Shrouded in mystery for close to a millennium, Agnarsson Academy and its house cup were thought to be myths. However, when a chance exchange let students explore the stuff of legends over in Iceland, nobody expected that they'd become legendary too.
Okay, so this story will follow your characters as they navigate through Agnarsson Academy and battle for its house cup. There will be some similarities between the schools such as classes and houses, but the dynamics of Agnarsson Academy will definitely be different. Details about the plot will be revealed throughout the chapters but basics will be written in down below. Also, the character skeleton, school details, and submission rules will be posted on my profile.
I posted this story a while back but took it down because school was taking over my life. However, now that it is summer, I can finally write and pick this fic back up. I am currently in the process of contacting a few of the people who submitted characters and were accepted previously. I am only re-using 3 of them, so the rest will be newly selected OCs. If they do not respond, I will be using all new OCs.
Those people are listed below:
Aliza Natalie Simmons – submitted by BellaRosa17
Einar Johannsson – submitted by James018
Lene Alexandersen – bubmitted by Cirque de Morte
Sorry if the prologue is dense and boring. I couldn't really write much without any submitted characters. All I could do was lay down some foundations and offer some descriptions. However, the next chapters will be a lot better, full of dialogue, and way more exciting. This was just a prologue that sort of introduced the basics. Anyways, read on, submit a character, and enjoy!
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Shuffling stiffly through the eastern corridor, Headmaster Hilmarsson took a deep breath. Only a few days remained until another school year began and the very thought of it left him exhausted. With fresh first years, the house cup, and the millennial anniversary celebrations to think about, the old wizard knew he'd be plenty busy. Added to that the new exchange program and the usual teenage angst, Hilmarsson wasn't expecting to have time to rest.
"Ready for a new year, 'eadmaster?" asked a lightly accented voice from up on the wall.
"Why of course, Pilkerton," Hilmarsson responded with as much gusto as he could muster, craning his neck upwards to reply to one of the liveliest paintings in the castle. "Agnarsson Academy is always ready to usher in the new school year."
"Good! Good!" the man cried excitingly, his thinly painted lips widening into a broad smile. "I always did like seeing 'em young faces strolling through ma 'allway looking lost. Mind ya, the most enjoyable thing to do is point 'em the wrong way until they come back and find out I'm what they're lookin' for!"
Hilmarsson chuckled softly, coughed violently afterwards, and then composed himself seconds later. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Pilkerton."
"You was always good to me, Headmaster" the painting replied, grinning happily. "Even when me was simply a fresh piece hung on the wall."
"I try my best, Pilkerton, I try my best," Hilmarsson said, waving goodbye to the framed man. "I would love to chat some more, but I have a few things that need my attention."
"No worries," the painting cried after him. "Always a pleasure!"
"Indeed it is," Hilmarsson said, continuing down the hall until the painting guarding the common room of the Staves was far behind him.
Unlike the other houses in Agnarsson Academy, the Staves preferred having Pilkerton as the protector to their common room entrance. Simple and kind, the painting never put up too much of a fight to open the passageway. Instead, he tended to have long chats with whomever approached him to get inside. So if anyone did have the composure, will, and patience to wait and listen, they'd probably be a Stave. Never ones to jump into things too quickly, Staves typically went with the flow just like Pilkerton.
It was those qualities which had made the Staves last year's house cup champions. Nevertheless, you'd never hear a humble Stave brag about their accomplishment. Hilmarsson liked that. Not ones to stir up trouble, Staves were his favorite type of students.
"Now where was I going again?" Hilmarsson asked himself confusedly, scratching the side of his balding head. "Oh yes!"
He continued to shuffle down the long stone corridor towards the set of intricately carved wooden doors at the end. Like all doors in Agnarsson Academy, the carvings indicated what was to be found on the other side. Whether it was dragons or mandrakes, each door specifically portrayed what was in the room beyond it.
When the headmaster finally reached the end of the hallway, he reached out and caressed the detailed wood. Centuries old, the door had become smooth and its carvings rounded. No longer were its edges sharp and crisp.
Feeling the familiar characters of his office door with his right hand, Arnarson turned the handle with his left and entered inside. The room was spacious yet claustrophobic as shelves of dusty books closed him in. Along with a collection of rare magical artifacts, the headmaster's office was cluttered with parchment, quills, and other small collectibles. In the center of the room was a charcoal colored desk. It was made of thick glass and from behind it one faced the main door. Besides that, the only things left in his office were 10 small doors lining the walls between the bookshelves - each one a shortcut to a specific part of the castle.
Making his way over to the door behind his desk, he slid past it and soon found himself a few feet away from the common room belonging to the Pentacles. Only a small inch-sized slit in the wall distinguished this as the entrance. Reaching into his pocket, Hilmarsson took out the distinctive coin required to enter and inserted it into the slot. He could hear it travel through the mechanics behind the wall and then click; the entry way opened. He retrieved his coin from a slot on the other side of the wall and returned it to his pocket.
The Pentacles' common room was probably the least cozy of them all. Yet it was efficient, clean, and embodied almost exactly what most Pentacles were like. Remodeled and modern, one could say that it resembled a bank. In fact, a pair of vaults monitored each by a goblin could be found at the far end of the room.
"Hello Rornuk, Brognok," Hilmarsson greeted. "Making sure all the accounts are in order?"
The two goblins nodded in unison. "Some students made some investments over the summer and just transferred their earnings over," Brognok complained, already grumpy before the start of school. "Not sure why they insist on sending the money now instead of in a week; it messes everything up on our end."
Hilmarsson could only stand there and smile. "There must be a reason. You know the Pentacles; they're a savvy and cunning bunch, especially when it comes to money."
"They may be smart but they're also a huge pain in the ass," Rornuk replied, scribbling down something in his notebook.
"Well, they'll be the ones bringing your banks all the business in the future," Hilmarsson reminded them. Many of the Pentacles went on to own large corporations in the wizarding world.
"Don't remind me," Rornuk grimaced, returning his attention back to the accounts.
Recognizing how busy the goblins were, Hilmarsson decided to leave them be. They too had a lot to do before the start of the first semester. Quietly, he escaped back through the entrance and continued on with his school inspection.
When he came upon the section of the school where the Swords lived, the headmaster was not surprised to see parts of it a mess. There were holes in the walls, rubble scattered across the floor, and marks along the ceiling where spells had gotten away from some pupils.
Meanwhile, the tower belonging to the Chalices was the complete opposite. Adorned with gold and decorated with tapestries, the common room of the Chalices had a feeling of calmness. It felt as if people had lived there and for a long time at that. There was history to the place; more so than anywhere else in the castle. So perhaps that was why Hilmarsson felt at home in the Chalice common room. Once a member of the Chalices himself, Hilmarsson remembered the history he had there.
Grinning as he recalled his days of youth, the headmaster sprawled himself out on one of the old couches. It had been there for centuries and wobbled whenever someone sat down on it. But as a former student who'd spent years rocking back and forth on it, Hilmarsson knew exactly how to sturdy it. Reaching into his pocket one last time, he pulled out a card. It was old, flimsy, and frayed along the edges. Its coloring was no longer bright and bold, but browning and faded. Obviously it had existed for centuries but had been in Hilmarsson's possession for only 62 years.
Then, crazy to do this to an ancient treasure, he folded it twice and tucked it under the corner leg of the couch. The thickness was exactly what was needed to still the rocking and Hilmarsson smirked knowingly. After all, the headmaster of Agnarsson Academy was no fool.