Jake has no memories prior to the start of the RP. All he knows is that his name is Jake and he is meant to be at Strange Academy. He can understand English when spoken to him, but no other languages. He cannot read any language. His name is on the list of new students for the incoming last, just Jake, no family name or other indication as to who he was and where he came from. No one else seems to remember him either - but how could they? It's a brand new year at Strange Academy and he's a brand new student. And as for a student just appearing with a severe case of amnesia, it's hardly the weirdest thing to have ever happened at this school.

The only other clue to him is that he is magical - not a conjurer or a diviner, not a necromancer or an artificer, but instead something more unstructured, more untamed. The ambient magic of the school seems to intuitively listen to him, allowing him to channel wild arcana in a way few others could - as free flowing and lawless as chaos magic, but emanating from the magic of his environment, rather than borrowing from some entity such as Chthon.

But despite the fact that he is a mystery even to himself, Jake is happy. He loves meeting new people and making new friends. He doesn't quite understand them, but he wants to. He wants to make them happy - he wants to see them smile and laugh. He makes undying bonds quickly and if Jake befriends you, he'll do anything for you, no matter the cost. Life is a gift and the world is beautiful - and nothing is more special than the people he has devoted himself to.

The Macleod twins are relics of a time long gone, born in the throes of the Renaissance and the rise of the printing press. The twins lived a relatively sheltered life in northern Scotland. Travel was difficult in the 15th century and their coven was content with the village well south of Forres.

However with suspicion and fear of the supernatural rising out of Germany and carried on in ink, it wasn’t long until the witch hunts of the mainland spread to the Kingdom of England and beyond. When they were not yet twenty summers old, Elanor Cobham found imprisonment for life for treasonable necromancy and Margery Jourdemayne was burned at the stake in a market square. Both were once well connected and well established in their communities and yet it did not save them. Fear amongst the populace was encouraged and manipulated in a twisted game by the nobility of England and they sent their inquisition north, carrying Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum.

They thought their village safe, nestled quietly in the foothills in the shadow of their mountain. The village traded less, hunted closer to home, and year by year became less and less present in the world. Their magic flourished and the children of the village played without fear and time was meaningless.

However, there were enough stories for the inquisition to find it.

They struck at night, the comfort of a century unbothered lulling them to safety. They carried torches and pitchforks and rope and kindling. The stench of burning flesh and the screams of men, women, and children carried across the hills into the uncaring darkness. Their family was not spared this horror. Their parents fought, like the others, but their murderers came prepared and their magic found no hold. A special pendant, bearing the mark of the Inquisition of England, was pressed against their coven and their magic broke and failed and the witches found themselves powerless.

If not for the ego of the Priest of Forres, the twins would not have been so lucky as to carry the horrors of their village with them. It was the children they could not bear to see hurt and as the Priest tossed the torch upon their own parents, the twins struck. Illusion and Enhancement, hand in hand, wove the death of all. Fire springing forth, spewing from their parents' mouths, finding purchase in the flesh of friend and foe alike. According to the Inquisition, the Devil himself dragged the village to hell in his wraith and none survived.

But the truth was, the twins burned it to the ground. Entranced in their domain, the twins set an uncontrollable blaze to consume the Inquisition and fled with the few survivors they saved. Neither of them were prepared to mourn their people nor handle the grief of those still living. They travelled the Scottish countryside, incorporating a few of their broken coven into new ones each time they stumbled across them until the twins found homes for all.

Sickened by the murders they committed and terrified of the newly created Church of England, the twins escaped England to the New World with Sir Walter Raleigh and assisted in establishing Roanoke. They were withdrawn and quiet, focused on working and presenting a godly image as they worked to find a way to escape. In 1591, a young girl introduced herself to the twins as a vampire and expressed her interest in turning and controlling the settlers. The twins agreed to help in exchange for their own freedom and kept the settlers calm and controlled until she struck. They disappeared into the wilderness for another two decades and reemerged in 1608, joining the citizens of Jamestown.

Their magic ensured questions about their age disappeared on the tongue, kept them well fed and unbothered, even as plague and famine ravaged the settlement. Poor planning had left the colonists without water and poorer tempers wore the relationship with the native people thin. The twins watched without interfering, only stepping in to help with the revolution of 1676 when Nathaniel Bacon ousted Governor Berkley. However, they disappeared when Berkely returned and began hanging those involved.

The twins reappeared some short years later in Salem, Massachusetts, where they found a distant relation, a child of one of those they saved many moons ago. They lived peacefully for a decade, before the witch trials started again. The twins watched as their history repeated itself but this time, the saviors they were had long been lost as they themselves condemned their kin to the flames. It had been too easy, when suspicion fell on them, to plant the devils’ iconography on her and invite the Salemites to find it.

During the 18th century, the twins shuffled from place to place and avoided the growing tension between England and the colonies. They would eventually find themselves in Boston, working in The Green Dragon Tavern. With the rise in tensions against the Crown, the twins once again found themselves assisting in the growth of revolution. Their magic wove privacy around the founding fathers, illusions making them unnoticeable and enchantment easing the concerns of questioning soldiers. Gossip from the RedCoats were a little louder in the tavern and lips a little looser. In the Siege of Boston towards the end of the revolution, the tavern was burned to the ground and the twins lost their home again.

They migrated west with the Louisiana purchase, settling in the melting pot New Orleans had become. When the War of 1812 was declared, the twins decided they would stay out of it and kept to their own business. Intending to stay this time, the twins put down roots. Peadrus entered the workforce as a teacher, using his illusions to age and die as necessary. Again, they decided not to intervene with major events and keep their heads down so they could finally stay in one place.

Unfortunately, a threat to their growing home appeared and the twins found themselves stepping in again. In 1815, whispers made their way to the twins that Andrew Jackson was poised to lose his final skirmish. Outnumbered and outgunned again, the British had the upper hand and were poised to strike the next day. Under the cover of darkness, Peadrus slipped the pair behind the British lines and Pàrlan messed with Edward Pakenham’s head. In the morning, the British assault was disorganized and messy, leaving them with 2,000 dead and wounded. Jackson went home a military genius and the twins contently settled back into their lives.

It was in the Gilded age that they joined a “coven”. A wealthy plantation owner found fun and mystery in the supernatural and the twins, curious to see if it drew any real bumps in the night, offered to participate. The word coven, the twins realized, was loose indeed and it became more of a gathering of debauchery and decadence. Some real powers floated in and out: a moody Asgardian goddess, a vampire, the occasional sorcerer or witch, a demon, an eldritch horror, a Moon Knight, and even a Ghost Rider once. They passed a decade in a pleasurable haze of drugs, sex, and wealth until Marcus.

Marcus was an easy sort, energetic and eager and the twins were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The three of them became close friends and eventually, they opened up about their magic and found acceptance. Marcus joined them at their home, broke bread with them, and even helped Peadrus at the schoolhouse. He’d blown in from the growing west coast, scars waved away as civil war injuries, and slotted himself perfectly into their lives.

Which was why, when he tried to kill them, it shattered their trust forever. Marcus was a vampire hunter, a descendant of Sir Walter Raleigh, who had discovered the truth and swore to save his people from the clutches of the Devil. The twins part had been discovered through a mix of magic and torture and Marcus was tasked with eradicating them. The resulting fight was entirely one-sided, the twin’s magic unsuited for direct engagements, but their spells managed to find purchase and they broke his mind, leaving him at a workhouse where he’d work out the rest of his miserable life in deplorable conditions.

The Twins followed the Klondike gosh rush, settling in Seattle for a while. Although they had worked odd jobs at the beginning, the twins opened their own speakeasy in 1920 as the aggressive prohibitions against alcohol were signed into law. Although their magic was used in a pinch, the pair more often sold out their competitors to the authorities (and offered a hefty discount) to ensure their business was safe and enshrined as a center of the underground community. After the end of prohibition, they stayed until the end of World War 2 and sold their bar.

The twins found themselves in Memphis, enrolled in a local high school to keep up with the world at large. It was there they met Elvis, a struggling guitarist with a unique hillbilly style and a blend of cultural music that inspired the worst in people. The twins saw the desperation for fame and fed on it, weaving magic behind his back that made the people love him. He walked out of high school signed by a record label and the twins rode his fame, and more, for an easy life. Nothing more than a charm here, a hex there, and drugs, sex, and music numbed everything else. They were… concerned for their stability when Elvis was drafted was unfounded, the early work they did still holding strong with the addition of records made on his leave. They lived on their golden egg, rode it plenty too, up until the early 1970s when they decided to slip out of bed one night and never return. They didn’t hear of his death until 2001.

This would repeat over the next few decades, clinging to blossoming talent, building their careers for an easy life, and then abandoning and forgetting them when they moved to their next project. Rarely would the twins stick their necks out or get themselves involved in world affairs - they left no footprint, no tracks or marks, no paperwork for someone to find them. Occasionally, they would rehome a werewolf, get a vampire out of the sun, direct a baby witch to the proper herbs and books, but each time they charmed their memories, or never let them see the real them, so that what happened in New Orleans would never happen again.

Of course, whispers of a school for the magically talented reached even them. They believed it a lie, a falsehood circulated by hunters and madmen alike to capture their kind and kill or keep them. They never knew which was worse. But with the itch to settle down again growing, they found themselves back in New Orleans, the French Quarter louder and busier than ever before, and it was true.

Strange Academy, a haven for their kind, was real.

The first year was… difficult. Magic was something woven in backrooms, talked in hushed tones far away from the normal people, kept close and under lock and key. Sharing the art was the first step to dying. The more people who knew a secret, the less it would be kept. They'd learned that lesson in blood and fire and every fiber of their being screamed it was only a matter of time.

But the hunters didn't come. Ambition and greed were certainly present, the promise of miracles too tempting for some, but no one turned on each other. The faculty were genuinely interested in advancing magic, the students eager to learn, and it was… good. It was good.

Maybe a little too bright, though. It was difficult to trust, to connect to people younger and less narrowed, to see the naivety for the safety it indicated. So, the twins made The Haven. Established up in the Neverish, this replica of their Seattle speakeasy connects directly to the school and is an escape for those who need a place to be themselves, as twisted, dark, or just plain dull as that might be. It's a place to relax, where the Twins can enforce the safety, and offer job experience to students who have difficulty finding somewhere in the normal place to work.

There is a hope that now, five years after joining the Academy, this could be forever. But 6 centuries have taught the twins that the other shoe will always drop just when you get comfortable…

The twins are shaped by their drive to survive. Their choices have all ensured that, at the expense of those around them, they continue to thrive. They have seen cruelty over the centuries and they do not bother to pretend that is not the nature of man. They are always one step away from disappearing on the wind and selling everyone else down the river to do it.

In reality, they wandered to find a place that is safe, that they can relax in for the rest of their centuries, that they can be with their magic and their peace and not have to worry about the world burning it down. Barty, in particularl, wishes for connection and friendship and family, and community. Starting up his old brewery and finally being able to live life without the need to look over ones shoulder. He wishes to have peace for his dying kind and to revive the old witchkind. Strange Academy has seemed like the perfect place. For now.

Lionel and Tryss Belfontaine had tried countless times to produce a child, an heir, so their bloodline may continue, but try after try ended in tragedy. Doctors never found anything wrong with either of them and suggested adoption or fostering, but Lionel wouldn't have it, as no child of his, not of his blood, would inherit anything he worked towards.

One day when Tryss found she was pregnant with a baby girl. The pregnancy went off with very little trouble, and both Lionel and Tryss were sure that God had blessed them finally with the perfect child. Soon, on Halloween night, Cassiopeia was born (named after Tryss' great-great grandmother), but unbeknownst to the new parents the Inferno Incursion had happened that day in 2021, causing a ripple effect of magic to course through the world. Was it happenstance that this child was born on this night during that event, or were there powers at play beyond mortal knowledge?

Things quickly grew concerning when Cassie would cry, and objects flew around the room; glasses broke, and the sound of some infernal laughter soared through the mansion. The family lost nanny after nanny due to their fears, seeing things that weren't there or hearing voices of people long since dead haunting them. Lionel and Tryss blew it off as nonsense at first, but couldn't shake their worries much longer.

Summoning priest after priest to bless their child and admonish whatever demon or spirit had possessed her, each priest went screaming into the night after being tormented by beings they claimed were flying around them or feeling like hands were choking them with jagged fingernails.

Fed up, after months turning into years, a knock came at their door. Lionel and Tryss opened it to find none other than the Sorcerer Supreme himself, Doctor Strange. Keeper of magical knowledge and defender of those who wield it, Doctor Strange informed the parents that their child was gifted with magical abilities far beyond her current scope. Due to its nature, there was no hope of controlling it, save for keeping the child as happy as possible, as the force beholden to her would see she remain safe.

With knowledge imparted, Doctor Strange left the child in their care. A wise decision? Perhaps, perhaps not. Further along, Lionel and Tryss did their best to keep Cassie happy, but as any parent knows, the whims of a child do not care for logic and order, and every tantrum erupted in chaos and disorder.

So what were two out-of-their-depth parents to do? Especially God-fearing ones who believed this may even be the work of the devil?

Destroy the demon.

Cassie rested in one of the main sitting rooms along with an older woman. The lady was Dr. Prescott, a highly regarded psychologist. The two of them had been working together for a few years now and Cassie enjoyed her sessions. It ranged from talking about her dreams for the future (very sad once you heard it since all she knew was the walls in her own home), her interest in the boys she saw on TV when she was allowed to watch, and occasionally, a peek into her past and the fear and anxiety present whenever somethign triggered her. A fear that Cassie sometimes saw when she was near a body of water, the near panic when she took a bath and slipped underneath the surface. Images played out of a dark figure above her bed with a knife as it swung down toward her.

Sometimes, Cassie had a recurring dream where she was locked in her room. One might think that it isn't so bad if you saw her room and the sheer amount of things she had to entertain herself with, but even a well-designed and equipped prison was still a prison. Cassie would try to wrench open the door, begging and pleading to be let out. No one ever came. There was only loneliness. Fear. Terror. And an overwhelming sense that something was staring at her, into her.

Dr. Prescott had said it was PTSD, and Cassie felt the woman was silly, but never said it outright. PTSD required trauma, and surely Cassie didn't have that.

As Cassie got older, she discovered more about herself. She knew something was off when, after a moment of rebellion and sneaking out, she had been harassed by some drunk man coming out of a bar, and Cassie, after trying to run and being grabbed, did...something to him, causing boils and pus-filled bumps to appear on his skin. Cassie quickly ran back home after that and never snuck out again.

She practiced more, or as much as she could, but she never got the hang of it. Like her abilities had no sense ot them, no rhyme or reason.

Her parents didn't have answers and always seemed to want to change the subject. They expected much from her, having her homeschooled and taught lessons like piano, chess, and literature. Whenever Cassie asked to leave, her parents scoffed and said the world outside was much too dangerous and that God had plans for her to remain at home until she was married to start her own family.

Cassie obeyed, but time went on, and little doubts gave way to questions, and questions turned to demands. There was too much disorder going on inside of her, and she wanted to know. Her parents again tried to dissuade her, but she put her foot down. Literally. And a tremor ricocheted throughout the home.

So her parents finally informed her. They spoke about how she was born, what mess she created, the untold psychological damage she had done, and Doctor Strange's words. This, weirdly enough, calmed Cassie down. There was still chaos, but it felt more manageable now.

Cassie, when she could, did her research. She looked up Doctor Strange. She knew of the heroes that fought against evil, but what she hadn't expected was how close it had touched her own life. Cassie wanted more. She wanted to be able to control what she held within her. Doctor Strange seemed to know about her, and perhaps he knew what she could do. He had never spoken to her since, but she remained hopeful.

One day, she had discovered a place called Strange Academy. A place for those of the mystical arts to be trained and educated, it seemed as if fate was intervening for her.

Her parents, of course, refused. They knew she was dangerous. She fought them on it, claiming she was old enough to make decisions for herself.

So her parents locked her in her room. Her nightmare justified.

She thrashed and screamed until she felt something inside of her draw energy and....

Unleash.

Cassie had her bags packed and turned back to her home. The smoking hole that led into her room was the last thing she saw before she turned back to make for Strange Academy. And, hopefully, to her future.

Connie was born to a backwater hick of a mother who believed God had punished her with Connie. Evelyn had become pregnant with Connie after an ill-conceived one-night stand at a Mardi Gras party with some friends. Evelyn didn’t even know the man's name. She dropped out of college and moved back to her hometown, where she hid from everyone. After Connie was born, she went out more, mostly to church to atone for her actions.

Connie's abilities were seen as the worst possibility of a deal between Satan and God. Connie's mother believed she was suffering as Job had, and to free herself of the curse, she must cleanse Connie. The woman's definition of cleansing grew worse as Connie's abilities grew. These abilities were never entirely under control, though.

Somehow, word got to Connie's father, Andrew Winthrop, about her situation. How the word got to him was never something he told Connie, but late in the night, he took the small 10-year-old from her home and freed her. Andrew used a sling ring. It turned out that he was part of the Masters of the Mystic Arts.

For the first few years after rescuing Connie, Andrew was a constant in her life. He did little without her, even going so far as to take time off 'work'. When Connie showed she could control her innate magical ability under his tutelage, Andrew was incredibly proud. From him, Connie did learn a fair amount of healing magic. He couldn’t teach her about her transformation magic.

Eventually, Andrew was requested to return to the field. He asked that Connie be taught in the ways of protecting the Sanctums and her magical talents. Doctor Strange offered her a place in his Academy. Connie jumped at the chance. Her father, while a bit nervous that Connie's personality would clash in a 'school' setting, decided it might be the better choice. Providing her with socialization among people her own age who were also different, so she wouldn't have to hide her true nature. She has been attending Strange Academy's youth program since she was twelve years old. She graduated from the high school program last year and joined the upperclassman program. Her goal now is to improve her current skills and become a master of transformation and healing magic.

Finley was born in a strongly caste system of the Fae. They hate it. The Otherworld was their only home for a long time. Now, Dysphoria has arrived, and it’s time to GTFO.

Their family was not high in the hierarchy. They often found themselves having to follow the whims of their Lady, Opal Luna Saturnyne. Finley saw their parents caught in the maelstrom of machinations that the Courts play. As Finley came into their majority, they too started to get pulled into the whims of those higher in the caste than them. Prior to gaining Dysphoria, Finley toed the line of respectability in their world. They are constantly testing the rules and limits. As such, they’ve been in trouble a fair amount.

Finley’s parents cared for them, but the pressures of their society made it hard to be anything but distant. When Dysphoria joined Finley, they were able to argue that going to Earth was the best choice. Many of the other Fae shunned Finley after this happened. But they were happier than they had been their whole life. They finally felt free to be themself.

It is said that the seventh sons of the seventh sons all sprout from one lineage. No matter the distance or complexity, each of them can trace their roots back to the first homunculus, Alraune, born of a hanged man and a witch.

Darragh's life was an omen from conception. He was the seventh son of a seventh son, and was born strangled by his own umblical chord. At birth he was already deceased, but shortly after being pronounced dead he miraculously began to cry again. The doctors said it was a medical miracle, that it defied science. They never knew how right they were.

He grew up shunned for reasons he could never explain. People took an instinctive dislike to him. They had the seem feeling around him as they do around rotting flowers or empty graveyards. Not quite danger, but a presence that felt like it didn't belong. Animals steered clear. Lightbulbs burst when he cried. He learned early on not to try too hard to make friends.

The only person he had to rely on for a lot of his early life was his mother. His father was a deadbeat who only appeared when it suited him, and even then Darragh could feel how uncomfortable he felt around him. All of his life all he wanted was his approval, an approval he never got.

His father was an avid fan of MMA, and after a huge amount of pestering his mother relented and began to send him to Judo lessons. This grew his love for all things grappling which he carried throughout his life, even after he grew up. By the time he was twelve, his father had a new family. A new partner, a better job, a nicer flat across town he never invited Darragh to, but then came Aoife.

His half-sister was the only light in his life that didn't flicker. A quiet, curious girl who shared his pale eyes and none of the unease others felt around him. She followed him like a duckling and Darragh was eternally thankful his father allowed her to be around him as much as he did, despite the fact he knew this was because he couldn't bother to take care of her himself. For the first time, he felt needed, important. Older brothers were meant to protect, he tried his best to.

Her death wasn't violent, just stupid. His father had left her at home alone to go to the pub and she had managed to eat something with nuts in it, despite her deathly allergy. She was too young to understand the risks, or understand how to use her epi-pen or phone an ambulance. His father didn't even bother to show up to the funeral. Darragh never forgave him.

Something in him broke wide open after that. He felt like he'd woken up for the first time in his life. He began to see things, pale figures in bus windows, shadow people among trees, women in hospital gowns wandering across motorways. He could see the dead, plain as day. Strangely, he never felt shocked or scared of this. It was like finally meeting the crowd he'd always felt staring right at him.

Over the next few weeks he got better and better at seeing the figures, at communicating with them. But he only ever had one question - where was his sister? He never got an answer. With a tearfully written note he had to leave home, it had too many bad memories and he'd searched high and low for his sister to no avail. It was time to take to greener pastures, Limerick had never accepted him anyway.

The next few years blurred. He wandered, slept in abandoned buildings, worked odd jobs, travelled with grifters and the homeless, all the while honing his skills in private. He was angry, not just at the world, but at himself. For being born this way, for being part of whatever this was, for not being there to save his sister.

The more time he spent among the dead, the more he understood, it wasn't just that he could see them, but that they recognized him. Some greeted him by name, others hissed and turned away. He was marked, born different, and no matter how hard he tried to disappear, the other side never let him forget who he was. Spells came to him in fragments, some taught to him by the seventh sons who came before him from the other sides. Others came to him in a dream, like he'd always known them. He collected and practiced what he could.

He wouldn't have even known about the strange academy had he not been found. One night he'd gone too far. He was tired, starved, desperate, and most importantly - stupid. He thought he could rip a soul out of the dirt and force it to talk, thought he could barter with something older, something meaner, something that might know where she was. But whatever he summoned wasn't a soul, at least not a human one. It was a hulking monstrosity, more teeth than face. It could only laugh at him when he made his demands.

The thing tore through the cemetery like it had been waiting for the chance. Darragh fought it with everything he had, but his magic was too young, wild, and untrained. When he finally fell, clawed and dripping with blood, his reserves were depleted. He had nothing to fight it with, not that anything he had could have helped.

That was when the ground split open again - not from his foolishness this time. He silently prayed that the thing hadn't brought friends. He was lucky his prayers were answered. Suddenly A sword cleaved the thing in half. Through half conscious eyes he caught the sight of her, portal still burning behind as she cleaned off her blade. Illyana Rasputin. Magik.

She took pity on the young necromancer, nursing him back to health in Limbo and teaching her what she could about the control of magic. She was no teacher though, and after pulling a few strings managed to get him a place at the Strange Academy.

Darragh doesn’t talk about the future. It's hard for someone stuck in the past to see anything passed what's directly in front of their face. But if pressed, he'll admit he wants to control his power. To understand it deeply enough that he might finally find his sister, or find out why he never has. And, maybe, once he's done what he needs to do, he hopes he might earn a little peace. Just enough to sleep without voices.

Once upon a time, there was a kid named Jiro Tadashi. He lived in the countryside of Japan where people were superstitious to a fault, and for good reason. Just over a hill and down a long road, their town led into a place they called the Forest of Ghosts. From a young age as a kid, they always told him to never cross the hill, and that if he really had to for some reason, to only ever do so at midday. Not morning, not evening. Only when the sun was highest over his head.

The elders of his village told Jiro that if he ever walked into those woods, no one would look for him. They’d just assume he was dead.

One day, he started hearing whispers and odd noises past the hill, and so the young boy snuck out in the middle of the night. He went into the Forest of Ghosts. He set foot in a place where none should go, and the second he turned around, he was lost. The forest had him, and those odd whispers became a laughter.

A rabbit ran along the forest floor and stopped to stand on its back legs, and it stared at Jiro. Flowers bent themselves into crooked shapes to slow him down. Moss crept closer when he wasn’t looking, and every time he stopped to get his bearings, he could’ve sworn the trees were moving to follow him.

That was when he realized his mistake. And it was too late.

The longer he stayed in that place, the worse it got. In an hour, there were eyes forming out of the bark in the trees, and corpses started to emerge out of the forest floor to mock his decisions. Jiro walked for what felt like literal weeks, never finding the edge of that place, but always finding something else. He always found something more to walk through and hide in, no matter how far he walked. The place defied logic, it was cursed and as far from natural as one could understand. The Forest of Ghosts seemed to be normal from the outside, but once you were in there, it was a whole other world. You could walk into a valley of beautiful flowers, and the second you touched one, they would grab you and drag you down beneath a mile of dirt. Even the animals that were otherwise prey watched Jiro with the intent to kill him, whispering and stalking him at every opportunity.

Running for his life for so long that time stopped mattering, always looking over his shoulders to keep an eye on how much the trees moved and watching every last crease in the bark in case eyes started growing out of them changed the boy. There came a point when he started thinking like a prey animal more than he did a human being. He never slept more than minutes at a time, always moving again the moment he heard Namiki whispering on the winds. Jiro eventually got good at living like this. He carried rocks and broke them into the shapes of spearheads, using them to gut the rabbits that smiled rictus grins at him. He gouged out the eyes in the grass, and bled them dry when he didn't trust river water to be just water. Jiro packed his wounds full of moss that cackled quiet as a whisper when he wasn't looking, and tore out the throats of deer that tried to eat him alive, with nothing but his teeth.

In time, he found his way to the very heart of the forest, following the whispers that made the birds go quiet. The woods got so deep that a cloudless midday sun couldn't light the ground up. With a torch made of twine and dead leaves, Jiro walked in and found the monster that had perverted this place.

Namiki, the dead thing older than swords. Buried long before men invented firearms. A monster in the form of a tree, gaunt limbs, a face hewn out of bark and mired with lichen. He was a malevolent trickster, calcified by time and so much spite for the ones who imprisoned him in the woods, that it remained here.

The one thing it couldn't control in this forest was fire, so Namiki burned. And Jiro ran as he had run so many times since coming here. The fire spread in ways it shouldn't, turning the sky to grey and twisting over every rock and river running through the Forest of Ghosts. When the smoke became so thick that there was no more air to breathe, no matter how hard the boy ran, Jiro was swallowed up by it. It got inside his lungs and down into his soul, and it just wouldn't leave. It seeped into skin and left a void behind that life would spring from. Where wrong things would inevitably originate.

Namiki had his fun with Jiro, and now came the last laugh.

He felt the last gasp of the flowers. He heard the screams coming from every root and blade of grass. He saw the falling tears of the leaves that would never feel the sun again. It was as if a monster had reached into the parts of Jiro that made him who he was, grabbed them, and twisted. It distorted him, and something foundational to the human soul was left behind in that place.

The change labelled Jiro an enemy of the natural world, by something that couldn’t be further from natural itself. Everywhere he went, if nature had more authority than man, everything from prey to the very grass would rise up to hunt him until his last breath. Even after he left the forest, things had changed at home. He found that no one recognized him at first. Some people seemed older. Not by much, but they had a few creases in their face that he didn’t remember, or their hair was a few shades lighter from age. When they realized he had set the forest ablaze, the people put two and two together and attacked him. Viciously.

Jiro didn’t stop moving for weeks, and he eventually found his way to the coast, where he decided he still had to keep going. He used a knife made from bones and rocks to carve trees and driftwood into a raft, and then found that the raft had something magical about it. He didn’t question it until he was floating across the Pacific Ocean, when only three days passed before he hit dry land.

A teenager showed up to Strange Academy one day, covered in scars and smelling like blood and moss. He called himself Rohan, and nothing more. The boy demonstrated a magical gift for imbuing power into objects made from wood, and professed an interest in learning to hone that gift. In time, he eventually began researching curses and the tolls they took on mortal souls, hoping to find some measure of balance between it and his humanity.

He still hasn’t found it. But he’s trying.

Willow started life as a normal moth, with no real aspirations and no real goals aside from living her life as a moth. Like most of her kind she didn’t really know her parents as they had passed by the time she had hatched from her egg. That would have been Willow’s life as well, had not fate intervened and she made the most interesting connection that would forever shape her destiny.

One day as she was flittering through the forest she called home, she landed on the shoulder of the local forest witch, who seemed to be enamoured of the moth that had decided to rest on her shoulder. She took in Willow, giving her the name she would carry with her for the rest of her life and then also decided to help awaken the moth, to help extend her life.

Using a blessing and a token, the moth became a small girl that soon became empowered with the power of foresight. The young girl grew up in her home forest, learning about her powers as well as the land around her. However, she became witness to horrors that she would not have been aware of had she stayed a moth, and those horrors awoke her want to help others.

Her mentor and honorary aunt realized that the young woman would need more contact with the outside world and more specialized teaching than she could offer, and so helped enroll her student in the Strange Academy, and helped set her up a cell phone and social media account so that she could become more normalized. With that, Willow was sent off to the Academy with the hope that one day she can help keep her home from being destroyed and help make the world a better place.

The Macleod twins are relics of a time long gone, born in the throes of the Renaissance and the rise of the printing press. The twins lived a relatively sheltered life in northern Scotland. Travel was difficult in the 15th century and their coven was content with the village well south of Forres.

However with suspicion and fear of the supernatural rising out of Germany and carried on in ink, it wasn’t long until the witch hunts of the mainland spread to the Kingdom of England and beyond. When they were not yet twenty summers old, Elanor Cobham found imprisonment for life for treasonable necromancy and Margery Jourdemayne was burned at the stake in a market square. Both were once well connected and well established in their communities and yet it did not save them. Fear amongst the populace was encouraged and manipulated in a twisted game by the nobility of England and they sent their inquisition north, carrying Kramer’s Malleus Maleficarum.

They thought their village safe, nestled quietly in the foothills in the shadow of their mountain. The village traded less, hunted closer to home, and year by year became less and less present in the world. Their magic flourished and the children of the village played without fear and time was meaningless.

However, there were enough stories for the inquisition to find it.

They struck at night, the comfort of a century unbothered lulling them to safety. They carried torches and pitchforks and rope and kindling. The stench of burning flesh and the screams of men, women, and children carried across the hills into the uncaring darkness. Their family was not spared this horror. Their parents fought, like the others, but their murderers came prepared and their magic found no hold. A special pendant, bearing the mark of the Inquisition of England, was pressed against their coven and their magic broke and failed and the witches found themselves powerless.

If not for the ego of the Priest of Forres, the twins would not have been so lucky as to carry the horrors of their village with them. It was the children they could not bear to see hurt and as the Priest tossed the torch upon their own parents, the twins struck. Illusion and Enhancement, hand in hand, wove the death of all. Fire springing forth, spewing from their parents' mouths, finding purchase in the flesh of friend and foe alike. According to the Inquisition, the Devil himself dragged the village to hell in his wraith and none survived.

But the truth was, the twins burned it to the ground. Entranced in their domain, the twins set an uncontrollable blaze to consume the Inquisition and fled with the few survivors they saved. Neither of them were prepared to mourn their people nor handle the grief of those still living. They travelled the Scottish countryside, incorporating a few of their broken coven into new ones each time they stumbled across them until the twins found homes for all.

Sickened by the murders they committed and terrified of the newly created Church of England, the twins escaped England to the New World with Sir Walter Raleigh and assisted in establishing Roanoke. They were withdrawn and quiet, focused on working and presenting a godly image as they worked to find a way to escape. In 1591, a young girl introduced herself to the twins as a vampire and expressed her interest in turning and controlling the settlers. The twins agreed to help in exchange for their own freedom and kept the settlers calm and controlled until she struck. They disappeared into the wilderness for another two decades and reemerged in 1608, joining the citizens of Jamestown.

Their magic ensured questions about their age disappeared on the tongue, kept them well fed and unbothered, even as plague and famine ravaged the settlement. Poor planning had left the colonists without water and poorer tempers wore the relationship with the native people thin. The twins watched without interfering, only stepping in to help with the revolution of 1676 when Nathaniel Bacon ousted Governor Berkley. However, they disappeared when Berkely returned and began hanging those involved.

The twins reappeared some short years later in Salem, Massachusetts, where they found a distant relation, a child of one of those they saved many moons ago. They lived peacefully for a decade, before the witch trials started again. The twins watched as their history repeated itself but this time, the saviors they were had long been lost as they themselves condemned their kin to the flames. It had been too easy, when suspicion fell on them, to plant the devils’ iconography on her and invite the Salemites to find it.

During the 18th century, the twins shuffled from place to place and avoided the growing tension between England and the colonies. They would eventually find themselves in Boston, working in The Green Dragon Tavern. With the rise in tensions against the Crown, the twins once again found themselves assisting in the growth of revolution. Their magic wove privacy around the founding fathers, illusions making them unnoticeable and enchantment easing the concerns of questioning soldiers. Gossip from the RedCoats were a little louder in the tavern and lips a little looser. In the Siege of Boston towards the end of the revolution, the tavern was burned to the ground and the twins lost their home again.

They migrated west with the Louisiana purchase, settling in the melting pot New Orleans had become. When the War of 1812 was declared, the twins decided they would stay out of it and kept to their own business. Intending to stay this time, the twins put down roots. Peadrus entered the workforce as a teacher, using his illusions to age and die as necessary. Again, they decided not to intervene with major events and keep their heads down so they could finally stay in one place.

Unfortunately, a threat to their growing home appeared and the twins found themselves stepping in again. In 1815, whispers made their way to the twins that Andrew Jackson was poised to lose his final skirmish. Outnumbered and outgunned again, the British had the upper hand and were poised to strike the next day. Under the cover of darkness, Peadrus slipped the pair behind the British lines and Pàrlan messed with Edward Pakenham’s head. In the morning, the British assault was disorganized and messy, leaving them with 2,000 dead and wounded. Jackson went home a military genius and the twins contently settled back into their lives.

It was in the Gilded age that they joined a “coven”. A wealthy plantation owner found fun and mystery in the supernatural and the twins, curious to see if it drew any real bumps in the night, offered to participate. The word coven, the twins realized, was loose indeed and it became more of a gathering of debauchery and decadence. Some real powers floated in and out: a moody Asgardian goddess, a vampire, the occasional sorcerer or witch, a demon, an eldritch horror, a Moon Knight, and even a Ghost Rider once. They passed a decade in a pleasurable haze of drugs, sex, and wealth until Marcus.

Marcus was an easy sort, energetic and eager and the twins were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The three of them became close friends and eventually, they opened up about their magic and found acceptance. Marcus joined them at their home, broke bread with them, and even helped Peadrus at the schoolhouse. He’d blown in from the growing west coast, scars waved away as civil war injuries, and slotted himself perfectly into their lives.

Which was why, when he tried to kill them, it shattered their trust forever. Marcus was a vampire hunter, a descendant of Sir Walter Raleigh, who had discovered the truth and swore to save his people from the clutches of the Devil. The twins part had been discovered through a mix of magic and torture and Marcus was tasked with eradicating them. The resulting fight was entirely one-sided, the twin’s magic unsuited for direct engagements, but their spells managed to find purchase and they broke his mind, leaving him at a workhouse where he’d work out the rest of his miserable life in deplorable conditions.

The Twins followed the Klondike gosh rush, settling in Seattle for a while. Although they had worked odd jobs at the beginning, the twins opened their own speakeasy in 1920 as the aggressive prohibitions against alcohol were signed into law. Although their magic was used in a pinch, the pair more often sold out their competitors to the authorities (and offered a hefty discount) to ensure their business was safe and enshrined as a center of the underground community. After the end of prohibition, they stayed until the end of World War 2 and sold their bar.

The twins found themselves in Memphis, enrolled in a local high school to keep up with the world at large. It was there they met Elvis, a struggling guitarist with a unique hillbilly style and a blend of cultural music that inspired the worst in people. The twins saw the desperation for fame and fed on it, weaving magic behind his back that made the people love him. He walked out of high school signed by a record label and the twins rode his fame, and more, for an easy life. Nothing more than a charm here, a hex there, and drugs, sex, and music numbed everything else. They were… concerned for their stability when Elvis was drafted was unfounded, the early work they did still holding strong with the addition of records made on his leave. They lived on their golden egg, rode it plenty too, up until the early 1970s when they decided to slip out of bed one night and never return. They didn’t hear of his death until 2001.

This would repeat over the next few decades, clinging to blossoming talent, building their careers for an easy life, and then abandoning and forgetting them when they moved to their next project. Rarely would the twins stick their necks out or get themselves involved in world affairs - they left no footprint, no tracks or marks, no paperwork for someone to find them. Occasionally, they would rehome a werewolf, get a vampire out of the sun, direct a baby witch to the proper herbs and books, but each time they charmed their memories, or never let them see the real them, so that what happened in New Orleans would never happen again.

Of course, whispers of a school for the magically talented reached even them. They believed it a lie, a falsehood circulated by hunters and madmen alike to capture their kind and kill or keep them. They never knew which was worse. But with the itch to settle down again growing, they found themselves back in New Orleans, the French Quarter louder and busier than ever before, and it was true.

The first year was… difficult. Magic was something woven in backrooms, talked in hushed tones far away from the normal people, kept close and under lock and key. Sharing the art was the first step to dying. The more people who knew a secret, the less it would be kept. They'd learned that lesson in blood and fire and every fiber of their being screamed it was only a matter of time.

But the hunters didn't come. Ambition and greed were certainly present, the promise of miracles too tempting for some, but no one turned on each other. The faculty were genuinely interested in advancing magic, the students eager to learn, and it was… good. It was good.

Maybe a little too bright, though. It was difficult to trust, to connect to people younger and less narrowed, to see the naivety for the safety it indicated. So, the twins made The Haven. Established up in the Neverish, this replica of their Seattle speakeasy connects directly to the school and is an escape for those who need a place to be themselves, as twisted, dark, or just plain dull as that might be. It's a place to relax, where the Twins can enforce the safety, and offer job experience to students who have difficulty finding somewhere in the normal place to work.

There is a hope that now, five years after joining the Academy, this could be forever. But 6 centuries have taught the twins that the other shoe will always drop just when you get comfortable…

Dysphoria made their way into Otherworld by accident, on the back of a poor host that could barely sustain them. It was there the symbiote met the perfect host: Finley. Spurred on by their natural curiosity and Finley’s desire to escape, Dysphoria aided Finley in their escape from the strict caste system of Otherworld and returned to a world where she was created but had no memories of.

With the help of Nicholas and Barty, Dysphoria and Finley managed to find shelter at Strange Academy after eating a police officer when they first stepped into this world. Now Dysphoria explores the world of magic and wonder with Finley, eager to see more and eat more, in all the ways it means.

Annika Hawthorne-Falling Star was reborn in the middle of a battle on All Hallow’s Eve in New York City. After bravely fighting Ananym and the evils of Limbo, Annika was reborn after handling Pandora’s Box and entrusted to the care of Jack Hawthorne and the Everdark.

Growing up with an eccentric shadow man and a world full of shadows had its challenges, but also its rewards. By the time Annika was 12, she had been all over the world(s) multiple times over. She learned the secrets of the Everdark and was an apt pupil. However, she and Jack continued their search in finding Annika’s people and her home. When she discovered that most of her people had been killed off in wars, the Sixties Scoop and Residential Schools, she became dedicated to learning all she could and committed to preserving her heritage.

A new source of magic came to her then, linking her to her ancestors and the powers they wielded in order to protect other Indigenous communities and vulnerable people. With her curious nature and passion for knowledge, Annika was quickly able to expand her shadow expertise from her adoptive father and develop ancestral magic to commune with nature and spirits.

But working with the shadows comes with a price. This was a fact her father taught her well on but it didn’t really hit her until she lost her father. Not even when she found a magical book in the dark recesses of her home in the Everdark that altered her path. Seeing her father disappear was something she could never prepare for. The Everdark always comes to collect, and it is a fear Annika has. She wants to learn other magic to expand her knowledge, and she wants to find a way to stabilize the magic she gets from the Everdark.

Annika wants to make friends and hopes to form more relationships. Now that Jack is gone, she craves more human interaction. Her intelligence, creativity, and curiosity make her passionate in all areas of life and living.

Somewhere in the Caribbean, hiding from prying eyes, lives an ancient colony of dragons. Their biggest predator being humans who inhabit the islands around their invisible home. Of course, things don’t always remain secret when living among the supernatural. Callaghan was born during the Sun’s zenith over his home during a time of peace. The blinding light and instant warmth he experienced resonated with him and shaped the colour of his skin and his scales. From a young age, he learned to hunt and fly, using his dragonic skills to train and be an accomplished hunter for his family. However, he always remained curious and developed a hunger for knowledge.

Pirates invaded Callaghan’s home island, searching for jewels and the glory of killing dragons. There were large casualties on both sides, and Callaghan’s family lost an entire generation of knowledge keepers, and Cal lost his father. The pain of loss made Callaghan suspicious and judgmental of new people and other cultures, even with his desire to know more. It also made him more of a hunter and a stronger defender of his home and vulnerable people.

Cal's mother's generation became the next set of knowledge keepers, ushering in a new age of curiosity and acceptance. Cal, along with two others, was the new generation that needed protecting. With Cal's desire to know more, his mother tasked him with the duty of gathering information on how to live with the humans of Earth and create alliances with other species. On his journey, Cal came across Mikkail, a professor at Strange Academy. This connection led to Cal enrolling in to Strange Academy.

Due to the secrecy of Cal's people, only Professor Mikkhal knows the true nature of Callaghan and his dragon. For all intents and purposes, Cal is a shapeshifter who favours the form of a red-gold dragon. Cal does not have a particular affiliation with jewels or shiny things, but instead covets knowledge. Something Strange Academy is not short on. Cal attends the academy to gain knowledge for his people and create connections that will ensure the longevity of his people by any means necessary.

Being born in a magical family often comes with several responsibilities.

Luckily, or rather unluckily, the Linares Golemancy family has slowly been dying, born during the 1756, they were one of the many families focusing on a specific branch of magic, which in their case was golems, working with clay and wood was something that every scion of the house was taught to do from the moment they were able to able to hold a tool, however it wasn’t until 1930 that they enjoyed a surge in power and popularity thanks to the breakthrough of one of their members, one Pedro Linares Lopez, who in a dream came with a technique to infuse the golems with magic in such a way that a spirit was created to animate the body. With their rise in popularity and the growing acceptance of ‘Alebrijes’ as part of Mexican culture there was a growth in resources and opportunities that several members took advantage of, creating high end golems using the exotic materials and the inspiration given by their new family leader.

Sadly, the family suffered an unexpected hit with Pedro’s death in 1992, where once the spirits surged forth now it took months or even years of careful dedication to birth one more spirit.

That was the legacy Pancho was born into.

Well, not that he really minded, despite the doom and gloom the older generation liked to spew he was having a jolly good time. Sure it sucked that ol’Pedro died but it wasn't like it was the end of the family or their capacity to make golems. So, he just enjoyed life, playing with cousins and friends alike, beach trips, parties, hanging around like hooligans and making stuff that he found interesting. As far as he was concerned he was having quite the sweet life

It got even sweeter once he made his first Golem.

There is a tradition inside the Linares, for your first Golem you get anything you want, within limits. After someone ordered pure Ivory back when the family was doing better a spending limit was chosen and it had gone down with time. Still, it was more money he had ever had at his disposal in his 15 years of life. That is to say nothing of the Family vault, where certain exptic materials gathered dust, waiting for their moment to shine.

He didn't even bother looking inside it.

The same day he spent 15 years on this earth he gathered all the materials he needed. Paper, ribbons and other supplies from the old family paper store where he went whenever he needed something for school, he went around the neighborhood bothering neighbors and family for old cereal boxes and newspapers, and he visited the same park where he spent many childhood summers to pick sticks and branches. When the night came and all his relatives arrived to watch his ceremony he was already hard at work. Such ceremonies were and still are rare, the last one was for one of his cousins over a year ago.

Truth be told he doesn't remember much of that night, he remembers tightening ribbons, folding paper, arranging sticks and painting a lot. Then he let exhaustion take care of him. It is the norm for his family to not remember their dreams during the Alebrije Binding, yet, he can't forget the distinct impression of running and laughter. What he definitely remembers is the feeling of something wet running over his face and awakening him with a giggle.

The funniest part of that morning was the face his parents made when they came to check on him and found him playing fetch with Cholo, his first Golem.

After that day some things changed but most remained the same, even if some of his family now looked at him weird or whispered whenever he was nearby, at least the gifts he got from time to time were nice. He was not dumb, he knew what he did was something not seen since ol’Pedro himself but personally he just thought they all were being silly, they already did the same thing and just got weirded out because someone else did it faster. And when the old people of the family came in to question him he told them exactly that. Not his brightest moment in hindsight but in his defence he was already dreaming of making his Bocolitos by that time so he was extra distracted.

There was some shouting around that day.

Still, family they were and things returned to normal, he made some more golems, attended school and generally enjoyed himself.

Then, one day there was a change.

Rumors of an Academy for the magical reached their little section of the world. Normally he wouldn't have heard anything but ever since his 18th birthday the old crones of the family nagged at him to sit in on every meeting between themselves. And this was the first time he gave his attention to the topic discussed. Boy was he glad he did. There was heavy discussion about sending someone as a chance to learn more about it, and about their craft. He volunteered… and was promptly rejected by the old hags that claimed he was some kind of family treasure and that they couldn't allow that kind of danger near him. Ah but you see, he was more intelligent that people gave him credit for, the same night he sneaked past everyone and set course to Strange Academy with only his essentials and what he (Ventura and Elena) could carry.

That day was the day he heroically fled his home in order to save his falling bloodline and not because he was curious and caught in a flash of whimsy.