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 July 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!
Post by VERANDI FARLEY on Jan 1, 2020 12:12:26 GMT
Verandi had been keeping an eye on the tabloids for days after the dramatic release of the captured underage students. She could almost recite them word for word, she'd kept that close an eye. The reason, you may be wondering? Verandi had all but delivered Teddy Lupin to the authorities on a stick at the St. Mungo's attack yet over a week later there was still no word of his arrest.
"If only we all enjoyed the protection of The Boy Who Lived," Verandi sneered as she scrunched up her Evening Prophet and lit the end of her wand, her dark eyes sparkling as the flames engulfed the paper like it were an angry werewolf inhaling a human on the full moon. "If he hasn't been arrested by now, that can only mean that their eyes will turn towards us," Verandi's worn dragonhide boots crunched on the forest floor as she began to pace around the campfire.
A distant sound made the she-wolf pause in her track, her breath held tight as she listened for the culprit to reveal themselves. Her wand was already in her hands, but a hidden dagger began to slowly slip down from its hidden position on her forearm. "Who's there?" she asked in her sweetest, girly voice possible.
'That'll be 80 pounds, yes, thank you and may God bless you all.' Those were the last words Pastor Jones had told the old muggle man, who'd called upon him to have an exorcism on his ill son. Pastor Jones had spent an hour screaming and ranting and raving behind locked doors, making sure that the old, senile man would be convinced. Pastor Jones had obliviated the son so he wouldn't remember a thing, for increased effect. Because Pastor Jones was a wizard.
Pascal felt very content with himself. All the ranting and raving had put quite a strain on his throat, and the amount of bullshit he'd spewed in the last hour made him cringe. Perhaps this was a character he needed to retire before he started losing his own sanity, but gullible muggles were such a lucrative business, especially for a wizard who knew wandless, non-verbal magic. A wizard like him.
After he'd walked far enough from the lone farm, he apparated, vanishing from sight. It was back to the campsite, to get out of these priestly robes and into something a little more comfortable.
The ends of his clothing dragged over the forest floor, making a loud rustle with every step. As he approached the camp, his heart rate started speeding up ever-so-slightly, because he could see an oh-so-familiar silhouette pacing 'round the campfire. Or, well, he could see her back.
Ah, Verandi. She'll be pleased!
After a few steps closer Pascal understood that he'd caught her at a bad time, as her voice turned saccharine -- in all the years he'd known her, he'd learned that it was a very bad, bad sign.
"Oi, oi, it's jus' me, Pascal! No need for the wand, no need for that at all," he said, raising his hands up in surrender, one fist clutching the few pieces of paper money.
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