(This is very long and basically I’m throwing most of my not-human OCs at your beautiful Elsewhere Uni and seeing what happens because I am addicted to Elsewhere University. Um, quick background based on the universe these guys are from - vampires are a lot like Fae in that they have a ‘true’ form except they start out as humans and then get infected with the vampire curse, werewolves are locked in a time-cycle that resets every full moon, witches have various specialties but can be Really Extremely Powerful (see Lady Stormcaller) and people with giant blood are immune to any and all magic.) Thank you for this, this is awesome, hope I didn’t muck anything up!)

They have an odd relationship with Elsewhere’s Court, a tense and uncertain kind of mutual respect. Places like the University attract people like the Dauntless crew, places where strange is normal and normal is strange, where the crows are too intelligent and superstitions aren’t so silly. Nobody can recall when they showed up, although a few of the professors do remember a time when the Crew wasn’t at the University.

Sometimes, when strange, wicked Other things come crawling towards the University, the Crew will disappear for a few nights, and the baying of the Court’s hounds will be joined by the howls of wolves and the screeches of…something. This is their home too, after all, even if some of the students go missing after talking too loudly in the library. Locke’s clothes are too dark, and shadows seem to coil around his hands and feet. He’s kind enough, but his smile is a shade to predatory and his movements are too silent and too fluid to be wholly human. They don’t like him much, and he doesn’t like Them either, so the two parties stay out of each other’s way. He’s unhealthily fearless too - has a passion for nighttime wandering of rooftops and secluded corridors that should have gotten him vanished already - but every so often he shows up with a not-human in tow, who might be a man and who definitely has black eyes (how many is up for debate). He has an uneasy relationship with the crows - he ignores them and they ignore him. He switched majors twice before now, but it seems he’s finally settled on Criminal Justice, following the old principle of “keep your enemies closer”. Vifil is a music major, a boy with the lovely voice and the talented fingers that danced on strings drew Them closer with every note. It didn’t occur to Them that he was so good because he’d had so long to practice - centuries, in fact - until they saw that underneath the rough burn scars that wrapped around his torso, his chest didn’t move to breathe. Once They noticed that, they saw the faint reddish light in his eyes and the way his teeth were just a shade too long, and his audiences seemed to evaporate. He still sang of salt and iron, though, of ancient wooden ships and stormy seas. He doesn’t go out in the sun, not ever, and he always sits in the coldest corner. Camille is the PoliSci major and girl who dances with shadows, red hair fanning out like flames behind her. She doesn’t sing well, Vifil once joked that her singing voice was comparable to a horse with a throat infection, but she’s a lovely flutist and an incessant flirt. No one is certain if she’s sleeping with Vifil or Locke (it’s both, and the boys occasionally take a night all to themselves as well - or all three of them will get together), and no one is brave enough to ask. The Gentry keep their distance from her like all the rest, taking note of her too-sharp smile and the red glint in her eyes. They’ve seen the inhuman silhouettes on the rooftops, though, and they don’t take kindly to it. These humans have already been claimed by the Fair Folk, they say without words. You cannot have them. Camille respects that much, if nothing else, although the occasional biology or chemistry major will go missing if they ask too many questions. The Gentry don’t much care about that. Slip is an enigma, the Culinary Arts student with a medicinal bent. They’re difficult to talk about - nobody can be quite certain if they’re referring to them or Them when the two are mentioned in the same conversation. But Slip is a kind and helpful soul who laughs at bad jokes and stitches up wounds without question and adds extra salt to whatever they’re making (“freely given,” always freely given) - or no salt at all, but that would cost you a favor. Their favors could be simple, a painting or a story or a poem (they’re a lot like Them, they like art but especially about the sea). Their favors can also be not-so-simple, a piece of semi-precious metal (never silver) a talisman, a sentimental token. Nobody can tell why they collect these things (really, they are so very much like the Gentry), but Slip is often far easier to deal with than They are, despite the sharp smile and the red glint in their eyes. Slip values the material, and the material is easier to replace. Amber is strange, but humanly so - she talks to herself, doesn’t quite get all the social cues there are to get, and keeps bright orange noise-canceling headphones in her bag. That’s part of the reason she and the Gentry don’t get along, but you suspect another part of it has to do with the way the bunsen burners light up without being turned on, or the way the heaters kick into high gear when she’s around. Salt and iron line her doors and windows, and there’s a copper disk hung above the door. Nobody asks about it, and her things never go missing. She’s actually quite good at finding lost things, even though she’s blind and by all rights, shouldn’t she lose things more often? She’s a guide for the high schoolers who come through, looking for a University. She hasn’t lost a student yet. Maybe it’s because the myths she hasn’t lived through, she’s read over and over again. Avali is loud and quiet at the same time - rarely speaking, but when he does he commands attention by sheer volume. He disappears with the full moon, and when he does you can hear howling in the woods. He keeps to himself but he can hear you whisper from down the hall, and he always seems to know when someone’s talking shit. The first time, you might get a bit of red paint on your door. The second time, it won’t be paint, and it won’t be just the red, either. The third time, you become another name on a missing person form, unless you are very, very lucky. They may not like the Gentry much, but they respect them. On the other hand, if he likes you, you might find a piece of iron jewelry slipped under your door. Egil is quieter than his brother but just as forceful. His eyes are strangely yellow, and he has scars on his face and arms. His hearing is almost as good, but he’s almost an afterthought in his brother’s shoulder, despite being the elder (by all of twelve minutes). His eyes are better, though, and if his brother hears you and doesn’t like what you’re saying, those yellow eyes of his will show up in your dreams after you wash off the red paint. The air always smells like ozone around Thunderstrike. Her lover appears on rare occasions, a red-bearded man who makes the air crackle. She can’t use computers - they short out whenever she comes near, but she eats the over-salty french fries like candy, and always feeds the crows. Stay indoors when the lightning starts to flash, and you’ll be fine - just remember she earned that name Thunderstrike, no matter how little power it holds over her. Selam’s eyes aren’t yellow, green, or even hazel - in fact, they’re dark brown - but there’s a lamplike quality to them all the same. She’s more fun than the twins, more likely to laugh at your jokes (especially the puns - she loves puns) and less likely to trick you into owing her a favor like Torrir or Slip. She’s an engineer, specializing in prosthetics - the one the replaces her missing arm changes every few weeks or so, but it always looks sharp and spindly and a little bit wrong. Aoife healed the wings of a crow once, and she hasn’t gotten lost since. Sunlight clings to her pale hands and her freckled arms, and she can always be relied upon for a band-aid, a gauze, or stitches - sometimes free of charge, but her prices are more conventional than some others. She might ask for homework help, a shiny bracelet or a few chocolates (the chocolates go to her girlfriend), but not for names or souls or old bones (she collects the bones herself, and names and souls are useless to her). She’s from the Old Country, an ancient Ireland that never quite existed except in hushed stories told around campfires, and she knows the rules like the palms of her hands. She often plays the Gentry’s games, but never bets more than she can heal (she bet two of her fingers once, and the one she lost grew back within a month). She disappeared for a week once and came back with a fine pair of earrings. Since then, she’s treated more of the Court’s injured than she can recall. An uneasy truce is still a truce, after all. Lady Stormcaller is as fearsome as the Gentry themselves, a woman who has toppled castles with a gesture and devastated islands with a scream. Her hair gleams silver in the moonlight, and she keeps enough iron on her person to arm a platoon. Most of it is knives, some of it lives in the old walking stick she carries around. She vanished shortly after arriving, leaving storm clouds and scorch marks in her wake. Sometimes, war screams and wild laughter will echo back from the depths of the Elsewhere - ignore them. She has a score to settle and a husband to avenge. Valla is tall and fierce, and magic holds no hold over her - old blood runs strong in her veins, the blood of giants, heroes, and conquerors. She is a warrior with bloody hands and cold eyes, and a storyteller with songs and sagas on her lips. She walks a fine line with Gentry, trading small favors for a poem or a song. She followed one of Them into the Elsewhere once, to pay for the death of a mother-turned-murderer, and came home with a new language to teach. Torrir is gentler than his sister, and slow to anger, but also far slower to forgive. Those who are quick of temper must also be quick to forgive, but patient folk have long memories. Amber’s fires splash off him like water, and he collects favors almost without meaning to, offering advice to anyone who complains aloud. Like his friends, he never asks for much, but something about him is just ever so slightly off. Temple asks too many questions. His eyes are red, but his teeth are normal and he doesn’t hide from the sun - quite the contrary, he revels in it. He’s tall and strong and beautiful, but his lover is the jealous type so it’s just as well his loyalty is so fierce. The Gentry are wary of him - danger births danger, as the saying doesn’t quite go, and the Lady is dangerous enough without her son at her side. One-Eye was a captain once, the captain of a beautiful ship, and he’s still the captain of her crew. He’s a creature of logic and rules and impossibilities all wrapped up in one (so really, is it any wonder he chose Law as his major?), and that mangled eye of his sees more than it should (but don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret he’s killed to keep). The voices he hears aren’t always human, and they aren’t always strictly heard, either. He doesn’t have much to trade - he sold his soul long ago, for something far more precious than knowledge - but he was human once, and humans can fight dirty all they like. He’s never lost that particular ability, but sometimes it’s fun to see just how far he can stretch the rules before they break. He always feeds the crows, though, and crosses running water whenever he sees it. The salt in his pockets comes from ancient seas, and the iron was forged into cold steel - he was a dangerous man once, and only the second half of that has changed.

A few people have mentioned that some students never seem to graduate. The Dauntless Crew is a few of the more... corporeal of these.