With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
Sean O'Keeffe had gone through hell more than once during his life. His debilitating anxiety disorder that had made him go out of his mind more times than he could count, the gruesome murder of his sister that he was present for, the semester he'd spent at Hogwarts as a teacher -- how many times had he launched his tea cups at the window in his office, venting his frustration as his cat watched from underneath the bed? But the last month of his life... It was far worse than everything combined together.
The excursion to Orkney should have been a wonderful day, a great way to get out the stuffy old castle and away from the rigid rules of the Ministry and O'Connor's condescending gaze. It was supposed to be a breath of fresh air for Sean, a chance to spend it with one of the few students that didn't make him want to resign every time they opened their mouths. But it all had gone downhill when a cursed mutt had decided to sample them for dinner. Sean didn't think twice -- if he hadn't had a student with him, he'd never have become a target. After all, their meat wasn't as stringy as an adult's... Some part of him regretted not killing Emil right then and there. It would have been the merciful thing to do. But then again, werewolves didn't deserve mercy. Not even Emil.
Somehow, against all odds, Sean had gotten back to Hogwarts, patched himself up, gathered all of his things and left the castle a few hours after sundown. He'd headed for the only place his tired mind could fathom at that moment. Home. During the short ride on the Knight Bus, he'd vomited twice, which resulted in the conductor having to carry Sean to the front door of his parent's house. The rest of that night was a blur -- he could recall his father's angry swearing as he chastised the late visitors and his mother's scream when she finally recognized her son.
And then came the worst day of Sean's life. Over morning tea, he explained what had happened to him. Tension in the room grew tenfold and nobody said a word for several hours. Not a single word. There was only crying. His mother wailed, his father cried and Sean would have cried, if he'd had any strength left. Instead he'd just sat there, letting his mother cradle him just like she had after Laoise had been murdered.
It didn't take long for Sean to decide what to do with his future. He was not going to become a werewolf. He wasn't going to be the creature he loathed the most. He'd had enough of hating himself during his struggle with anxiety, and anxiety at least could be managed... Wolfsbane wasn't something he could afford, nor did he want such a pathetic existence for himself. No. His time was running out.
He left home, taking only a backpack with a few layers of clothes with him. He'd been engulfed in a strange peace of mind, until he heard the confused meowing of Sir Fluffybutt. All the tears Sean been holding in for several days? They all came pouring out as he sat on the porch, cradling the animal, which was doing its best to wiggle out of his tight squeeze. Once the cat got away, the peace of mind he'd been enjoying -- gone. In place was only a heavy nothingness.
But he got up and continued his journey. Next up -- visiting an old friend. Ezekiel Ensor, the healer who'd tended to him after Laoise's murder. They'd found common ground and by the time Sean had left St.Mungos, they held the same opinion on werewolves. The last time he'd seen the other man had been right before Christmas, when Ezekiel had invited him to a drink at his cousin's workplace. He had been a little taken aback upon finding out that said workplace was none other than The Coffin House in Knockturn Alley, and he'd even considered opting out from the invite, but it had been a fine evening of drinking and shouting obscenities into the street about the state of the world. They'd tossed around ideas, laughing about overthrowing the Ministry and putting werewolves in their rightful place (the grave).
Sean persuaded Ezekiel to patch up his wounds, and, as they spoke, they formed a plan for revenge. Ezekiel said one of his other cousins, Daniel Forrester, could sniff out the hiding place of a group of werewolves, and it would be up to Sean to take them out with a bang.
June 16th was a warm and sunny day down in the Cotswolds. Sean was standing in a blooming meadow, some 200 meters from a stone cottage, dressed in his finest dark brown suit, clean shaven and groomed, clutching his wand in one hand and his dagger in the other. It was time.
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Feb 12, 2020 17:48:13 GMT
The past month had been one of reflection for Samantha Banks. Her argument with Askold had put her on the defensive, wanting nothing more than to defend herself, her beliefs, her choices. How dare he question the strategy she'd put careful thought into: keeping herself secret so that the Cotswolds would never hurt for money, so that they could fund their activists, their healers, their teachers, so that they could have comfortable tents and the hope of building proper houses someday instead of freezing on the streets?
And it hurt that much more because Askold was the first non-werewolf she'd been so open with, so trusting of. She'd gotten the impression that he was so passionate that she felt she had nothing to fear--and it was that very passion that upset him so much when she'd made the suggestion that perhaps he should've brought Emil to someone else first. To Dexter, to Teddy, to someone who could help him more and give her time to introduce the Cotswolds to him before she introduced herself. And he'd called her selfish for it.
The words had been echoing in her mind all month, even as there were things to do. Even as she kept an eye on the news from the Ministry, knowing that Teddy had sent them information about the Trossachs' location, yet she heard nothing. Even as she brought Emil to the camp, getting him set up with the basics. Even as she knew Hogwarts was about to let out for the summer, fearing that more incidents might happen.
Despite everything, though, since she'd met Emil already, she'd invited him back to the cottage for the full moon. That was something she could do for him, and having been troubled by Askold's accusations, she'd felt obligated to do something herself. And that, today, would be teaching him the right way to restrain himself before transforming, and to keep him company so the pain wouldn't drive him as insane as it could. Nobody deserved that, not even Greyback, who Samantha wished pain on more than anything.
After a dinner in which she barely succeeded in getting the new werewolf to eat anything at all--though she wasn't sure she could blame him--she patted the heads of her dogs and led Emil out to the shed near her cottage. It was when she was making her way across the yard that the shadow of a figure out in the meadow caught her eye, and she stopped in her tracks, hand going to the wand in her pocket.
@seanokeeffe
kasia's pack mother // 5'4" // single // born in england // lives in the cotswolds
The evening sun wasn't very keen on hurrying its descent over the golden meadow, it didn't want to share the sky with the silver moon. Sean could share that sentiment -- he didn't want to see the moon. Ever again.
He began walking towards the cottage in the distance, his steps firm and his breathing steady. It was just like running a simple errand -- you would think that he was going out for a leisurely walk, enjoying the idyll of the countryside. The only thing betraying the turmoil underneath the composed exterior was the way his fingers kept twirling his wand in his hand, not satisfied with the grip he had on it.
As he walked closer, he could discern two figures. An older woman he had never seen before, and, to his great surprise, Emil Zalewski, who looked worse for wear. Daniel had been right. He turned the knife he'd been holding around, pressing it flat against the skin of his wrist, hiding it from sight.
"Greetings, Emil!" he said, as if he was inviting the former student into his office for a chat on pagan magic, "Fancy meeting you here... And you would be?" He turned to the woman, his eyes quickly scanning over her features. She didn't seem as frail as Emil did, so... He straightened his back, readjusting the grip on his weapons once more.
"Never mind, I don't care to know who you are. It's enough for me to know what you are."
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Feb 12, 2020 18:34:11 GMT
A deep chill ran down Samantha's spine at the man's words. I know what you are. How? Where was the security leak? Because she didn't recognize him, had never seen him before in her life, if memory served, and the implication hung in the air like an impending storm. She didn't want to think it was Askold who had told anyone, but the thought of one of her own pack members having said too much somewhere seemed equally as terrifying. Of Teddy having let something slip during his interrogation, perhaps--none of the options were anything short of disastrous.
Reaching a hand up to Emil's shoulder, she pushed him back gently, making him stand behind her. "If anything at all, you go right into the shed," she muttered under her breath, gesturing at the small stone building to their left. There was no way to know what this man wanted with them--only that he knew Emil, and that he, somehow, knew too much. If they waited too long, if the moon rose before they could solve the problem, he could murder them with a flick of his wand, and walk free.
And even if she could have called in the police--or the Aurors--so far out in the countryside, it wasn't as if they would be on the side of two werewolves.
With right hand gripping her wand, slipping it out of her pocket, she shifted her feet into a more stable stance. "This is my house. My land. Explain why you're here, first."
@seanokeeffe
kasia's pack mother // 5'4" // single // born in england // lives in the cotswolds
The woman was trying to shield with her own body. Sean tilted his head ever so slightly to the right side, amused by the sight. She was a good few inches shorter than Emil -- it was useless. And Emil, of course, was cowering behind her like the spineless bookworm he was. Ah, how predictable. She was gesturing towards the stone shed, no doubt telling Emil to hide. Hah.
"No, Emil, stay. Stay, because Professor O'Keeffe, pleasure to meet you," he bowed theatrically to the woman, not letting his eyes off of her, "Is here to teach you one more lesson. Don't worry, this won't be on the test."
"I'm here because I want revenge." He stated, stepping forward, raising his wand up and pointing it at the woman, "I'm here because the likes of you have wronged me for the last time. Because the likes of you have taken away that, what was dearest to my heart, and then the likes of you came for me. I've been turned into one of your filthy kind, an abomination, a stain of shit on this earth." The composure in his voice was starting to fade, his face starting to grow red and his chest raising and falling at a faster pace, "You will listen to my words, and then you will die."
With a quick movement he cast Silencio on the duo, and then with another -- Protego on himself, moving closer and closer.
"A few years ago you ruined my family. My sister, Laoise, my dear sister..." he stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath and steadying himself. Saying her name always brought tears to Sean's eyes, but he couldn't show weakness, not right now. No, there was only space for pure rage. "It was a lovely evening, just like this one, and we were wandering the city streets, and to our great dismay, we got lost and couldn't find our way back until the moon was out. And the next thing I know?" He was only a few steps away from the woman, staring right into her eyes, and yet, not seeing anything at all, his gaze glazed over as he relived that evening once more.
"The next thing I know she is torn in half. The werewolf? Dead. And I'm up to my neck in blood. And you know what I realized?"
The blade emerged from his sleeve, sun bouncing off the metal as he turned it around. He lunged forward, wrapping his right arm around the woman's neck, pushing her down, towards his other hand that was thrusting upward, as he hissed.
when friends are thin on the ground, and they try to divide us/we must find a way
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Post by SAMANTHA BANKS on Feb 12, 2020 19:34:04 GMT
I am not a monster.
It was what Samantha had been telling herself for years. For twenty-five, nearly twenty-six years, that no matter what, an unfortunate disease wouldn't turn her into a mindless killing machine, unfit to live in society. And hadn't she proved it, in many ways? She had gone all those years without a single incident. She was polite, spoke well, dressed well; she was intelligent enough to grow her money in the stock market. She helped others--even if Askold's voice in her head was saying selfish, selfish again. The illness had affected her body, not her mind. She was not a monster.
And yet the flood of words was telling her the opposite, was speaking for everyone who'd ever been hurt by one of them, by the likes of Greyback and his pack, and she wanted desperately to say something, to justify herself, to justify the Cotswolds. But her tongue was heavy, as if it wouldn't move at all, no matter how much she wanted it to, and she steeled her limbs for a physical fight as the man moved closer.
No, as the werewolf moved closer, because she hadn't missed the phrasing even in his rambling speech, and there was not enough time to know how to react, to think through the options. To wonder if there was a chance to change things, to convince him not to do this, to stop viewing himself as the devil. There wasn't time. There was a glint of silver, a hand wrapped around her neck, panic rising, and then the spell holding down her tongue released just in time for her to react. "Flipendo!" The man was thrown back, landing heavily on the ground a few feet away, and Samantha's breathing came harshly and raggedly. "I can't let you do that," she breathed. "I can't--I have to protect them." Is this protecting? Is this what I have to do?
And as the man seemed to be getting up, coming for her yet again, the wild desire for revenge almost glowing in his eyes, the panic bubbled up again, the fear and the thought that she could not die and she could not let him go free, notwith what he knew. Never in her life had she had the instinct to use an Unforgivable Curse, but there was the shine of the knife and the echoing feeling of the fingers that had been wrapped tightly around her throat, and before she could think too hard on what she was doing, a blast of green shot out of her wand. "Avada Kedavra!"
The man crumpled to the ground, and Samantha looked down at the wand in her hand, startled, feeling as if the limb was somehow not part of her body, as if her real self had stepped two feet to the side and she was simply looking at another Samantha with another wand. I do not kill. I am not a monster. And here she was, the boy with her nearly forgotten, the dead man in front of her too painful to look at. Stumbling to the side, dizzy and horrified, she knelt on the ground, feeling as if she would vomit at any moment.
All the rage that came through his system along with the thrust of his knife made Sean lose grip on his concentration, unraveling the spells he'd cast, costing him his protection and the silence he'd wished for. He wanted to kill this woman, and Emil too, but he had no desire to listen to their pitiful screams, nor to give them any hope for mercy even for a second. It was foolish of him to let his guard down, but at this point, he didn't care. All he wanted was to feel his knife sink into the flesh of the she-wolf as his fingers pressed tighter around her neck.
Though, instead of feeling the resistance of her body against his knife, he felt a strong push to his stomach, sending him flying backwards and making him land on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. I can't let you do that. I have to protect them.
Sean wanted to laugh. Protect them? You idiot, werewolves are the last things in the universe deserving protection. If I won't be able to take you down, there will be others. They'll hunt you down like the beasts you are. Pitiful, truly, that you think you can save anyone.
With these thoughts he scrambled up to his feet, his eyes clouded by tears he hadn't even noticed were there, and he lunged once more, determined to meet his mark. There was a green flash-- The sound of wind flipping through the pages of a book--
***
He opened his eyes, just to see a white fog so thick that he couldn't even see the outline of his nose. The thought had barely appeared in his mind as the fog parted like the sea in front of Moses, and he saw two rows of church pews with a lane between them. Something made him get up -- he'd been laying on the floor, wearing a white tunic, not unlike those depicted in medieval manuscripts. With every step he took, the fog retreated. He was in a church -- Am I in Glastonbury? How?
"Brother, you took your time getting here." A voice all too familiar echoed against the tall ceilings of the church, and Sean's head snapped, frantically looking around.
"Laoise? Laoise, where are you?"
"I'm here, Sean, behind the altar. Come, I've so much to show you..."
And he ran, bare feet against cold marble, towards the altar, towards his sister, away from the waking world.