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Niki last won the day on January 4 2019

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    Bathroom stuff is a nope.


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  1. Niki

    Love Like Winter

    Children. The word was enough to give him pause in the open entryway, the door held promptly for the pair by Julien's attentive personnel. His face changed, expression confused and soft, a hand resting against the doorjamb as he reconsidered Blair with a lofted, curious brow. Children. Living, breathing, growing children -- the purest form of human existence and the epitome of its delicate nature. Julien found himself smiling, softly, just a slight turn at the corners of his mouth as he slipped out of his coat in the tiled entryway of the main house. That much, he thought, perhaps, had been inherited from his father: the urge to propagate, to see small, round faces mirroring his own, smiling blue eyes staring up at him. He wondered what Blair's children looked like, if they had his eyes or his curly ginger hair. "You have children?" he asked, a note of longing in his voice, though he turned away from Blair to hide the glimmering reflection of it in his eyes. Julien stepped into a sitting room, the lights coming on as he passed with a soft, intensifying glow. "How many? What are their names?"
  2. Wesley, unsurprisingly, preferred the ice. Despite the hefty amount of human interaction his profession required, he was not particularly adept at the sport itself. People were more difficult to decipher than evidence, their motives so divided in essence from his own that empathy came from Wesley with extreme difficulty. The only thing about social these social crosspaths were the niceties themselves -- those unwritten codes of interaction that designated propriety and politeness with a predictability he could depend on as something of a guide and a guard against exactly what was happening right now. "Well, if it's any consolation to you," Wesley mused, "unlike our unfortunate friend, it's not likely that anyone would come hunting after me." Sensing the challenge in his companion's stare, Wesley, too, refused to break it as he retrieved his photograph and sipped his bitter tea, blinking slowly as if to maintain the line of sight beneath his lashes. "Do you have a name?" he asked, finally breaking away to flip open his little book to a fresh page. Some muscle out of the town sent to scare him off, perhaps, to preserve their cryptic segregation from society in the light of such exposure. "Since you seem so well acquainted with the details, we may need to revisit this conversation in more depth once I've conducted my initial inspection."
  3. Niki

    Tug of War

    He thinks he's so fucking charming. Danny lifted his glass to one of the servers circling the room, eyes fixed on the girl across the dance floor as he blandly thanked the man and sipped from a now full glass of wine. There was nothing special about her, really, he thought. Pretty in a generic sort of way, with waves of auburn hair pulled back and piled high upon her head, brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She could have been anyone among the crowd, her blue dress too simple for the lavish occasion, the white jewels in her hair downplayed by their diminutive size. Is that what he wanted, then? A princess who would fade into the background? That critical eye turned to the young woman's escort -- arguably too old for her, but so was he, he supposed -- his smile so broadly visible even from across the ballroom that Danny could all but hear the rasping bass of his bemused chuckle as the girl continued with whatever anecdote she'd decided to drawl for his entertainment. Scowling, he drained his glass in a single draft and left it sitting lonely on a table linen. Daniel Renaud was the only son of the wealthy and contemptuous Duke of Eshen, Andrew Duvall, and an illegitimate one at that. The product of an extramarital affair that had resulted in divorce, Danny had spent the better part of his life in and out of his father's home and his favor, not to mention his line of inheritance. That summer, however, as King Henry's eldest daughter Marie came to debut, he had found himself an opportunity to close the gap between himself and his father's title once and for all, convincing the old man to grant his support just long enough for Danny to work his way into Marie's affection. He had not, however, accounted for the likes of Nathaniel Crane. After a week at court, his father's handful of strings pulling him a small room in the palatial south wing, Danny had descended to breakfast with the royal family, only to find his seat taken by the handsome and charming Crane, younger brother to the Duke of Winship. Danny recognized him only by reputation then, but in the month since, he had quickly grown to detest his presence in every instance. Even more so, now that Marie seemed to have taken a stronger liking to the man, and had begun politely declining Danny's various invitations over the last few days. Crossing the room, he wandered between the guests with a casual smile, but a purposeful step in his long stride that carried him toward the King himself, engaged in boisterous conversation with a handful of noblemen near one of the tables piled high with food. Danny slowed his gait, slipping past a server with a silver tray of oysters and bumping gently into Henry's arm before immediately apologizing, his please for excuse met with laughter and a gentle clap on the shoulder. No, he thought, he would win this one way or the other. "How are you tonight, Daniel?" "Excellent, of course, Your Majesty is a gracious host." "And your father? His health is still in decline?" "Unfortunately--" liquid blue eyes dropped solemnly and he clasped his hands in front of him "--I am not sure how much longer he'll be with us." Henry squeezed Danny's shoulder gently. "I'm sorry to hear that. He's a fine man." "He is." Danny brightened visibly at the touch, regarding the King with an endearing smile. "I owe him very much. And you, Your Majesty, for the opportunity to share this time with you." Carefully, his hand rose to cover that of the King's, his expression wistful and soft. "I have treasured it so."
  4. Niki

    Love Like Winter

    "You must get something out of it," Julien remarked, somewhat surprised that Blair was so forward with his honest opinion -- most companions, though often admittedly more attached to their position than their patrons, did maintain a certain level of fidelity. To Julien, Mara was uncultured and obtuse, too young and power hungry to comprehend fully the gifts she had been given or the gravity of her disregard, but he had to wonder just how deeply her willfulness could cut, if the man who bled for her would so happily discard the weight of her presence. He was introduced as her pet, but how did she keep him? How was he cared for? Was he forced? Did he hate her? Did he hate all of them? Julien did not think so, but he could not, admittedly, be sure. Mara certainly presumed some loyalty from the young man, and yet here he was with a sigh of relief sinking comfortably into leather seats and perhaps feigning diversion to flattery. He could be a good liar, Mara would appreciate someone like that. And yet, as Blair stared out the window, Julien could not in good conscience commit him to such a dour impression. He had difficulty doing so with any human, in all honesty, as they were generally by nature too instinctive and emotional to maintain the levels of intricacy that such deception in the face of age and experience would have required. Blair had clear, worried eyes, the lines in his brow carved too deep for his young age and telling of a troubled mind too preoccupied for lies. At least, not lies directed at Julien. "Most companions simply enjoy our specific attentions," he said, gaze fixated on the exposed bite just above the collar of Blair's shirt. Tasteless, he thought, and reached over to cover the marked bruise with the cool tips of his fingers. "There is a certain intimacy in the act that most seem to appreciate. Less akin to feeding and more like. . . other primal nocturnal activities, I suppose." He pulled Blair's collar up a little to cover the mark as well as he could, settling back into his corner as the car turned up his street, lined with extravagant townhouses. "Though that is not the impression I get from you. The apartment perhaps, though it isn't to my personal tastes I suppose it could be considered generous to house you that way. I would prefer to keep you in house, if you're not opposed. Free to come and go, of course, but I can better assure you're cared for if you're close." The car pulled into a waiting garage and the engine cut off, the dark opening swallowing them up and Julien's face, previously aglow in the dimness, sank into the sudden darkness as if he were a part of it. For a moment, he could feel the hitch in Blair's breath and taste the tension in his sweat, that visceral, instinctual reaction to a predatory presence, and to the unknown blackness around them. The door opened at Blair's side, and somehow, without a sound or a shift of his weight, Julien was so much closer to him than he had been only a second ago. "After you."
  5. Niki

    Love Like Winter

    Two-hundred thousand going once... two-hundred thousand going twice... Her face had been more shocked than livid then, eyes wide and all but pleading with the crowd to raise their hands, run him over, do something to stop the madness, but he was still the oldest in their coven even though he had no title, and very few were willing to challenge him the way Mara did. No one raised their hand. No one overbid him. Now, he leaned forward just enough in his seat to smile at her before his driver closed the door, offering a delicate wave with his fingers as the frown deepened on her face to an unbridled scowl until he asked Bernard politely to close the door. Bernard, ever faithful, complied without question, leaving him to settle back in his seat with a sigh, hands laced in his lap, with Blair at his side. "I don't believe we've had a proper introduction," he observed, regarding his companion with a mildly disarming stare, "Perhaps one is in order, given the circumstances." Offering his hand, the corners of his lips upturned in the smallest of smiles, blue eyes bright even in the dimness of the car. "Julien." He held Blair's fingers in his own, leeching their warmth as the car started and Julien found himself, as he had earlier that night, engrossed entirely by the minute flex of muscle under the smooth line of the young man's jaw and the anxious swell of his heartbeat as it pulsed through those fingers in time. Julien's thumb skimmed Blair's knuckles and his hand slipped away, withdrawn out of sudden restraint as he felt his incisors elongate and pressed his lips more tightly together. "You must forgive me," he apologized, looking back down at his hands. "It's been some time since I kept a companion, and for the life of me I cannot remember one quite as stunning." Julien glanced out the window, staring thoughtfully at the streetlights deglazed by the dark glass. "I don't know how you've managed to put up with someone so base as Mara Camille, she has no appreciation for you." Unconsciously, his lip twitched into a distasteful curl. "I shudder to imagine spending more than an hour with her."
  6. The cracked white mug hovered near his lips, momentarily forgotten under a wave of irritation, visible only in the soft, quizzical rise of Wesley's brow and the brief, indignant curl of his lip. He couldn't say it had been a sudden surprise to find his space suddenly so invaded -- the man's progress from the door to the bar had been very closely tracked and recorded -- but the sheer audacity of the action was almost. . . impressive. For the space of a few long, careful breaths, Wesley stared silently across the table with unblinking intensity, taking his time with the slow, calculated sip of his tea. Grimacing bitterly at first, he set the cup centrally on a round paper coaster, rotating the handle a quarter turn so that the plain branding of some unknown local business faced his bowl from the appropriate angle. Someone's personal collection, he guessed. Perhaps the barman's. Wesley's irritation shifted into a tight, forced smile, accompanied by the soft snort of breathy laughter. "Well, you all have your own independent concepts of hospitality, don't you?" he observed aloud, lacing his fingers gently on the table in front of him. "It's quite disorienting, to be honest, I wonder if I'm not going to find myself missing, too." As he had with the barman, Wesley slipped a hand into his breast pocket and withdrew the smiling photograph of Mr. -- with his ginger-headed wife and children, setting it down over an old water stain between them. "Then again," he said, returning his hands to their placid state, an angular mass of slender ribs, all curled into one another, the knuckles hard and white, "that might be more useful to me than this town has been, so far."
  7. At three o'clock on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, a black cab pulled into the Derry square, carrying with it a tall stick of an Englishman, his single, well-packed suitcase, and a wide blue umbrella which he opened just outside the cab door before stepping out onto the street. Such an uncommon occurrence was this that before he ever set foot in Widow McShaney's little boarding house, all gossip had spread before him like a rampant wildfire born from the sparks of intrigue and Widow McShaney -- whose real name was Annie, but she liked to play the part -- had already in her head a whole manner of speculation as to his motives on their little town. He was tall, she could give the rumors that much, and while young Mary, her linen maid, had described him as handsome, the Widow herself found something unpleasantly pointed about his face and the sharpness of his cheeks. Thin lips, she thought, were the markings of a sour man. An unhappy man bearing unhappy news. Mary the linen maid would later tell her young beau, Bobby Dougan, that the handsome Englishman's name was Wesley St. Clair, and that he had thanked her for bringing him clean pillows and bowed his head to her while doing so, and young Bobby in his recitation of the event would mimic her smitten tones to the fat barkeep while sweeping the pub floor. "Did you ever hear something so sophisticated? she says to me," the boy's nose curled into a sneer, "I got more sophistication in my left foot!" The barman rolled his eyes, wiping a glass clean with a dirty rag, "But what's he here for, boy? That's the wonder." "Oh." Bobby shrugged. "Well, that Matheson fellow, I figure. One that disappeared out in the row? Mary said he had a badge." The old barman's lips drew tight. The Matheson fellow in question had been yet another Englishman, a writer according to gossip, who had rented an old cottage just outside of town and had not been heard from since the day he'd set foot there. The barman, like many others in the town, was fairly certain what had become of him, but it was a town matter, not some Sherlockian mystery for a foreign officer to stick his nose into. "Only trouble will come of that," he grumbled, setting down another glass. The Widow McShaney was many things -- a nosey gossip, an elderly flirt -- but a decent cook was not one of them. At the suggestion of young Mary the chambermaid, Wesley found himself seated in a corner booth at the local pub, his cell phone lying impotently face-down on the worn table and a bowl of mutton stew steaming and untouched in front of him. Unable to access anything resembling wireless, Wesley had resorted to the scribblings of a small, soft leather notebook over which he was currently bent, brow furrowed in concentration broken only by the heavy, thudding steps of the pub's barman. "Anything else I can get ya?" the man asked, looming over Wesley as he set a mug of dark tea in front of Wesley's bowl. Wesley sat back just enough to pull a photograph from his inner pocket, flashing it up at the man. "You haven't seen this gentleman around, have you?" he asked, almost sighing, as if exasperated by the answer he had not yet received. "Mr. John Matheson, aged fourty-seven, short, balding, somewhat stout. Fancies himself something of a writer." "Not recently, Sir, no. Come through maybe six weeks ago." "Come through here?" "No." "So you didn't see him?" "Not myself, just heard 'round." Wesley snorted softly and returned the photograph to his pocket, dismissively lifting the mug as if to indicate his interests had now shifted. "Thank you." "Certainly." The barman ground his teeth as he stomped off. It seemed to be a common response from what Wesley had seen so far. Everyone he talked to had heard something about his disappearing writer, but no one knew what had become of him. Perhaps his little sabbatical to find his passion had simply been a cover for the age-old adulterous elopement, or perhaps Mr. Matheson had simply run away from a life he no longer wanted. Perhaps, Wesley thought, sipping his over-steeped tea and glancing at the door as it opened to the brass tinkle of the bell overhead, these people knew more than they had heard.
  8. Phelan Derry Sories - Faol Samhraigh "Summer Wolf" - the main body of the Derry pack, made up of the active Alpha, Beta, and Gamma populations. Members of this group have voting rights, pack political influence, and are active members of the central community, living in the Derry itself. Gevies - Faol Geimhredh "Winter Wolf" - retired members of the pack who have chosen (or been forced into) a life of independence from the pack as a whole. Members of this group live outside the Derry, are devoid of political influence, voting rights, and have been sterilized, but are still considered part of the Derry pack for the purposes of fostering. Outsiders Player-created packs will be added to this list.
  9. Abilities & Transformation In human form, a mature wolf has a great number of natural benefits at their disposal, including accelerated healing, keener senses, and peak physical strength. In wolf form, these abilities are amplified and can be overwhelming to a young wolf, a turned wolf, or one that has simply not properly matured. Though they live in a village, most will feel claustrophobic if indoors for an extended amount of time, and it is not uncommon for individuals to disappear for a day or two into the wild. Transformations are difficult and painful in the early stages of maturation, and for a turned human can be unbearably agonizing. While a born wolf's body acclimates over time as the child ages into maturity, a bitten wolf can be suddenly and violently torn from one form to another. Generally speaking, a shift is triggered by an emotional change in the wolf, specific to the individual, which accelerates the heart rate and kicks the fight or flight response into high gear, resulting in a dramatic physical transformation from human to wolf. This can be the result of excitement, fear, happiness, arousal, or any similarly intense emotion. As a result, the ability to control the shift is tied closely to one's ability to control their emotions. A werewolf's appearance is generally that of any common wolf, though notably larger and proportionate to their human form. Markings, scars, and hair color are generally carried over from one form to the other, and eye color will remain the same in both forms. If a werewolf has gone feral, their eyes will turn yellow in wolf form. Born vs. Bitten All wolves in the Derry are born that way. Breeding amongst the pack is very highly regulated, and pack members are not allowed whatsoever to interbreed with humans, nor are they allowed to mix with members of outside packs without permission from the council or a pre-established arrangement. This does not mean, of course, that they cannot breed with humans, or that humans cannot be transformed into werewolves. Interbreeding - The purity of the bloodline is very important to the pack. As such, any children fathered by a wolf to a human mother will not be considered part of the community, and the mother and child will be socially shunned. Similarly, a child born to a wolf mother from a human father will be given to the Gevies or potentially sterilized after full maturation. Children resulting from interbreeding are not 'hybrids' as the werewolf state is carried among the population by a virus, and said virus is passed from mother to child in vitro. Chilren with human mothers will be human themselves, children with wolf mothers will also be wolves. Turning - Biting humans is entirely forbidden. Infecting a human not only introduces impure blood into the pack, but also carries the potential for dangerous attention from humans as a whole. A human, once bitten, only has a 10% chance of surviving the bite itself and the subsequent infection -- characterized by high fever, disorientation, vomiting, seizures, elevated heart rate, dehydration, and coma -- and of those survivors, only a handful will become carriers. If the individual survives, and the virus takes, the full change can occur over the course of a few months, during which time the person must be closely monitored for signs of their cycle. Since a bitten human will likely be an already mature adult, their first cycle is both more unpredictable than a born wolf, and more tumultuous. Of those few who are successfully turned, more than half will become feral during their first shift cycle. If a wolf becomes feral, it is the objective of the pack to hunt and kill it. A feral wolf has no control over their shift, their mating cycle, or their appetite, and the human mind will quickly descend into a rabid madness. Social Hierarchy Alpha - Male. Only a handful of individuals claim this title at any one time. These are the pack leaders, individuals who carry a high level of responsibility and have at heart the interests of the pack above any single individual. But like many positions of authority, they are not immune to corruption or political agendas and can buy their way into the council if they know the right palm to grease. This position can be inherited after the death of an Alpha, or a wolf of any other position may be promoted upon the nomination and vote of the existing council. At the very center of the council is the Head Alpha, a position held from election until death. The Head Alpha is generally, and affectionately, known as Grandda or Da, depending on 1. the age of the Alpha and 2. the age of the person addressing the Alpha. Currently, the Derry pack is without a Head Alpha, as this pack leader recently passed away, leaving the remaining Alphas (and even Betas) vying for the position in the resulting power vaccum. Beta - Male. Second in command, sometimes referred to by the title of 'lieutenant' or simply 'officer', each Alpha has as their disposal a number of Beta wolves for the purpose of keeping the peace and patrolling the borders. New Alphas are most commonly promoted from Beta positions, and Betas themselves are hand-picked by the Alpha they serve under. Gamma - Male and Female. Sometimes referred to collectively as "the Gammies", the Gamma population is the remainder of the wolf population, the commonfolk, if you will. All other wolves not in positions of authority carry the title of Gamma. Gender, Mating, and Families In the Derry population, females outnumber males 5 to 1. As a result, the pack has done away with the concept of marriage and mated pairs, and things like gender preferences and romantic attachment are generally disconnected from the act of procreation. Mature males live as bachelors, either alone or with one or two others, while females live in communal family households. Each household is comprised of 2-4 mothers, together with their immature offspring and any mature females who have yet to breed. Once bred, a female must either move into another small household which can accommodate her, or form a new household with another unbred young female. It is not recommended for any one female to have more (or less) than four children in her lifetime. Nor is it recommended for more than half of a household's mothers to be pregnant at the same time, for the sake of the mothers and the household as a whole. While males do visit and generate relationships with their children, if they wish to, the mothers of the household are the functional parental figures. Both males and females experience a monthly rut or heat cycle. In males, this is activated by pheromones released by ovulating females in heat, and lasts anywhere from two days to a week. While all males can tell when any given female is in heat or ovulating, not all females will activate a given male's rut cycle. Males respond most often to females they encounter on a regular basis - friends, coworkers, lovers, etc. - with whose scent they are already well acquainted. For adults, this is a distracting state to be in, akin to the sex drive of a hormonal human teenager, but is not entirely unmanageable. For maturing teens, however, it is dangerously unpredictable. Maturation & Fostering Physical maturation in werewolves occurs generally between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, but can be delayed as late as the early twenties in rare cases. These years are crucial in the development of a functional adult, and failure to appropriately manage a teen's maturation can result in a feral individual that will endanger the entire pack. Because of this, the Derry pack have developed a fostering system, wherein as a teen begins to come of age, the family, and the pack as a whole, will do everything in their power to prepare the teen for the difficult years to come. Part of this system includes choosing a foster from the group of older, independent wolves living outside the community. Fosters are members of the Gevies, or "winter wolves", a subdivision of the Derry pack made up of older individuals who are either past their breeding prime, or who have elected to remain in the Derry, but prefer to live independently. The Gevies live, for the most part, in single cottages scattered through the hills and forests surrounding the Derry itself, and are not considered active members of the pack, but rather retired from the pack. All Gevies have been surgically sterilized. When an individual approaches the age of fifteen, the mothers of their household will choose their foster and make a symbolic offering - either of food or other necessary goods that may be difficult for one living outside of the pack to obtain. The teen themselves will meet the potential foster and either accept or reject their mothers' choice, based on their own potential gender preferences, innate comfort with the foster, or a number of other factors. Once chosen, the teen will begin to visit the foster as frequently as the foster believes to be necessary in order to cultivate an appropriate maturation. Upon the teen's first shift cycle, they will remain with the foster full time until control over the wolf can be achieved. Fosters are the oldest, most well-controlled of all the werewolves in the pack, and it is their duty, above all else, to ensure the emergence of a controlled, mature adult into the pack population. As such, during the fostering process, they are responsible for maintaining the emotional, psychological, and physical well-being of their ward, and this includes things like teaching them to shift on command, hunting, fighting, and maintaining the explosive nature of the immature heat or rut cycle. As such, unlike with adult mating, the gender preference of the maturing wolf is an important factor of choosing an appropriate foster. Since breeding is disallowed until the age of nineteen, most teens will continue to visit their foster even after they have left their official care. Attuning To be attuned is to have a very special, instinctive kind of bond with another wolf. It can happen at any time, for any number of reasons, and each pair of attuned individuals has a unique relationship cultivated between them. While some relationships are romantic, many also form very deep friendships or lifelong platonic companionships, and all are beyond the realm of explanation. Some become attuned over time, while for others it is sudden and inexplicable, and can happen at any time after the maturation cycle, at any place, and with anyone, though it does not affect the personality or desires of either wolf in question (i.e. you're not gonna change your sexual preferences just because you became attuned with someone of a certain gender). Most describe it as an itch, an inexplicable need to remain close to someone, to know them, and to be important to them in some social fashion. Those who become attuned develop something of a sixth sense for that person's emotions, a strong empathy that is not affected by distance or time spent apart. The death of one attuned individual is often devastating and can be felt completely by their companion until the end. It is not uncommon for companions to pass within a few years of each other. Once attuned to one person, you cannot become attuned to another, even after death. Attuning is also a mutual state, between two mature wolves, and as such one cannot become attuned to a human. Hounds While most animals will steer clear of werewolves in general, those of Phelan Derry have cultivated a very special kinship with the wolfhound. Most family households will have at least one of these enormous, shaggy dogs, and they make excellent protectors for immature children as well as close companions for bachelor males. They can be spotted walking clusters of children to school, standing guard outside cottages, or trotting along unleashed at the heels of their masters.
  10. I. Be on your best behavior OOC. This means no bullying or bad-natured pestering, just general golden rule and everyone will be a-ok. In this same vein, please do not take things done IC by characters personally, unless you have some reason to think the player themselves are using their characters as a medium for ill-treatment of others. If you have a problem in Aduantas, please talk to Niki or Gin. II. There are no word count requirements. Long posts are fine. Short posts are fine. One-word posts are fine. We are not here to micromanage your roleplay. However, please be on the same page as whoever you're writing with, so there are no hurt feelings or failed expectations. III. Tag your threads. We have tags. Tags are awesome. When posting IC in Aduantas, you MUST tag your thread with the names of all PCs (full name, as separate tags) and any content warnings (mature content, violence, etc.) you deem necessary. Use your best judgment. IV. You must post an application/plot page in order to play. See here .
  11. WESLEY A. ST. CLAIR TAKE ME TO A PLACE WITHOUT NO NAME AGE Thirty-Six SPECIES Human PACK AFFILIATION N/A PACK POSITION N/A ATTUNED N/A OCCUPATION Private Investigator RELATIONSHIPS One older sister SEEKING People to look down on him as a nosy outsider and an Englishman
  12. Wolf Land Once, they covered the Emerald Isle. Once, they protected the lost, the weak, and the young. Once, they led men into battle and feasted on the enemy. Once, they were many. Once. Now, they cluster with the last of their kind who have not scattered to the wind across land and sea, clinging to the old ways like a dying glimmer of hope long since lost. The largest single pack of werewolves left in Ireland now make up more than half the population of the small village of Phelan Derry, and though they live amongst the humans they once protected, they no longer accept them as they once did. Now they are the bane of their species, the hunters of their dead, and even though a peace has settled on these streets, those who grew up in the Derry know better than to leave their homes after nightfall. Even the garda steer clear of pack matters. But all that is about to change. With the death of their head Alpha, the pack has begun to descend into political turmoil and the remaining Alpha leaders are now vying for the spot at the top, while below there lies a quiet stirring in the shadows. Phelan Derry County Leitrim, Connacht Province, Republic of Ireland Also known as Faoladh Doire ("Werewolf Grove") to the locals, Phelan Derry is a remote, rural village located amongst the hills and forests of County Leitrim, accessible only by a single road in and out of the town. Though it falls under the jurisdiction of the county council, this small population (just under 500 individuals) is, for the most part, entirely self-sustained.
  14. You do not need to wait for a character to be accepted in order to start playing. However, you cannot play in-character without first filling out and posting the following template as a new thread in this forum under the title of your character's name, last name first (i.e. Smith, John). If you are unsure how to fill this out, you're welcome to check out other applications or ask a mod for help. This will also function as your plot page. To copy the form, simply copy/paste the post below:
  15. I’m on the playby movies wagon, I will bingewatch someone’s entire filmography when I get in the mood, I feel like it helps to more fully envision the way they emote or talk or move in a way that contributes to a more solid image of my characters. I’m very mentally visual and getting those images translated to writing is a difficulty for me.
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