Jaromir Krol

Name: Jaromir Stefek Krol
Nicknames: Jarry if you want to annoy him?
Titles: None
Date of Birth: 29th December, 2002
Age: 17
Blood Status: Half-Blood
Hometown: Slupsk, Poland
Current Home: Orkney, Scotland
Nationality: Polish
School: Durmstrang, Hogwarts
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Wand: 11 3/4", Dragon Heartstring, Linden


Hair Color: Black
Hair Style: Straight, jaw-length
Eye Color: Blue grey
Body Type: Skinny, lanky
Height: 6'3"
Other Distinguishing Features: Really bad laugh
Clothing Style: Literally wears jackets all year around. Hates leather. Likes lighter materials, except for coats / jackets, when he has the heaviest possible thing. Pretty casual style but hates trainers / sneakers.



Modern living has it's charms at times, but when I close my eyes I picture myself living in times of the past.

I'm part of the great Roman empire, with a whip and a toga; lashing the heathens to the cross. I'm a Daimyo of Edo, with a thousand Samurai devotees: protecting the land and the trade routes with honour or death. I'm part of the British Empire, the USSR, the Zulu tribe of Southern Africa, Grindlewald's army, Voldemort's death eaters, musket-bearing, wand-sparking, heads on spikes, men in chains, fear and terror: all those good things lost.

It is a natural disposition for humans to have enemies. When we have no enemies, we make them. They're not doing this right, they're not giving us enough, this group of people have more than those, let's blame the government, let's blame those believers, let's blame each other. On, and on, and on. There's no stopping it. At least I know who my enemies are, and at least my reason for hating them is perfectly justified: they walk in the night, they will hurt your children, they will drink your blood.

But no. No.

There is more sympathy for these creatures today than there would have been at any other point in history. No - I am the devil at work here, apparently, because I want to put an end to something that kills and slaughters for their own thirst and sometimes, entertainment.  

Yes: I want them dead. I want them gone. I want their heads on display to serve as a reminder to all the others still prowling around. Biding their time.

The Zaima's can't be trusted. They're all too soft. They will have two hunted to our twelve, and that's why we're here in Britain: to pick up the pieces.