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The Hallows Academy was about as different as you could get, on the outside at least, from an ordinary school. It was situated in one of those historic neighbourhoods that had fallen upon hard times, and thus most of the residences surrounding Hallows were boarded up and empty. The school itself was in what had previously been a private residence, a quaint, square victorian. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence and a row of twisting oak trees, and in the backyard was a small herb garden and a very ancient, bending willow, with a swing attached to one of the boughs.
The school was no less strange on the inside. In one of the letters you'd received ensuing your enrolment, you'd been instructed to find the room labelled "The Centre" and there wait to meet your professors and find out where you'd be staying. As you made your way, the rooms resembled a hodgepodge curio shop more than an academy. The walls were almost completely hidden by strange assortment of objects that decorated them: bookshelves stacked with carefully matched sets, lace curtains, exotic potted plants, squat granite gargoyles, chess sets, persian rugs, mardi gras masks, renaissance paintings, even a suit of armour and a morning star from the middle ages that was almost certainly authentic. The Centre (known by the gold letters carefully painted on the heavy oak door) did not become more congruous in it's decor, and looked something between a conference room and the lounge of a tea-shop. In the middle was a long wooden table, with feet carved like an eagle's talons. Around it was the most mismatched collection of seating imaginable; spindly wicker chairs, creaky wooden rocking chairs, plush floral-embroidered armchairs, black marble-topped stools, and even low velvet poufs.
Once it seemed the last student had been gathered within, the door opened one last time, and in hobbled a wizened old man. He had a head of white fly-away hair, his back was stooped, his nose hooked, on the end precariously perched a pair of round spectacles. He was so frail it seemed as though even a breeze might make an end of him. He wore a white button down tucked into black dress pants, and at his throat was neatly knotted an emerald green tie. The old man made his way to the head of the table, and placed his spotted, withered hands upon it, leaning forward to peer judgmentally at the students in the room. "Good afternoon," he announced in a voice that was as high and shaky as it was stern, "and welcome to Hallows Academy." He cleared his throat a few times and continued. "Perhaps the unusual nature of this school has given you some misconceptions. I intend to dispel them. Other places might have been willing to coddle you, but not here. This is not a place for lazy-bones and slackers. The only way you'll get anywhere here is with hard work. And that's why, in a few moments, you will be taking a placement exam. You will have exactly four hours. Trust me, you'll need the entire time. Calculators and electronics are not permitted. And I won't tolerate any complaining. If you don't like it, you can leave right now." When he finished speaking, a strangely out-of-character, puckish grin spread across the old professor's face as he looked about the room at the student's faces, taking in the effect his words had produced.
The grin grew to laughter, and as the old man's body began to shake, something strange began to happen. He seemed to change, his appearance rippling as though he were a reflection on the surface of a lake someone had cast a stone in. Suddenly the old creature was gone, transformed into a tall, lithe, dark-haired young man. The only thing still the same was the clothes and that self-satisfied grin. His face was smooth and chiselled, and his black, twinkling eyes had a cat-like slant to them, accentuated all the more by the carefully applied smokey eye makeup he wore. "Just kidding!" he announced, in a voice that resonated like a cello in the hands of a virtuoso, low and infinitely smooth. "That's more Dwyer's style. There's no placement test, don't worry. At least none like that. Damn, this is uncomfortable!" he exclaimed with a quick change of tone, as he yanked the tie loose, allowing it to drape over his shoulders, and undid the top few buttons of his shirt which gapped open to just below the collar bone. He let out a contented (and slightly smug) sigh. "That's better. Ahh but it was worth it to see the expressions on your faces. I'm Cass, by the way. Welcome to Hallows, again." The smile faded and he became serious, earnest. "You're all here for a reason; we already know that you've got at least part of what it takes. I need you to answer one question only. Do you believe in Magic?" And by the subdued urgency in his black eyes, you could see that this strange young man was dead serious.
(And it's off we go! I'm going to provide a thread for chatting out-of-character. Within actual role-play threads, please keep that to a minimum.
For this chapter, I'd appreciate if we could all rp in the same thread, at least in the beginning since the characters are in the same room)
