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!
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 3, 2020 17:18:34 GMT
the state of dreaming
Was she really doing this?
Isobel could not remember a time when she’d tried to fight someone on purpose. It wasn’t like her. In fact, the thought terrified her, and brought her back to the last time she’d been in the midst of violence, the Winter Ball that had left such a mark on her mind that it had changed her Boggart. Sometimes it still appeared in her nightmares, rarer and rarer over time, but still the memory of being frozen and wandless and scared, always scared.
So why was she about to head off into the woods against an enemy that she had never heard of until a week or so ago?
Because another memory, far fresher in her mind, was the sight of blood on her sister’s shoulder, bruises on her arms, and Isobel was angry. It had startled her how angry she was. For all her life, she hadn’t been particularly interested in the ill-thought-out misadventures of either of her younger sisters, but especially not Mia-Rose’s. The middle Linwood had directed accidental magic at Isobel when she was little, and even after learning to control herself, seemed intent on making it known that she was some sort of stubborn goat rather than an intelligent witch.
But Mia-Rose, for all of that, was still her sister. And no amount of mishaps made her deserve a scar that would stay forever. A scar that, if people knew about it, might threaten all sorts of problems in her future. Going off to play the hero might have been the worst mistake Mia-Rose had ever made, but Isobel had the distinct feeling that the mistake wouldn’t be fixed until she finished the heroics. (Although, she reflected, it would be better if nobody knew about what she was just about to do. This was not the kind of fame she wanted.)
Isobel stood in front of the fireplace, knowing that it was being watched by someone else in the house at every moment, owing to her sister’s being completely grounded. But Isobel wasn’t, and though she had spent most of the last couple weeks at home, not wanting to go back to the city where she might run into Wolfgang, no matter how large, she felt it wouldn’t be that out of the ordinary for her to go to Hogsmeade. After all, she’d been denied from going during the school year for so long, and although Gladrags carried all manner of things that she found a little bit garish, it was still always worth a shopping trip. She was Isobel Linwood--who could ever suspect her going on a shopping trip?
She could see that her uncle was on the porch, smoke rising from his pipe, his eyes on the fireplace, and she gave him a friendly wave, trying to seem nonchalant, before she tossed the powder into the flames, pronouncing the name of the Three Broomsticks.
It had been one hell of a week at the Linwood Farm. Not for Richard specifically -- Sarah hadn’t even once pointed out that his pipe was still smoldering as he came inside -- but the tension between the other family members felt like sandpaper against skin.
Mia-Rose, for the most part, was hiding in her room, barely speaking a word to anyone at the breakfast table. Evie was rather upset that her sister wasn’t even allowed to go out in the yard with her, and Isobel…
There was something brewing under that composed exterior. He’d spent the last twenty years around people who didn’t even know what good manners meant, but he could never forget how his own mother, who’d come from a posh background, acted, when something had disgruntled her. And sometimes Isobel reminded him far too much of Alice Linwood.
One afternoon a week prior to Mia-Rose’s display of stupidity, Isobel had shown up in the living room, pale as a ghost, crying her eyes out, immediately shutting up in her room. From what Andrew told him, there had been a falling out between the two lovebirds, but she refused to give up any more than that. Richard loathed self-reflecting, but he couldn’t help but to think of his own first, and only, love.
So, when he saw Isobel loitering around the living room, at first he’d thought one of two things -- either she was going out for a shopping trip, or she was going to meet up with her city-slicker of a boyfriend. But something tipped him off. Just like Mia-Rose last week, Isobel was dressed ready for camping. And, while for Mia-Rose anything fancier than that would have been unusual, this was completely out of character for Isobel.
And she waved at him? What the hell was that about?
Fuck. As soon as she disappeared in the flash of green smoke, Richard headed inside with long strides, pulling his wand out and casting a spell to check the last destination.
“Three Broomsticks.” The disembodied voice of Isobel Linwood echoed in the chimney.
“Fuck.”
Richard grabbed a fistful of the magic powder, when the flames shot up once more. Had she changed her mind at the last moment?
It had been two weeks since the nuclear bomb that Wolfgang had been sitting on went off, since he’d told Isobel what he’d done. He hadn’t one ounce of regret when it came to putting a hit out on his father, except not making sure that everything had been done properly. He’d never regret it, he was sure of that.
No, what he had regrets was not telling Isobel sooner. That he hadn’t played his cards right, that he hadn’t managed to tell it in a way that wouldn’t paint him as some monster he wasn’t, that he hadn’t managed to keep himself calm. But at that moment, something had overcome him. That something had sent Isobel fleeing from Wolfgang, and that something had left him gasping for air on the floor of their small living room.
That same something had caused him to faint the very next day while working at the cash register, and that same something had caused him to make his way through their liquor stash at a rather moderate pace.
He woke up and went to sleep with the same gut-wrenching sense of dread, not finding comfort in any earthly pleasure -- food, drink, conversation or anything else. For a moment he’d considered going to clubs and finding someone to spend the night with, but, for the first time ever, he only wanted one person in his arms. Isobel. Only Isobel. None else would do.
He had to go talk to her. She hadn’t said it was all over, right? She hadn’t been specific about it, so there was still hope for them yet, if he’d just go and talk to her?
Easier said than done, when the mere sight of the living room fireplace made him want to regurgitate whatever little food he’d had that day.
But he couldn’t keep living on a prayer any longer. Either he went and saw it through, or he’d die from the sheer loneliness and guilt he felt.
Casting one last glance in the bathroom mirror and grimacing at the state of his hair -- twice as long since Isobel left, the magic in him going awry, as it did whenever he got upset -- Wolfgang closed the last button on his white dress shirt and sighed. There was still a shot glass of remnants of strawberry vodka on the kitchen table, and after a few moments of deliberation, he drank it in one swig. For courage.
“Linwood Farm, Falkland Islands.”
“What the- You.”
Wolfgang was met with an angry yell. He felt like he’d been dumped in a frozen lake at once. Had Isobel issued a ban on Wolfgang Kallenbach, which was to be enforced by any means possible?
“To Hogsmeade.” The same redheaded man said to him, staring right at him, wand clutched in hand.
“Excu-”
“Isobel went after a werewolf to Hogsmeade.” The man repeated again, “Catch her!”
Wolfgang couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing, but the combination of Isobel and werewolves in the same sentence were exactly the push he needed to launch himself out of his stupor and into action.
“Three Broomsticks!”
Quickly getting out of the fireplace into the rather sleepy pub, paying no mind to the ash on his dark blue cloth pants, nor his best pair of shoes, Wolfgang demanded to know if anyone had seen Isobel -- she’d been seen leaving less than a minute ago.
Taking a deep breath, Wolfgang ran after her. He was a Quidditch player, he’d outrun her, stop her. He had to.
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 3, 2020 18:21:02 GMT
the state of dreaming
“You hurt my sister.”
Isobel had never found herself as brave in her life as in the moment she flung open the door to the shack in the woods, wand held out in front of her. Her hand shook, but she redoubled her grip, refusing to back down.
“You got more revenge on her than she deserved. You bit her. You gave her scars. Now she’s afraid she won’t even be able to go back to school.” She had no idea if this man--this werewolf--cared in the slightest, but she wanted him to know. “If she couldn’t capture you, I will.” She moved further into the little house, crouching into what she felt was a dueling stance.
“Please--what are you doing?” The man was sitting by a sleeping bag, looking up in confusion as Isobel burst open the door to his small home.
“You hurt my sister!” Isobel repeated, frustrated. Slashing out with her wand, she shouted “Expelliarmus!” just in case he had a wand, wanting to disarm him. She didn’t trust her dueling skills, no matter if she’d been in O’Connor’s class for six years. Gesturing again, she spat out a “Flipendo!” next, sending the man sliding against the floor to hit the wall. Breathing heavily, she took a step back as he began to get up.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said, shaking his head, before he began to run headlong at Isobel in the small room, sending her to the ground next, her head slamming against the hard dirt ground, making her hiss in pain. Her nails dug into her hands where they were balled into fists, making deep crescent marks in her palms. She forced her eyes to open, tried to get her hands under him, to push him off, but she couldn’t move…
And then, a scream, and the weight was lifted off of her in a sudden blast. Through the tears that were collecting in her eyes at the ache in her head, she could see a white shirt and a head of curly black hair that she could not mistake for anyone else.
It was one thing to follow a redhead through a green forest. It was a completely different thing to keep up with her, when she had boots on, and her pursuer had monk strap oxfords. Wolfgang tailed her for the entire way, with her always just in sight, just a bright orange flash between the trees, and yet the terrain hadn’t let him catch up to her. The trees had blocked his yelling from reaching her ears -- or, perhaps, she had simply ignored him -- so he’d decided to spare his breath and do his best to not lose her track.
Leaning against a tree, Wolfgang took a moment to catch his breath, trying to keep his eyes on his girlfriend who’d finally slowed down by a dilapidated shack in the middle of nowhere. He could see her reach out her wand, and the faint sounds of her voice, the voice he’d missed so sorely all these days…
He launched himself down the hill he’d been standing on, his feet slipping on the foliage, tripping up on roots, making him fall down and slide a good 20 yards on his side until he found himself by the shack.
“I don’t want to do this,” he heard a gruff voice say, and he could feel the blood in his veins freeze. Scrambling up to his feet, grabbing onto the door frame, he launched himself into the room, taking a mere second to assess the situation -- Isobel on the floor, man on top -- and screaming.
“No!” His fingers dug into the long, dirty blonde hair of the werewolf, yanking his head up, his other hand digging into the man’s shoulder and pulling him off of Isobel.
The man looked at him, his expression somewhere between annoyed confusion and white-hot rage, his mouth twisted, showing his teeth,his fangs. He didn’t take a long time to get up on his feet, launching himself at Wolfgang, the two locking in a struggle, trying to make the other fall down.
The next thing he knew was that a fist had flown right into his face, he was on the floor, something in his chest made an ominous snapping sound, and he was coughing up blood right in front of his own eyes.
“Isobel,” he sputtered, trying to see past the man who was having a go at his ribcage, “Isobel,” Isobel, Isobel, where are you, Isobel, get off me you prick, Isobel, what-- Isobel--
“STUPEFY!”
MADE BY VEL OF GS, WW + ADOX 2.0
1.75m (5'9")| Open relationship with ISOBEL LINWOOD | Bisexual | English
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
143 posts
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 3, 2020 19:02:38 GMT
the state of dreaming
Red light blasted out of Isobel’s wand, hitting the werewolf square in the shoulder, making him slump down, unconscious. She stumbled across the tiny room, to where Wolfgang had been calling out for her, trapped underneath the now-limp body of the man she’d been trying to fight. Her head still throbbed where it had hit the ground, but she held her wand more steady now, whispering out a spell to lift the werewolf and set him back down on his sleeping bag. Everything was eerily quiet, the whole forest silent except for the continued muttering of Wolfgang--Wolfgang whose blood was spilling out of his mouth, staining the lips that Isobel used to kiss so often.
She fell to her knees, exhausted and unsettled, reaching out for Wolfgang’s head, forgetting for a moment that she was angry with him, that she had been afraid of him. It was hard to remember that when he was struggling to breathe, reaching out for her.
“It’s me,” she said, reaching out a hand to pet gently at his hair. Her fingers shook, but she curled them into the hair lightly, as if trying to steady herself as much as she was Wolfgang. “It’s me. It’s Isobel. I’m here.”
The thudding of a foot against Wolfgang’s chest stopped at once, with one last ‘thump’ of the man’s entire body falling on top of the boy, rearranging everything that hadn’t been rearranged by his kicks before.
There was only pain and blood. His chest and stomach hurt, and there was blood coming out of his mouth with every breath he took, and, in his frenzied state Wolfgang could remember only that the combination of the aforementioned symptoms meant that one’s innards had been ruptured and he didn’t have much time left.
I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, mixed with Isobel, where is Isobel, where is Isobel, diluted by It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and a thousand other things -- that was the cocktail of Wolfgang’s brain.
The frame in front of his eyes changed from the blood stained floor to--
“Isobel,” he muttered. Those eyes, those grey eyes, those lips, those freckles, those thousand freckles, Isobel, Isobel, those lips, I--
Laying on his back now he tried his hardest to lift up one arm, at least one of them would have to work, it was his right that moved, or maybe left, it didn’t matter now, he wanted to trace thosefreckles he’d daydreamed about for hours on end, he wanted to trace her lips, those sweet lips he’d kissed a thousand times, “Isobel, I--”, he swallowed down the blood in his mouth, wanting to say it loud and clear, something he’d realized a long time ago, but never had the courage to say.
“Isobel,” his finger grazed upon her skin, “I love you, I love you, Isobel,”--
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
143 posts
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 3, 2020 19:27:48 GMT
the state of dreaming
“Shhh,” Isobel said, catching Wolfgang’s hand and lacing her fingers together with his, gripping hard--she didn’t know whether she was reassuring him or herself more of her own strength. She tried to catch his gaze, even as his eyes flickered in and out of focus, seeming unsure of which part of her face to look at. “You’ll be okay--I’m going to get you home.” Even if she didn’t know how she was going to manage it, all the way back through the forest--even if she didn’t know if he was going to be okay. The thought made tears return to her eyes, not from the pain in her skull this time. She forced her fingers to let go of the wand in her right hand, dropping it on the ground next to her in favor of putting her hand on Wolfgang’s cheek. The presence of her hand seemed to steady something in him, and he swallowed, trying to speak louder.
He was here because he loved her.
There were so many emotions swirling in Isobel’s chest, from the terror of the fight to the anger at the werewolf to the absolute need to see Wolfgang healed, to bring him back as he was, unstained by blood and fear. Teardrops landed on Wolfgang’s cheek, mixing with the blood, Isobel unable to keep it inside. There would be time later to talk about their problems--for now, all she wanted was for him to live.
From outside, the sound of heavy boots stomping through the forest was coming closer and closer, but Isobel didn’t look up, afraid that taking her eyes away from Wolfgang’s would send him into another deep panic. Instead, she held his hand, brushed his hair out of his eyes, tried to give him the reassurance that she didn’t feel at all.
