Welcome to Gaia! ::

From afar, perilous gold wrought with tainted moss glinted against the flickering flame held upon a sconce anointed against cool stone walls. The Great Hall bustled with life, teeming laughter of children and bright wide eyes absorbing every depth and will. Remington had lurched past the great double doors, sliding the heavy wooden door scarcely open as he slid inside to join the clatter of emotion within. The tables adorned the colors and sigils of their namesake, though one, he noticed, vibrated with a sense of woe and despair and shock.

Decidedly uninterested, Remington slithered forth between the cracks. Meandering against soil and stone shrouded beneath kiss of shadows and caress of darkness, Remington flowed with an unyielding grace succumbing all beneath his will. The students chose to avert their gazes, others gawked with lips spread wide and lapping dog tongues drooling to the floor; they knew him, and if they did not, they heard the tales. They lurched, rebounded across every corridor and snaking around every corner. He had gone to Azkaban once, they whispered, on the first day he had arrived. He was exiled from his own family, others claimed. Some, he knew, spoke twisted tales of his adventures with forked tongues, berating the depth of ambition stolen into him with every cursed relic and artifact he found. But most, he had come to realize… were oblivious.

Maneuvering closer and closer to the center of the scene, Remington had only heard one voice, one sound shatter and pierced his world. It beckoned chained emotions to rise to the surface, no longer drowning beneath the void of black tar. He swirled, his robes swishing with the wind as he crossed, closer and closer, to the blues and bronze of the house of Ravenclaw. It was there that he spotted the tight lips of whom those words were so familiar—Rosier. But he couldn’t deny, there was something far too peculiar about her, something far too familiar.

And then she was off, a bundle of pale white washed features, and flaming, fiery, red hair. That hair—he had seen in just moments ago in his mind—but why? Narrowing his gaze at the fleeting sight of Rosier and Phinelia, gears churning with oil bleeding red. ”Settle down, children.” Remington’s voice echoed off the walls with authoritative might, a callously cool negligence infected his words with a poison. A man to not be crossed. ”Settle yourselves or seek refuge in your dorms.” He bade of them as he slipped closer, his gaze falling upon the outstretched bird, limp and frail, and the package beside it. ”Don’t touch that!” He barked at a first year, timid little fingers had recoiled and sunken back into the folds of cloaks and far away from the simply wrapped package on the table. Without the use of his wand, Remington willed the package and the owl to rise, high into the air and away from gritty little fingers. The owl coursed in one direction, and the package, hovered an entirely different path, but within moments, both were gone. ”Now, can anyone explain to me what they saw here?”