his fellow human being.

Though kind enough to repair the wings of a butterfly, Shep is not a man to cross.  He is slow to anger, but abuse of nature or of creatures unable to protect themselves will provoke him every time.  He is the defender of the weak and will defend both humans and animals from harm.  In these times, he seems to swell to twice his size, sparks fairly fly from his eyes, and it’s as if an unseen wind lifts his hair—the epitome of Wrath itself.

Though they eat meat, his family has no tradition of animal husbandry.  It has been his family’s tradition to hunt when the need arises, but he has an ethical understanding of the difference between hunting for sport and hunting to survive.  Shep does farm, however, and keeps a small plot of vegetables and corn.  He has an incredible aptness for growing things.

Shep is the sort of man who would give a stranger the shirt off his back, but he has never married nor had children of his own.  He is sometimes absent-minded, even hare-brained to some extent.  His adopted daughter spends much time seeing to it that he remembers to eat and dress warmly.

History:  Born in the dead of winter during a blizzard in 1939, Shep joined his parents (Harold and Samantha nee Burkowitz) and his much-older siblings at their ancestral home on Wildcat Mountain.  His home-birth was heralded by the surprising appearance of the mountain’s nymph, and his parents hoped this foreshadowed a resurgence in their family’s Wizarding blood.  They had high hopes for their son.

As a child, he was known as “A.A.” and he helped his parents and grandparents tend their small plot, trade for salt-pork, cure venison, dig wells and tend to the wild things which made the mountain their home as well.  He sometimes panned for gold with his Grandfather—named “Shep” before him—though they found little.  He attended a small, one-room schoolhouse with other hill-children until the age of eleven, when his parents’ belief in his Blood was vindicated by a pigeon-delivered letter: he was required to leave his home and attend school at Red Rocks, near Sedona.

Shep found it difficult, to be away from his home.  The mountain was as much a part of him as his family was.  Over the years, however, his homesickness waned and he began to look beyond the horizon of the next mountain.

Though he returned to take up the mantle of Warden of the Wild from his grandfather before him—and the name of “Shep” with it—Shep accepted that Muggle progress would eventually see the end of the Wild.

Never having married, he has no children of his own—being a reclusive hermit of sorts, there is no chance of any illegitimate children, either. 

The Dryad who produced the core for his wand was the first casualty of the bulldozer: chaining himself to her did no good.  He spent a week in prison, paid heavy fines, and was evicted from his ancestral home.  He concluded that there was no need for progeny: there would be no new generations of Wardens on Wildcat mountain.

The ten-year-old once-feral child, Alluvia (whom he came to regard as his own daughter), safely away at Red Rocks, pursuing her own Wizarding education he crated up Chantilly (the last wildcat) and set out for Britain and Hogwarts, where he heard they had need of his skills.

He had two siblings, both much older than he, both predecease him.  Other than the possibility of Muggle cousins/nieces/nephews who have left the traditional Shepherd lifestyle and entered the “modern” culture, he is the last of his line.


What is your occupation? How do you go about it? Warden of the Wild (Applying for Gamekeeper)

How did you get your current occupation?  Trained as a child by his grandfather, he achieved highest marks in Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology in school.  In addition, he spent four years supplementing his education by training with the Red Rocks Gamekeeper before returning to his family’s mountain.  He takes the charge very seriously—both for Magical and non-magical creatures.
   
Though two generations of Squibs/Muggles impaired his family’s ability to carry out their duties, knowledge of magical creatures passed down for generations helped, along with the hope that one day a new Magical heir would be born to wield the Cherry wand.

The Warden’s first duty is to make certain that the land and creatures under his governance goes un-noticed by the Muggle world.  In this matter, Al failed.  It is also his duty to protect human beings from magical creatures, and to maintain order and justice in the natural world.

His second duty is to see to the health of the creatures in the forest: healing injury and illness when necessary, bringing together pairings of rare creatures when he can to ensure the continuation of the breed; shepherding the creatures

His third duty is to the humans who make their traditional homes on the mountain and live off the land.  He generally provides experience and wisdom to these: where to find the highest population of rabbits to hunt, that culling them is beneficial; which times of year are safest to hunt deer and other grazers, that their population will not fail, culling the oldest or weakest who would not survive the winter anyway.  Pointing out which berries and nuts are safe to eat, where they can be found easiest, and which need preparation to be eaten safely.

How does your past and abilities justify your current skills?:  He believes that, between his informal training and his extended education, Gameskeeper would be an ideal position for him.  Not only could he continue to ward the denizens of the wild, but he could continue his (mostly) reclusive lifestyle in comfort.

Writing Sample:
The crow bobbed up and down repeatedly.  Had Shep been predisposed to sea-sickness, the motion would have made him queasy.  Instead, he lifted one shaggy eyebrow in inquiry.  “Back, eh?  And with a friend?  What have you got there?” he asked and, shoving a plaid sleeve up onto his elbow, he reached toward the lintel where the bird roosted.  It bridled at him and hissed.  “Oh, come now, just a peek,” he cajoled, realizing the pale form half-hidden behind the crow wasn’t a plump wren, hiding its distress.

The crows hereabouts tended to collect things, it was true.  They often lined their nests with bits of wool yarn stolen from Shep’s socks as they hung to dry: his big toe was clearly visible as he stood in his stocking feet to survey the crow’s newest theft.

The crow considered, as if it understood man’s speech—as perhaps he could.  Shep found that many animals had the aptitude… especially those of magical stock.  The bird cocked his head to peer at Shep from one bug-eye.  The firelight flickered in reflection against the onyx-black.  Shep chuckled.  “Have it your way,” he said gently, and started to turn away.

The crow bobbed again, shook its feathers, and cawed to draw his attention back.  Still chuckling because he’d taken the bait, Shep paused and tried to look stern.  “Well… let’s see it, then.”

In answer, the crow took three steps to the left, bobbed his head, opened his wings to hide its prize as if reluctant to share, ruffled its feathers and furled its wings again.

Shep whistled as he spied the egg.  It was large as an ostrich egg—this was the Ozarks, though… very few ostriches, thought here were still a few emu farms leftover from the fads…  “How in tarnation--!”

The bird wasn’t startled by his outburst.  Instead, he appeared to smirk.  But then, crows as a population always looked as if they were smirking.  “Candyman, I dunno how you done it, but I’m impressed!” he exclaimed.  The bird’s smirk grew.  “May I?” he asked politely, his hand again poised to reach past the crow.  In answer, the crow bobbed again and moved further toward the end of the lentil.

Shep carefully took hold of the egg and withdrew it.  He might be massively built, but he had the gentlest of touches: he could remove a caterpillar from a cactus without injuring himself or the larvae.

The egg was white, but with a vermillion cast.  Was it reptilian?  He’d never laid eyes on such an artifact!  Carefully, he carried it to the fireplace.  With one hand, he drew the poker and stoked the fire for better light.  The crow followed him anxiously, hopping from door to table to chair, clearly distressed but having chosen to give up its prize.

Shep placed the egg on a cushion and, removing wire-rimmed Ben Franklin spectacles from his breast pocket, wrapped them around his ears and took up the egg once more.  As large as it was, his hand still engulfed it.  He examined it closely, touching it delicately here and there, amazed at the possibility of an unknown creature.

At one such gentle prod, the shell cracked.  With a loud exclamation, Shep nearly dropped it.  He laid it in his lap worriedly and glanced at the crow.  “I don’t suppose you can tell me what it is before it hatches?” he asked facetiously, not expecting a response.

It was testament to his level-headedness that he did not lurch to his feet when the crow answered him, in human tongue.

“Her name is Alluvia,” the bird replied in cracked voice, cawing raucously in laughter.  “You wished for a daughter…”

“A daughter?  Candyman, children are born, not--”  He broke off because, even as he spoke, tiny human fingers clawed through the embryonic sac to shatter the fragile shell, grabbing fragments, pulling at them to disappear inside the egg, reaching for more…  Shep stared as her face grew visible.  He’d never considered human newborns to be particularly lovely, but Alluvia…

Breaking his trance, he stroked the shell with a gentle thumb, striating it and helping the tiny infant inside to break free all the faster.

“Would you prefer ‘Thumbelina?’” the crow laughed, coughing.  He fluttered his wings and asserted, “She is yours, now,” before taking five great strides and lurching into the air, squeezing past the shutters to disappear into the night.

Shep barely noticed his passing.  He stared into the clear, blue eyes of his daughter, amazed and completely lost in love with her…

((I don’t know that this is how it happened, but of a certainty, Alluvia is not human, nor is she Shep’s flesh and blood.  She might have been found under a cabbage leaf, or swimming in the water hole ))

Sum up your character in one paragraph: Shep is amiable and patient, reliable and understanding.  He’s spent his life in service to others and has no expectations from human beings except common decency, politeness, and a respect for life.  If motivated, he can be quite animated, even towering with rage, but these instances are few.  Normally, he’s quiet and gentle, funny and sweet though sometimes absentminded.  He's a good-natured and amiable-- if eccentric-- hermit.  He might be considered a "Hill-Billy" except that he's highly educated and personable.  A "Hill-William" if you will