pliantnoctua

[pliantnoctua]

emeraldlore·:

Who: Noah Walker & @pliantnoctua.  When: 22 December 2025. 11:08 PM. Where: The White Wyvern. 

Four. He observes the hunched over patron take yet another swing of his drink–the mental tally in the recesses of Noah’s mind totaling the new sum of Firewhiskey. It doesn’t take a trained eye to come to the conclusion that this is a common occurrence for the other. Noah’s not as well-acquainted with the sort of beverage but he knows one thing, and it’s that only the guilty and feeble-minded guzzle down poison so freely. The hatred in Noah’s vitrified gaze clears, as though by magic, the moment an unsuspecting barmaid makes her rounds closer to where he’s sitting, going on to flash her an amiable smile. Unbidden, Noah rises from his seat at the bar, leaving behind his untouched glass of water, (it was questionable-looking, at best), to approach the lone corner which the stranger finds himself nestled in. And that’s only because this isn’t just any drunkard.  No, this would be none other than..      “Noctua–right?”  A polite crescent hovers upon his face, eons away from the expression of disdain that had fleetingly eclipsed him less than a minute ago. Between the light hum of idle chatter that settles into the night, Noah has no doubt his voice hadn’t carried to any of them. Even if it had, he’s well aware of the likes of undesirables that choose to spend their time here. He’s convinced none would bat an eye at the mention of a Wraith, and if they did, it would be only to offer a congratulatory praise of some variety. Nonetheless, a subtle pinch between his brows settles in as he reassures the man, “Solas.” A palm, gesturing, flat against his own chest in a means of introduction before carefully taking the seat directly in front of the other. “I prefer Noah.” Even if his name doesn’t ring a bell, he’s sure the codename, at the very least, should strike Mordecai as familiar. Forearms rest on the table as he sinks his weight into it a bit, dark hues flickering over the other once. It’s subtle, but in that quick gauge, the thoughts regarding the other man compile: unkempt hair, crooked shirt collar, ale drizzling down the other’s five-o’clock shadow. Observant, critical, as he were, this doesn’t translate in an expression of what seems to be rapt curiosity, “Is it true? That you were the one that went in to bring the Dark Lord back?” The simmering disgust never punctures his question.

     Indeed, it took a strong guilt to convince a man to poison himself. With his soul weighted down by the vice like grip that a thousand disembodied voices seemed to have on him, Mordecai could say without a doubt that he was cursed. Not in the literal sense, but by means of his own actions. He was the bastard who tread through Hell to fetch a man who was more deserving of damnation than any of those who rested there still. He received recognition for his voluntary feat but it wasn’t a title he had sought. He simply wanted to spare a girl who seemed like a fish out of water among the Wraiths. She had a reluctance to her, and he saw that same hesitance in a much younger him.

     “So now you sit here throwing back glass after glass...” Mordecai slurred under his breath as he lifted the heavy crystal bucket from the bar and sloshed it around a bit before acting out what he had just narrated for himself.

     With a clamor of his glass upon the counter and a long exasperated alcohol drenched sigh Mordecai almost hadn’t registered the call of his name.Well, code name rather. He almost seemed distracted by something unseen when finally he dragged his attention away from his empty glass to focus on whoever had been addressing him without warning. Ah, a stranger. His disinterest in the other man was terribly apparent in the way that he turned his attention back to the empty bucket before him. He slid the crystal across the counter and tapped it heavily against the wood to gain the barkeep’s attention. A tip of his head towards the glass was more than enough to signal he was ready for another. Not that he needed it.

     “Aye, that seems to be the word on the street. Are you here to praise or pester? If it’s the latter I can promise that you’d only be wasting your breath. Far too many of these down my gullet to make heads or tails of any criticism.” It seemed the man couldn’t help but laugh at his own careless words. Even despite drowning in his Firewhiskey the man still had an articulate way of speaking that only a professional drunkard might be able to pull off.

[pliantnoctua]

who || @lavernaburke​ when || 22 december 2025 where || Knockturn Alley  

     Mordecai had always wondered what he would do with himself in his later years. Growing up it all seemed so laughable to think he would ever have a purpose of his own design, but it seemed he was given a sliver of wiggle room. There was a position that had opened up at Hogwarts where he’d be able to become a useful tool. It would get him out of other unsavory duties among his fellow Wraiths. The interrogations, the field work, and worst of all, the cold blooded murders. He had been fortunate enough to avoid such a soul devouring act, but he feared the day when he would be given an assignment he couldn’t refuse. At least by becoming part of the Hogwarts faculty he would have most of his days penciled in.

     The wizard who was once in control of Defense Against the Dark Arts was now being exiled. A once interesting course that was fabricated with the hopes of protecting students from Dark Magic was now being replaced with one that introduced it. Mordecai was the unlikely professor of such a class, and here he was in search of supplies, tools, and anything else that might make his first few weeks a bit smoother as he tried to acclimate.

     Mordecai had been headed for Borgin and Burkes with a very vague list of goods to pick up when he started to feel the hair on the back of his neck rise. By this point he knew all to well what this entailed, and a brief moment of concern arose on his face before he could manage to compose himself. There was no imminent threat, nobody was in any danger, and so perhaps from the outside looking it Mordecai simply seemed like an uptight individual. He could hear them though. The faintest muttering just behind his ear- or so he thought it was. Each time he glanced over his shoulder there was nothing but the chilled breeze of winter meeting his unsettled expression. Unfortunately, this time he turned to face forward he collided with a woman at full stride. Oops.

[pliantnoctua]

eldestweasley·:

who: open starter when: 23 december 2025 where: diagon alley

Bill quickly made his way through Diagon Alley, anxious to get to work. The bank wasn’t going to run itself, well, it would. But he always preferred to be on time rather than not. Unfortunately, the familiar area around him was now virtually unrecognizable for him. Christmas decorations were non-existent, happiness seemed to be on no one’s face. 

There was something caught his sight of eye, diverting his attention for a moment. A certain purist poster that made his stomach turn and made him stop walking. He had caused a foot traffic jam once he stopped. “Excuse me,” He said to the nearest person, “I apologise, I just got distracted by…” He looked in the same direction again, “Nevermind,” He figured his thoughts should remain just thoughts. “I think I’m just about ready for the Holidays, I could use a good break.” Couldn’t they all?

     This was the final time Mordecai would put his life in the hands of whoever manufactured this darn Floo Powder. Being whirled through a vast network of magic only to be thrown from an unkempt sooty fireplace in the back of some old shop. When he finally did brush the ashes from his coat he took notice of where he had landed. It looked like the cramped living space of some poor shopkeeper, and luckily for the Wraith they didn’t seem to be home.

     Creeping as quietly as his once polished shoes could allow the man emerged from the back and noticed he was surrounded by a plethora of  boxes and sheets. It seemed as though this place was in the midst of being relocated or renovated in some way. That would explain the dingy condition of their backroom. Well, thankfully he wouldn’t run into the inhabitants of this shop and was perfectly fine with leaving it in the disarray of scattered ash and soot. It was a mess when he got there anyway.

     Perhaps it just wasn’t his day. The moment he stepped onto the cobblestone street to head for Knockturn Alley he found himself held up in a cluster of foot traffic. With an exasperated sigh he glanced down at his watch to assure himself that there were still enough minutes in the day to finish what needed to be done. When he glanced back up the crowd of people had begun stepping around the culprit of the congestion, and much to his surprise he found himself intrigued enough to follow the man’s line of sight. A poster. A simple piece of purest bullcrap that had been force fed to him since he was a child. Before Mordecai could flee the discomfort he noticed the man speaking his thoughts. Were they directed at him? Who knew. Still, the man felt obligated to answer as to avoid being painfully rude.

     “A break? How are you going to catch a break when around every turn you’re faced with that? You’re fooling yourself if you believe that the Holidays will remedy the despair on these streets. Even taking a stroll you’ve caught yourself up in the melancholy of a simple poster.” Mordecai spoke his mind as though his thoughts were the droplets spilling from a leaky faucet. There was no filter as he set his eyes upon the poster.

[pliantnoctua]

[pliantnoctua]

❝Some people are in such utter darkness that they will burn you just to see a light. Try not to take it personally. ❞

INTRODUCTION

What waits for us beyond death’s door has always been veiled in a shroud of mystery. Many wizards have theorized the possibilities, but Mordecai Carrow tragically found out first hand. With little regard for his own well-being he volunteered to steal Voldemort from his eternal damnation so that another Wraith's life could be spared. Having been raised in a household where his own ideals rivals that of his family the man learned at a young age it was safer to play the role of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Being exposed to the consequences that the Dark Lord had to endure has left Mordecai fearing for his own soul. Furthermore, those from the other side seem to have lassoed a noose around the man's neck, and each passing day the screams and pleads of the dead are causing it to tighten. They want what Voldemort had unjustly received and their only connection to this realm is Mordecai. Will he bend to their will and find a means to free their souls? Maybe the Resurrection Stone could be the key to finding a peaceful mind.

BIOGRAPHY

Name: Mordecai Carrow Birthday: January 7th, 1994 House: Slytherin Wand: Rougarou Hair Core, Springy, 13.5 inches, Yew Wood. Patronus/Animagus: Elf Owl

Considering that his parent were thrown in Azkaban when he was merely four years old the responsibility of raising him was left in the hands of his grandmother. His timid nature lead him to silently disagree with his family's Death Eater tendencies instead of ever acting acting upon them. His family's belief system didn't stop him from making friends with muggles, though. One in particular, Irene Baxter, being arguably the closest he's ever been to another human being. Throughout his younger years he'd escape the confines of his grandmother's garden to go on daring adventures of make-believe with the girl next door.  It wasn't long until his grandmother eventually found out about this. One day he learned that Irene had passed away mysteriously. With the way his grandmother spoke illy about muggles Mordecai knew all to well that this was no mere accident. His only other means of escape had been daydreams of becoming an animagus and fleeing his home life for good. However, this never amounted to anything in his younger years.

Having very little control over his own life, joining the Wraiths wasn't so much a choice as it was an expectation. Ironically, the only decision he ever made was also his most traumatic. When it came to choosing who would be sent into Hell to retrieve what was left of Voldemort, the Wraiths took liking to the idea of sending one of the newer Wraiths in, knowing full well she would not make it out alive. When Mordecai saw the young girl's pale face and trembling frame, he saw in her echoes of what used to be his best friend, Irene, and volunteered in her stead to spare her. Call it a psychological toll, or something more, but shortly after his journey into the after world he began hearing faint voices and seeing things that weren't truly there. This action continues to haunt him to this day in more than one way. Call it a psychological toll, or something more, but shortly after his journey into the after world he began hearing faint voices and seeing things that weren't truly there. A peaceful sleep doesn't come easy to him. The only peaces of mind he gets is in the freedom of turning into his animagus form, that of an elf owl, which comes in handy when he feels the need to get away from the rest of his alliance.

PROPHECY

Currently, he's a reluctant member of the Wraiths and goes by the codename Noctua. Despite wishing to be everywhere but he's oblivious to his mention in the prophecy. However, it remains true that true happiness can't be found where he currently resides.