https://staging.knockturnbound.net/ Mon, 05 Oct 2026 14:07:52 +0000 MyBB https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=520 Wed, 24 Sep 2025 19:38:57 +0000 Wylder Merrow]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=520 Wednesday, December 1, 1920
Noon
The Minister's Office
♫
Wylder pushed the glass of brandy across the desk to Nordstrom, his cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. "It won't be long, Nordstrom, until military mobilization will be in play," he said quietly, taking the cigarette from his lips and replacing it with his own glass. "If we think that we can keep our people out of the muggle conflict, we're kidding ourselves."

He took a long swig, letting the fermented taste of plum coat his lips, while the burn drifted down his throat. He sighed, letting his head loll back against his chair for a moment while he thought carefully, mulling his words about in his head.

The IRA was beyond bold at this point, and while Wylder had no desire to drag his people into the foray, especially considering he represented both British and Irish interests, he and his advisors didn't see a clear way around it. Not when the British Prime Minister was now at his doorstep, imploring him for assistance, despite his own resistance to offer any. Wylder knew well the cost of war, and he didn't want to subject his own people to the horrors of it so soon after the European conflict.

Still. It was inevitable, according to all those he spoke with.

The twenty-first of November had been deemed 'Bloody Sunday', and indeed it had been. A shame that men couldn't work out their differences with diplomacy, even if diplomacy wasn't Wylder's strong suit either.

"Your secretary informed you about the proposed legislation for a Wand Registration Act?" Wylder asked, ashing his cigarette into the nearby tray. "I don't like the idea of imposing on civil liberties, and we all know old houses like yours are bound to grumble, but if it secures the integrity of the wizarding population and enables us to surveil resistance groups, then it may be the best option." His eyes settled on the Head of Magical Affairs as he swished his brandy idly.

"The muggle government just passed the Firearms Act, so it wouldn't be entirely out of left field?"]]> Wednesday, December 1, 1920
Noon
The Minister's Office
♫
Wylder pushed the glass of brandy across the desk to Nordstrom, his cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. "It won't be long, Nordstrom, until military mobilization will be in play," he said quietly, taking the cigarette from his lips and replacing it with his own glass. "If we think that we can keep our people out of the muggle conflict, we're kidding ourselves."

He took a long swig, letting the fermented taste of plum coat his lips, while the burn drifted down his throat. He sighed, letting his head loll back against his chair for a moment while he thought carefully, mulling his words about in his head.

The IRA was beyond bold at this point, and while Wylder had no desire to drag his people into the foray, especially considering he represented both British and Irish interests, he and his advisors didn't see a clear way around it. Not when the British Prime Minister was now at his doorstep, imploring him for assistance, despite his own resistance to offer any. Wylder knew well the cost of war, and he didn't want to subject his own people to the horrors of it so soon after the European conflict.

Still. It was inevitable, according to all those he spoke with.

The twenty-first of November had been deemed 'Bloody Sunday', and indeed it had been. A shame that men couldn't work out their differences with diplomacy, even if diplomacy wasn't Wylder's strong suit either.

"Your secretary informed you about the proposed legislation for a Wand Registration Act?" Wylder asked, ashing his cigarette into the nearby tray. "I don't like the idea of imposing on civil liberties, and we all know old houses like yours are bound to grumble, but if it secures the integrity of the wizarding population and enables us to surveil resistance groups, then it may be the best option." His eyes settled on the Head of Magical Affairs as he swished his brandy idly.

"The muggle government just passed the Firearms Act, so it wouldn't be entirely out of left field?"]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=505 Thu, 18 Sep 2025 00:49:00 +0000 Mary Holloway]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=505
She took a brown paper bag in her hand, the smell of roast chicken and leek pie holding out a second of peace. The break room was a sanctuary—a room in which barristers and Aurors, Unspeakables and Muggle-Relations officials alike all lost their working personas for a while. She walked to an empty table at the corner and sat down in a good-looking chair, pulling out her lunch from the bag. As she unwrapped the warm pastry, she pulled out a slim folder from her briefcase.

Her father, a veteran family law wizard, had handed her the file during breakfast this morning, that knowing glint in his eye. Mary opened it, sloppily holding it against her cup while she took a bite of pie. It was a tricky case involving a disputed piece of property between estranged brothers. Not headline-grabbing drama, but the kind of messy, human problem that her father left to her discretion to handle. She absent-mindedly flipped through the initial news accounts, the courtroom jargon, and personal details of the quarreling family, overlapping the calming hums of the hopping break room.

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OOC: she is hungry and looking over case files someone save her lolol]]>
She took a brown paper bag in her hand, the smell of roast chicken and leek pie holding out a second of peace. The break room was a sanctuary—a room in which barristers and Aurors, Unspeakables and Muggle-Relations officials alike all lost their working personas for a while. She walked to an empty table at the corner and sat down in a good-looking chair, pulling out her lunch from the bag. As she unwrapped the warm pastry, she pulled out a slim folder from her briefcase.

Her father, a veteran family law wizard, had handed her the file during breakfast this morning, that knowing glint in his eye. Mary opened it, sloppily holding it against her cup while she took a bite of pie. It was a tricky case involving a disputed piece of property between estranged brothers. Not headline-grabbing drama, but the kind of messy, human problem that her father left to her discretion to handle. She absent-mindedly flipped through the initial news accounts, the courtroom jargon, and personal details of the quarreling family, overlapping the calming hums of the hopping break room.

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OOC: she is hungry and looking over case files someone save her lolol]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=384 Wed, 27 Aug 2025 17:12:29 +0000 James Laurence]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=384 Friday, August 13, 1920
Following A Meeting of the Wizengamot

A meeting about the latest bit of legislation, scheduled, no doubt, to bore half the Wizengamot into early retirement, had dragged on far past the point of polite endurance. Still, James Laurence made a habit of never missing a beat; his presence was as much a given as the insufferable scent of Ministry lapdogs. After the embarrassing and undignified crumbling of the previous administration and the unceremonious placing of a relative nobody in the seat of Minister, James saw it as his personal duty to ensure that his family’s interests were guarded. If not by the system, then by himself.

Merrow, while not a complete bleeding heart - for his unabashed misogyny was well and far-acknowledged - was far too concerned with the idea of noble actions and upholding some self-inflicted moral compass. It was almost humorous, watching the man contort himself into the semblance of a statesman, straining against his own solitary, battle-hardened nature to play the puppet in a show his supporters insisted he perform.

It was only apparent by the mediocrity of some of the people he'd appointed to this fucking body. The Minister was spectacularly out of his depth.

"Miss Knightley." James rounded the length of the conference table as the Minister and others began filing out of the room, a half-smile cracking across his lips. Merrow had a new assistant. Word was that he'd sent the former - Elizabeth - home in tears one day over her perceived ineptness, and in her sorrowful place had sat Harper Knightley, an up-and-comer from the Magical Affairs office.

An interesting choice.

"Congratulations on your unexpected appointment," he said casually, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Seems a bit of a downgrade though," his smile widened, his voice steady and casual. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the others were all out of earshot. "Climbing the MoA ladder just to wind up a secretary." He tsked, and gave her a quick up and down, while his eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Surely you're aiming higher?"]]> Friday, August 13, 1920
Following A Meeting of the Wizengamot

A meeting about the latest bit of legislation, scheduled, no doubt, to bore half the Wizengamot into early retirement, had dragged on far past the point of polite endurance. Still, James Laurence made a habit of never missing a beat; his presence was as much a given as the insufferable scent of Ministry lapdogs. After the embarrassing and undignified crumbling of the previous administration and the unceremonious placing of a relative nobody in the seat of Minister, James saw it as his personal duty to ensure that his family’s interests were guarded. If not by the system, then by himself.

Merrow, while not a complete bleeding heart - for his unabashed misogyny was well and far-acknowledged - was far too concerned with the idea of noble actions and upholding some self-inflicted moral compass. It was almost humorous, watching the man contort himself into the semblance of a statesman, straining against his own solitary, battle-hardened nature to play the puppet in a show his supporters insisted he perform.

It was only apparent by the mediocrity of some of the people he'd appointed to this fucking body. The Minister was spectacularly out of his depth.

"Miss Knightley." James rounded the length of the conference table as the Minister and others began filing out of the room, a half-smile cracking across his lips. Merrow had a new assistant. Word was that he'd sent the former - Elizabeth - home in tears one day over her perceived ineptness, and in her sorrowful place had sat Harper Knightley, an up-and-comer from the Magical Affairs office.

An interesting choice.

"Congratulations on your unexpected appointment," he said casually, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Seems a bit of a downgrade though," his smile widened, his voice steady and casual. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the others were all out of earshot. "Climbing the MoA ladder just to wind up a secretary." He tsked, and gave her a quick up and down, while his eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Surely you're aiming higher?"]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=304 Thu, 21 Aug 2025 02:42:43 +0000 Emil Roan]]> https://staging.knockturnbound.net/showthread.php?tid=304 "Listen, I wrote about this to The Ministry ahead of time. You cannot take this from me, for your own safety."

There had been little time between his arrival by steamboat from Brazil to his appearance at the Ministry. Disheveled was putting it graciously, three weeks at sea was enough to make anyone look the way Emil Roan did at this moment. The smell of sea air followed him where he went, his mind focused on appearing in front of the Minister of Magic was blocking him from all other thoughts. Not once did he imagine that his seaworn looks would cause concern with the well-dressed officials at the Ministry or that carrying a mysterious package wouldn't go over well with the assistant to the Minister.

"Please," Emil insisted as the assistant refused to relent. "I have an appointment. Just let me go through."

The package would not leave the man's grasp. There was very little in the world that would make him do so. This was literally a piece of his soul in his hands. A dark artefact of whose knowledge had been never been made to the public. Magic who's existence was not available for research at any of the libraries of the world. The Ministry could have possibly have some knowledge of it in the Department of Mysteries, but that in itself was solely an educated guess.

For the first time in seven years, Emil did not hear the screams of his soul begging to come back. The crude but effective packaging in his hands had seen to that, taking more than half a decade's worth of effort between magical minds under the cover of the jungle.

But he had been slightly numbed to the screams. His sanity had slipped in and out more times than he could keep track of, despite his best efforts to journal everything in that time. The container had sealed the worst of it, but there was still residual. Nothing could block the energy completely. Something the assistant would find out for herself if Emil couldn't talk her down.]]> "Listen, I wrote about this to The Ministry ahead of time. You cannot take this from me, for your own safety."

There had been little time between his arrival by steamboat from Brazil to his appearance at the Ministry. Disheveled was putting it graciously, three weeks at sea was enough to make anyone look the way Emil Roan did at this moment. The smell of sea air followed him where he went, his mind focused on appearing in front of the Minister of Magic was blocking him from all other thoughts. Not once did he imagine that his seaworn looks would cause concern with the well-dressed officials at the Ministry or that carrying a mysterious package wouldn't go over well with the assistant to the Minister.

"Please," Emil insisted as the assistant refused to relent. "I have an appointment. Just let me go through."

The package would not leave the man's grasp. There was very little in the world that would make him do so. This was literally a piece of his soul in his hands. A dark artefact of whose knowledge had been never been made to the public. Magic who's existence was not available for research at any of the libraries of the world. The Ministry could have possibly have some knowledge of it in the Department of Mysteries, but that in itself was solely an educated guess.

For the first time in seven years, Emil did not hear the screams of his soul begging to come back. The crude but effective packaging in his hands had seen to that, taking more than half a decade's worth of effort between magical minds under the cover of the jungle.

But he had been slightly numbed to the screams. His sanity had slipped in and out more times than he could keep track of, despite his best efforts to journal everything in that time. The container had sealed the worst of it, but there was still residual. Nothing could block the energy completely. Something the assistant would find out for herself if Emil couldn't talk her down.]]>