We are a post-Potter roleplay set in 2019.
We have an active character driven plot, a short app and no word count.
It's June 2019 and at the moment, the wizarding world is facing a lot of tension with the werewolf community.
This is a result of anti-werewolf legislation being passed in 2016 after a series of brutal attacks.
Unfortunately, this legislation passing hasn't achieved anything.
Werewolves can't find jobs and without a source of income, this has left a lot of them facing poverty.
But instead of taking it laying down, there's starting to be waves of attacks once more.
How will the Ministry of Magic solve this problem now? Is it too late?
One pack, The Trossachs, have decided that an obvious solution is to no longer be a minority. The more wolves, the better.
Yet another pack, known as The Cotswolds, believe that approach will only deepen the mistrust and ostracism faced by the werewolf community.
Instead, this group, led by an independently wealthy werewolf means aims to educate the ignorant wizarding community and change legislation by winning the support of the majority.
An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
It had been a long and arduous night for Askold. Yes, it had mostly involved just sitting around and reading a book, but time seemed to go by at a snail's pace, and by the time the first rays of the sun began to plate the trees in copper, he could barely keep his eyes open.
But he had to stay up. He had to make sure the young lad laying on his couch would be okay. Thankfully, the exhaustion had rendered Emil unconscious for most of the night, saving Askold a good deal of worry. Closer to the morning, the baker had busied himself with baking a pan of fresh pastries -- never mind that he already had too many in storage -- and warming up some milk for breakfast. He coaxed Emil to get out of the bed and have at least a little bit of food before they went down to the basement. There Askold dug out a letter that Samantha had left him once, with instructions on how to reach her in the case of an emergency.
After a few unpleasant moments, the two men were standing in front of a small, yet rather impressive stone cottage, surrounded by a vast meadow. It was so peaceful in the morning light...
But they didn't have time to appreciate nature. Without hesitating, Askold marched right up to the front door, and opened it, dragging Emil inside with him.
"I'm very sorry for the early intrusion, but I really, really need a healer!" he called out, looking around for any sign of life.
There were bruises on her arms, again. Samantha closed her eyes as she finally fell into her own bed, exhausted, trying not to think about how long those would take to fade. Although she could easily afford the Wolfsbane Potion, something pretty much any other werewolf in the country couldn't say, she had always felt that going looking for it would cause more questions than she wanted to answer. Especially now, with the situation more precarious than ever. But the cottage had a shed, and buying locks wouldn't arouse any more suspicion from her than from anyone else, and it had worked for her transformations, for many years.
But she had to admit that she felt more tired now than she used to be. The way she came to early in the morning, covered in bruises, wanting nothing more than to sleep the day away--she felt she was getting too old for it, but what was there to be done? It would never stop, never until the day she died. All there was to do was rest, and hope that in the camp, the rest of the pack were doing the same.
Just as she was starting to drift off to sleep, though, a loud bang echoed through the house, and she sat straight up, her heart pounding in her chest as she reached for her wand on her bedside table. "I really need a healer!" came the words from the direction of her front door, and she grabbed a bathrobe quickly to cover herself up, tiptoeing out to the hall with her wand held out in front of her.
"Who's there?" she called out, not knowing who she would find. One of her pack, having injured themselves? Some neighbor of hers, knocking down the door of the first cottage they could get to? Or the worst option, a trap, someone getting into her house to observe her under the pretext of needing help?
Emil might have slept all night, but he didn't feel as if any rest had reached him. The concoction the innkeeper had healed his arm with had sealed the wounds from bleeding anymore, but they were still red and angry, too painful to touch. His stomach was growling, but he'd found himself unable to eat much of anything, nibbling at a few bites of the breakfast he'd been provided just to stop the worst of it. He had to admit that the bread was good, but he felt like it turned to sawdust in his mouth as he tried to swallow it.
It was because the threat of panic was still boiling under the surface of his skin, he knew. The only two places he knew where to go when things went wrong were home and school, and now he could go to neither. Now there was a stranger taking him down the stairs into a basement, telling him that he was taking him to more strangers who could help him, and while there were times Emil'd had to go into entirely strange situations--going to Hogwarts for the first time came to mind--now he was doing it entirely alone.
On weak legs, he followed Askold toward the cottage, letting himself be tugged along, the journey having made his stomach feel all nauseous again. From some room inside, he heard a woman's voice yelling out at them, and his heart sank, feeling as if everything was about to go worse somehow.
During the 10 or so seconds of silence until Samantha answered his call, Askold was pacing around the room, looking for a chair to make Emil sit down -- he feared the boy could collapse like a house of cards at any moment, and the last thing he needed was more injuries.
He didn't miss the cautious tone in the woman's voice -- she had all the reasons to be on guard, especially when he arrived unannounced, but she'll have to forgive for not sending an owl in advance.
"Askold! It's me, Askold! I've got a boy here, he was bit last night and I really need a healer to look at him!" he explained, grabbing an old wooden chair and putting it in front of Emil, urging him to sit down while trying to comfort him. "It'll be alright, Emil. These people can be trusted, they won't cause you any harm. Tell me if there is anything I can get you right now, water or else, don't hold it in, alright?"
Samantha leaned against the hallway wall, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh before she went out to the living room. This wasn't what she'd given Askold the information about her location for--dragging people that she didn't know right into her house? Hadn't they just spoken a week or so ago about the importance of security? And she wasn't a healer in any sense of the word. Dexter was the healer in the pack, but he wasn't here; he was all the way at camp. She'd been educated for international diplomacy, not healing. There wasn't much she could do beyond the basics.
Still, hearing that someone had been bitten sent a pang through her heart. It always did. She worked so much for the rights of those who suffered with lycanthropy, but she knew in her heart it would be so much better if not a single one of them had it. If someone did, she had to help. And so, instead of unleashing her frustration on Askold right away, she straightened up, putting her wand in her pocket and walking out into the living room.
"There is no healer here, Askold, only me," she explained, but she stepped toward the boy sitting in one of her chairs, watching him carefully. "You did silver and dittany, I presume?" It was the only way to make the bleeding stop from that particular wound. "I would have to take him to the camp to get a healer. What's your name?" she asked, directing her question at the boy. He seemed even younger than she'd been when she'd been bitten--truly a shame. If she could figure out who he was, maybe she could figure out if it was safe to introduce him to the pack.
It'll be alright. Emil wasn't so sure about that. He didn't even know where he was, who he was with, much less what the future would hold. He sat in the chair presented to him, grateful for the rest for his legs, but he sat stiffly, uncomfortable in his surroundings. The injured arm was awkward to hold in a way that didn't pull too hard at the newly healed skin, and he ended up having to cradle it in his other one, holding it to his chest.
He was sure it would be good for him to drink some water, suddenly realizing just how thirsty he was--was it from losing so much blood?--but he stayed quiet, waiting for what the house's occupant was going to do. Her voice didn't seem entirely happy to have such early morning visitors, even if Askold said that she would be able to help. When she appeared, Emil immediately felt bad for clearly having woken her up--she was still in a bathrobe, her hair rather messy and her eyes tired, even as she started asking questions authoritatively.
"Emil Zalewski," he answered, his shoulders slumped in on himself. There was no point in making an identity up, no matter if he trusted these people or not; Askold knew his name, and he was sure his disappearance would be noted in the newspapers before long.
Seeing Samantha in her bathrobe made Askold do a double take -- his brain hadn't registered how early it actually was when the duo tumbled over the porch of the stone cottage. He felt a bit guilty for pulling her out of bed -- no doubt she'd had a far worse night than the baker.
"I know, but I didn't know who else to turn to," he explained the reasons for his actions, "I need to remember to pay for the dittany upon returning, and I scraped one of my silver spoons to get some flakes off. There was very little silver, but it seems to have done the job." Even if he was tired, he felt a little fire of pride. He'd managed to keep his cool during a stressful situation and saved Emil's life. He wasn't one to boast about it, but it wasn't illegal to feel good about yourself, was it?
"He's a student at Hogwarts, or, well, was. We need to figure out how to get his things from the school -- I have a few ideas, but first thing is first, gotta make sure he doesn't lose his arm. Is there anything more I can do to help?"
Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Feb 12, 2020 17:18:56 GMT
"Remind me to introduce you to Teddy properly," Samantha murmured. It was Teddy who handled most of the outreach that the pack did, all the things Samantha couldn't do on her own. Although recently, with the accusations against him--no matter how much his name was cleared, he would have to be a model citizen for a while--still, Askold should have someone besides herself to turn to when something like this happened. Not that she hoped it would ever happen again--but it always could.
She squinted at Emil's arm, thinking through as much as she knew about first aid. "There's a blood-replenishing potion, which I'm sure would help, but that's more of a medical thing--I would have to ask the healer in camp about getting some." Her cottage was not a hospital. Frowning, she thought about what items she might have in her medicine cabinet. "I think some sort of antibiotic would be in order as well. That would be something I do have." As a Muggleborn, Samantha tended to give just as much credit to Muggle medicine as magical potions. Pulling her bathrobe tighter around herself, she stood up straight, starting back toward the hallway. "I'll go get that. I'll only be a few moments."
In front of her bathroom mirror, it was obvious just how rough of a night she'd had, even when all you could see of her was her face. The dark circles under her eyes were sunken in, her eyelids half-closed as if she was about to fall asleep on her feet at any time. Not wanting to look too much longer, she opened the cabinet, taking out the antibiotic cream and heading back out to the living room.
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