The list of the familiars accepted at Blatherskite includes several familiars usually seen on other schools’ lists, including (but certainly not limited to):
But Blatherskite also accepts several more familiars, including (but, again, entirely not limited to):
Special Programmes and Conditions:
Most of the familiars accepted by Blatherskite can be useful for students with special needs. Blatherskite is the proud pioneer in wix-familiar communications magicks, though cautions that these spells and procedures are still in their infancy, and not at all mandatory.
Students are free to choose if (and to what extent) they wish to participate in Linking, where a student’s mind is magically Linked—to a point—with their familiar. There are, of course, advantages and disadvantages, and students who choose to Link are free to choose to dissolve the Link at any moment. Blatherskite respects every student’s right to choose.
Students who feel it necessary to take their familiars to classrooms are free to do so so long as the familiar is well-trained. Students who feel capable of caring for more than one familiar may apply to have their familiars recognised as service animals (or, in the case of pixies, aids), and a second creature may be brought to live with said student. Students may have more than one service animal, Linked or otherwise.
For those students averse to Linking but still wishing to have a familiar to aid them in day to day life, Blatherskite has unique species of cephalopods which are capable of learning International Magical Sign Language, as well as bats capable of communicating via audible variants of echolocation for those students with difficulty hearing, vocalising, or seeing. There are also available, in limited number, echolocation talismans, which allow the bearer to use something akin to bat and dolphin echolocation to find their way around Blatherskite’s winding, serpentine corridors.
For students who prefer to remain wholly as they are, the Blatherskite staff includes a full roster of professors who specialise in special-needs teaching. Blatherskite provides dictation books and braille books for those with impaired vision, as well as large print books. For access to these books outside of a classroom environment, students need only notify the librarian, Madam Marie Hart, whether in sign language, verbally, or in writing. All corridors, doors, potions ingredients, menus, and every edition of the school paper are labeled with or contain braille, and a simple wandless, nonverbal spell will be taught to students who want to switch printed words into braille or label something themselves.
Blatherskite prides itself in being the most wheelchair-accessible magical school in the world, with gently sloping corridors in lieu of stairs, wheelchair-accessible classrooms, wheelchair-accessible dining halls, wheelchair-accessible toilets, and wheelchair-accessible sleeping quarters.
Some notes regarding and disadvantages to Linking:
Notes on the familiars:
What kind of jellyfish? one of the minuscule harmless ones or one of the weird orange ones that sting really well?
Well, actually, the deadliest jellyfish in the world are the box jellyfish, and some of the species of box jellyfish are the Common Kingslayer and the Irukandji, some of the smallest species of jellies in the world! The Kingslayers, for example, have bells that are usually only 3cm long!
These jellies are found around Blatherskite, actually, and the school’s swimming pool and other water pools are specifically warded against such jellies.
This is beautiful
Ah, I’m so glad that you liked it!
His first breath was his father’s last.
Clay, earth, water, and blood were only some of what went into crafting his shell, shaped and sculpted and painstakingly measured and adjusted. Countless failures surrounded him, lining the walls and propped up against tables and chairs. Most wore serene expressions of sleep and peace, but others—the newer ones—sported grimaces that ranged from uncomfortable to agonising, and the cracked, sharp-edged holes in their faces and heads told the story of their gifts of mercy.
When he woke on a table, lights flickering around him and pieces of crockery stuck to his skin, the first thing he thought was, Juval is my father’s name. The second, bafflingly enough, was, Yuval is my name. He sat up and looked down at his fingers and hands, flecked with blood and mud and clinging clay, at the muscles twitching experimentally in his thighs, at his wiggling toes. He shifted and more fragments of baked, leftover clay fell off of the tabletop, clattering to his right and falling with hushed thumps to his left.
Curious at this, Yuval looked over the edge of the table to see what was causing the anomaly and discovered his father’s lifeless corpse, spread haphazardly along the floor where he had fallen and newly covered with clay fragments. A great sadness overcame him, and he stood with the intention of coming to his father’s side.
His legs, still weak from birth, gave out underneath him.
On the floor, Yuval looked into the face of the man that had given him life and reached up to touch his withered face. His father had been an attractive man, once. Worry and stress had given him many lines, but there was still something very proud about him all the same. Yuval thought he looked handsome even in death, though his skin felt soft and fragile as tissue. In one hand, he clutched a small, thin book. In the other, almost fallen from his fingers, he held a polished stick.
Yuval sat up and carefully took these things from him, gingerly setting the stick aside and opening the palm-sized tome. The leather binding it was worn soft and supple with age and use, and Yuval was surprised to note that he could read the curious symbols scrawled on the pages within. One of the nearby lights—a candle, his mind supplied—floated nearer to aid him in the dimness, and he bent his head to read.
Oddmund teaches Magizoology at Blatherskite as far away from the actual water as he can. He relies on the merfolk and the glashan who reside in and around the school when he needs a specimen brought up from the depths, but he also teaches the students about creatures not found in the world’s waters, like dragons and unicorns.
If you look on the Books and Requirements page, there’s a slide up in the slideshow that shows a very terrifying-looking fish creature with sharp teeth and a humanoid torso. This is what Oddmund turns into without his talisman, and it’s the absolute last thing he wants his students to experience.
As for Ruathym, you have to understand Drow culture. Everyone can and will kill you, in a Drow society. Your father, your brother, your lover, your child. You can trust literally no one but yourself. There is no actual word for “love” in Drow. The word “love” in Drow, ssinssrigg, is the same word for “lust” and “greed”. They can only equate love and tenderness to sex, greed, or physical attraction. Marriages are never for love, but for convenience, ascension, and politics.
Also, all Drow, from a very young age, have an inflated sense of superiority drilled into them. Think of pureblood wizards sneering at half-bloods and Muggleborns. Now imagine that, a thousand-fold. Drow are better than humans, better than elves, better than centaurs, better than anything and everyone. Drow are even better than each other. They are competitive and arrogant and vain.
Since Oddmund spoke Undercommon, the language spoken most in the Underdark where dark things like the Drow live, we can assume that he knew of Drow society and, as such, Oddmund was, in a sense, willfully insulting him. The only things that kept Oddmund from being killed on the spot? Ruathym’s stubborn streak of mercy, and his injuries. Oddmund would have been slain by any other Drow in an instant for his disrespect. Ruathym didn’t want to kill Oddmund and (though he was really pushing it) that’s what saved him.
Human wizards are very arrogant. Coming from a Drow, that says a great deal.
Unless you had a wand, you were somehow lesser. Weaker. Woefully unenlightened, mystical, exotic and uncomprehending of the true wonders of magic. Poor creature. They’d make room for you somehow in this world, where you’d live dreadfully disadvantaged. Fear not. They’d educate and guide you, and perhaps you, too, could achieve some meagre greatness by proxy.
It made him sick.
He was Ruathym of House A’Daragon, blood of one of the oldest lines in the Underdark, an elite assassin who proudly served Lolth the Spider Queen and was blessed by her, becoming the first Curseborn in generations. He was smarter, faster, deadlier than most other Drow. Where most humans needed sticks and words, he could kill with a glance or a gesture—tear the sanity in a person’s head up from the roots and crush it in his fingers like a dry clod of earth.
Trouble was, no one gets to shine in the Underdark without attracting their fair share of predators. Day and night, he was hunted. Poisons, swords, daggers, magic. All were used against him for what seemed to him every waking moment, and there were even some ambitious attempts when he achieved reverie.
Such are Drow, competitive and cruel, vicious when upstaged or outranked, but never barbaric. No, not they. Soft and subtle, that was the way. Courtesy and charm even in the face of your most hated rival. Trust no one, but aim to be trusted. All the sweeter it was to betray them.
Hello! No, this is the first time that this has been asked, and I’m glad you did! Well, the owls are restricted to land deliveries, and they can’t very well go underwater. They’re not sea birds, and going down to the Blatherskite campus would probably kill them.
There’s a tiny, magical outpost that’s warded very heavily with Muggle-repelling charms in the “middle” of the Bermuda Triangle, “middle” being used as a vague term the way you’d say “the middle of nowhere”. Blatherskite moves all along the sea floor in the Triangle, and the outpost is spelled to follow it and stay within several metres of it, where the owls may land and are fed and watered before being released. From there, all letters and packages are transferred from the owls to moray eels.
There are over 700 species of moray eels, so there are always eels of different patterns and sizes coming in and out of the Blatherskite mail pool, and they come from tropical waters all over the world. All eels that work for the outpost are charmed to deter sharks and other predators, and they’re fed—with tongs and feeding sticks, as moray eels have very poor eyesight—very nicely with crustacean meat for their troubles, so it’s a sort of symbiotic relationship that the eels develop with Blatherskite and the outpost; they get fed daily, they have to swim very short distances, since the outpost is never terribly far from Blatherskite itself, and they have no fear of predators. Most of the species under the employ of the outpost are very docile, so they become almost domesticated and very happily receive affection from their caretakers and Groundskeeper Brookes.
All mail is delivered in pouches that have been charmed to repel water, and the pouches themselves are made of dragonhide or something similar, so that the eel’s teeth don’t shred it. They swim up through special tunnels and into a mail pool in the centre of the dining hall, where they will swim up to students who bear the names on the envelopes they carry. Larger packages will often be delivered between two or more eels, and all eels fully expect a treat for delivering their designated letters. Be warned: if no treat is forthcoming, expect a nasty bite that you’ll get little sympathy for.
Any outgoing mail is sent the following morning when the mail-time rush pours in, or if it simply can’t wait, there’s a small bell at the mail pool that might be struck that will have an eel dispatched to pick up, but that eel will expect twice the number of treats for being summoned at such an indecent hour. (Any hour after the morning rush is indecent to an eel.)
The mail pool doubles as a viewing area for the dining hall, since it’s decked out with corals and anemones and scores of tropical fish. Alas, due to the risks inherent in living in an area that gets dozens of eel traffic a day, there are no lobsters, shrimp, or crabs.
Below the cut are some of the eels that you may find at the mail pool!
It’s called Blatherversity, and I’m going to be using it to post spells, food, potions, history—anything and everything about the world surrounding Blatherskite, but that doesn’t have to do with Blatherskite directly.
Yes, of course! I plan to make posts about many, many places and things. I love things that are only briefly or vaguely mentioned in canon, since you have so much artistic freedom. If you have any headcanons, feel free to share them and I’ll credit you in the post!
Ahhhh, thank you! Half of the credit goes to themonsterblogofmonsters for all their wonderful books! But, yes, it was a lot of effort. I’m going to take a break from coding for a day or two. My left eye has started to twitch. Thank you so much for this wonderful message. It’s so nice to know that I’m appreciated!