Absit Omen RPG

Over the past month and a half, Wolfgang became rather accustomed to the lacklustre breakfast the Ministry gave suspected criminals. It was enough to stave off serious hunger, but not enough to build any strength. The belly ached, and it added to the irritable feeling of the prisoner, breaking wills. At St Mungo's they had fed enough to help him regain his health, but as the first week progressed and the aurors came, he began to eat less and less. They asked him about Birmingham, about empty swimming pools in the middle of the night. They probed about silver cages and Muggles, about Lawrence Musgrave and Hannah Bombay. And still they didn't tire, so asked about how his relationship was with his son, who he knew in Britain and what he enjoyed doing at full moon. As the days went by his denial of any accusations faded into disinterest and depression about his situation. Camille's visits were cut short, supervised, and he spent most of his days alone, sleeping, silent.

The four walls of his St Mungo's sideroom, protected by a lowly member of the Department of Law Enforcement with not enough NEWTs to be an auror, became a cage, and within it, Wolfgang Storm became trapped in his own mind.
"Sweetheart," Camille squeezed his hand, "Darling talk to me. It's unbearable to see you like this."

He was a cursed animal. He was no longer a wizard, but an abomination an evil monster. A disgusting, execrable dog. He was no longer a husband to his beautiful wife, he was no longer a father (though he hadn't been one for quite some time before that, one might argue), he had no life, he had no purpose or meaning. He couldn't leave, the Ministry held him in place, and he couldn't walk comfortably, his leg torn to pieces below the knee. He would be forever disfigured and never the same. He saw no future.
"My love, please tell me what you're thinking. I only want to help you. To get you better." As the door closed behind her, not a word spoken in return, Wolfgang would find his cheek wet, unaware he had been crying.


"We're here to see you released, Mr Storm!" the tenacity of young faces, bright minds with legal knowledge at his bedside in the days before the full moon had roused him from his depression. Where Camille had only offered support, love and attention like any other partner who had pledged to have and to hold from this day forth, these young wizards and their notes were what he could relate. Facts, figures, reason, history, research, they brought it in droves to his sickbed.
"You're the victim, Bombay bit you, she turned you and has ruined your life."
"She's got form for being out on a full moon. We can build a case that she willingly took part, lessen your sentence if they push that you ran things. What with Musgrave being her uncle. Wouldn't be hard to run a smear campaign, she's pretty much beaten, penniless too."
"Apparently she was housing her uncle earlier in the year, so seems they're pretty close, we could put it to them that they conspired against you, that you were an innocent party -."
"Well, we're also exploring the line that your son recruited them to seek revenge for you disapproving of Hannah as his fiancee…"


The first full moon had felt as if his limbs were torn from each other, every bone breaking in his body as he could not control the urge to howl, pace and claw. He had woken naked in the morning and had never wanted to wake again. There was an intense hunger, and the hospital brought him rare meat to eat before and after to help him recover. He tried not to think of it, but it confirmed what he already knew, that he was no longer Wolfgang, but just a wolf.

The early days of the trial he listened attentively for hours on end. As each person gave evidence against him, he sat silent, unblinking at each of them. His emotions would have ordinarily boiled and he'd have found it impossible to hold his tongue in previous months. But now a quick temper simmered beneath the surface but otherwise he felt as if someone had taken his emotions, put them aside in a box and was holding them safe. Safe for that very morning.

In his holding cell, Wolfgang finished the water with his breakfast, He stretched his upper body, joints cracking in all the wrong places. His second transformation had been as bad as the first, and he had spent as much time since sleeping. The time awake was spent preparing his responses with his legal helpers, who were positive they could bargain if he played the part. As his tray was taken away, they were let into his holding cell, and one offered a cup of very strong black coffee. Despite how bitter it tasted after so long without much but bland food, Wolfgang gulped it down, thankful. Together, they reviewed the plan for the day before being called away, leaving Wolfgang alone in his cell once more to wait out the rest of the time before the trial resumed.

The cup of tea handed to him through the hatch in the door ten minutes before was a blessing.
"Wet your whistle, Mr Storm. You'll need it before you sing like a canary," explained the guard outside, who joked with another voice outside. Thirsty, and nervous as he stewed, Wolfgang sipped at it thoughtfully while he waited, wondering how quickly time was passing outside the four walls. His hands shook as he lowered the cup.

Finally, the door swung open, and he was led up in chains. He tried to force air into his lungs to steady himself as he limped slowly up the corridor, leaning heavily on a crutch. As much as it was to ease his leg, it was also for show, to seek pity from the wizengamot. The trip seemed to take longer that morning, and he overheard the guards discussing the fact the place was packed and it had taken longer to get people seated. The knot in Wolfgang's stomach tightened, and he felt a pang like a stitch, increasingly lightheaded as he waited.

They led him up and into the courtroom shortly after, a sweat beginning to break out on his brow as he reached his seat, overlooked by all. Bombay was already there, and looked as ill as he felt. It seemed neither of them had enjoyed their transformations before the weekend. His eyes swept over the wizengamot, now familiar faces from the previous week, and then through to the public gallery. Camille was there, though he barely looked to her, and Johann who avoided his gaze. Behind them, there was not an empty seat at that side of the room, and a dozen quills twitched in readiness. He had an audience, just as his team had wanted. If his pleas did not do the trick, the talk of them and the suspicion that would ripple through wizarding society after would begin to chip away at those who needed to fall next.

One of the clerks on duty stood to sum up the recent events of the trial before it had adjourned for the full moon. The public gallery leaned forward to catch their every word, hearing first hand rather than through the newspapers. Wolfgang pulled at his shirt collar, feeling warmer. The stitch in his stomach wasn't easing. The nerves of having to speak for longer than he had in weeks was setting in, and his heart seemed to skip a beat every now and then. Perhaps tonight he would be able to plead he needed to return to St Mungo's for some care. They would have something - draught of peace or similar - that would steady his nerves for the following days.



"The court now calls the defendant, Wolfgang Storm."

The sound of his name seemed to come from a mile away, down a long tunnel. There was a rough shove to his left shoulder by one of the attending guards. His audience was waiting, he couldn't keep them. Seizing his crutch, Wolfgang heaved himself to his feet, head nodding, feeling heavy on his neck. The pain in his side was stronger now, and he bent forward with a hand to his side to rub at it, to ease the stitch. He licked his lips slowly, his breath shallow and haggard, colour draining from his face all of a sudden as his blood pressure dropped.

The need to vomit came very suddenly. He pitched forward. Crimson flooded from his lips, breaking through the hand he pressed to his mouth to try and hold it. It streaked the wood balcony before him and splattered to the floor beyond. There was a shriek from the gallery at the sight of it, and a guard's hand clapped his shoulders, pulling him back.

He staggered, choking, and clattered backwards against the chair, wrestled to the ground, initial reactions that this was an elaborate stunt. His thin frame convulsed beneath their hands as they called to him, trying to rouse him. Before aid could reach him sufficiently, he lay still, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling of the courtroom.

"It's a 12 inch holly with a core of dragon heartstring. Last transaction would have been, probably, December 26th." Wolfgang's face gave no hint of whether this was correct, rather the opposite.
 
"The one before that must have been early August, late July last year. I go to Hogwarts, you see, and I come from a muggle town. I only tend to make a few transactions a year. Both of those would have been withdrawals, by the way," His fingers traced down the ledger and across her file where the goblin records had sketched her wand, with a line of runes beneath to represent the magical vibrations it gave.

"Thank you, for doing this Sir. I've had a hell of a week, and I just need a little bit of pocket change,"

"Without your registered wand, that is all that we can permit, either way." Wolfgang explained quietly, raising his eyebrows at the state of her funds.
"For someone of your age, you could be doing much more with your income." Despite the fact it wasn't a startling amount, more clients were always welcome when one was establishing, and who knew who Miss Harris knew and could introduce him to. Even if he'd had to force himself not to sneer at her being from a Muggle town.

"If you'll hold still just a moment, Miss Harris." He raised his wand, poised the tip over the crown of her head, waved it precisely with sharp strokes, nodded to himself about the results.
"All does appear to be in order, though you are limited to ten galleons[1]. If you require more I suggest you return as soon as possible with your wand."

1.	About fifty pounds

Wolfgang made an incomprehensible grunt in response to Woolfolk's offer to find his son.
"Just tell him his mother wants a word if you do find him." He glanced about. "If I had my wand I'd hex him into next week on sight." The thin wizard glanced about himself for the wand, but it was being kept safe, or hadn't been recovered. He hadn't found out about it yet.

With great luck, it appeared she was leaving, though it wasn't with what she wanted. Wolfgang licked his lips as she spoke about his memory coming back. It wouldn't be unless it was to his advantage to ensure Hannah Bombay was locked up and he wasn't.
"I'll be sure to let you know Miss Woolfolk. With time, memories might clear. All these potions they give me…" He attempted to give a shrug and regretted it, his expression reflecting the pain. He reached a hand out and took her card a little swiftly as a result, grimacing at her.
"Come by, if you find the wolf, we'll have balloons and cake." He told her sarcastically.

Despite her niceties, Wolfgang could sense a growing impatience. He wasn't able to deliver straightforward, easy answers of exactly where he was. If he had been able to speak freely, he could have given her chapter and verse, but to do so would incriminate himself as well as the others, and he couldn't bargain on whether Hannah would remember and confess either. Musgrave was bottom of the food chain, which left his absent son as the only unpredictable party left with part of a conscience.

"Cottage?" Wolfgang echoed, Woolfolk's query. "Reach me that copy of the paper." He pointed halfheartedly at a folded copy of the Daily Prophet, just out of reach at the table at the foot of the bed.

Unfolding the paper, he leafed through it to the property section, doubled it back and folded it over before extending it to Primrose.
"Two bedrooms, walking distance of the city centre. A flat, my dear. A cottage we can only dream of with our wages, and it wouldn't be in Birmingham." Woolfolk probably lived a comfortable life with her quills and fancy handbags. He doubted she'd ever fallen on hard times. Wolfgang could imagine her in a cottage, with rambling roses up the side of the door.

"I thought you might have caught up with my son already?" Wolfgang asked, frowning. "He's not been to see me. Waste of bloody space, he wasn't any use. Look at the state of me." He grumbled and gestured to the state of himself.
"Besides, he works at the Ministry. Languages. Bit of a smart arse."

“You don’t happen to remember anything significant about the place you apparated to by chance? Any distinguishing features or the name of the town perhaps?  I’d like to be able to check the registry and any potential safe houses that might have been overlooked in the area.” Wolfgang looked to her with mild interest. She was, after all, just trying to do her job and lock up rogue werewolves. He wondered if Hannah's disappearance had been noticed yet, or if she had even been found.

"I've been trying to remember, Ms Woolfolk." He told her, a frown on his face, "Mind plays funny tricks. I don't know whether it's real or what I've dreamed of since. All I know is that the wolf was upon me almost instantly the moment we got there. No warning, no hesitation. All I can think of is that I apparated straight into the cage of one of those animals." He winced and shook his head. "I was aiming for Birmingham, I can get the address of where I was heading, might help?" He looked to Primrose, making out this was the best he could do, "It's the British geography, that's why I stick to money... I wish I could give you an exact depiction. Were there any missing werewolves that night? Did you find anything?"

From the middle of the heated moment between young witch and goblin, a tall, thin figure in a black suit slid past the waiting queue, and reached out, picking up the tiny, plastic and rather Muggle form of identification. The goblin the other side of the desk looked up and its tiny sharp little teeth glinted a moment in defence before it spotted the Gringotts tie pin, indicating one of the Muggles it worked with.

Wolfgang wordlessly studied the plastic identification, turning it over between his fingertips.
"You've no wand?" He asked quietly, but directly to the girl, who he was led to believe was a Miss Chloe Harris, by the card. Wolfgang's German accent tinged his words, turning the w of wand into more of a v. His gaze was as sharp as the goblin's, but at least he was looking at her, and not ignoring her.
"Protocol, you see." He remarked, "wand, easiest way to identify you if you're a goblin. They've a fascination with them as they can't have them." Wolfgang turned the card over to the front and lowered his chin, listening to her explanations.

"If you'll come this way, Miss Harris, we'll verify your account ownership." He gestured away from the goblin in question, and glanced back over his shoulder to it's greedy little face and spat 'well get on with serving the clients' in gobbledegook at it. It bared its sharp little teeth in response and rounded on the next customer. Wolfgang slipped through a gap in the high ledger desks to where one was unoccupied. Goblins, being little people, wanted to peer down at their customers, and had tall stools. Wolfgang didn't need to sit to comfortably use the space. He procured his spectacles from his suit jacket pocket and raised his wand, tapping a great book his side of the desk.
"Chloe Harris." He told it, with a cursory check of the plastic card, and the ink on the ledger began to swirl and change, soon resolving itself to the records of the vault and account that Chloe's funds were kept safe in, though the young witch could see nothing of this, only that he was busy with something on the desk above her head.

"Now," Wolfgang addressed the young witch. "If you might confirm the last two transactions you made with the bank, and the details of your wand - length, core, wood, distinguishing features, we will get you set straight." He perched his glasses on the end of his nose and looked over them at her. There was no hint of a smile, but his tone was businesslike instead.

"I do hope," Wolfgang echoed, a little more quietly, though with a cold edge as his eyes suddenly snapped to her, "that you won't bother me again." He blinked slowly. "Don't want to hold up that important policy amendment."

He closed his eyes and frowned a little, rifling back through his thoughts. His mind's eye took him back in sharp detail to the swimming baths in Birmingham. He hadn't heard if they'd found the place, or what happened after they left. The original plan had been for certain associates to cleanse the building of any lost limbs so the Muggles didn't start a murder investigation. He had to assume that plan had still been carried out. Even if he'd been mauled, discovery could incriminate so many more.

"We met at the pub but… we didn't stay for a drink." He spoke at last, eyes still closed. "I wanted to show him a place." His eyes flew open as if he'd recalled something new. "You see, Miss Woolfolk, my wife and I only arrived in Britain a month or so to live. We've found a place but it's only a stop gap - quick to get to Gringotts for me." He made small gestures with his hands upon the sheets as he explained.

"I had seen a place outside of London. Wanted my son's opinion on the place." He sighed and closed his eyes, wincing as his leg triggered a nerve up his groin to his discomfort. "We - I must have miscalculated the apparition point."

She had a pretty name, and held herself rather prim too, but for Wolfgang she was government and interference. The throbbing of his leg from moving was making his eyes water ever so slightly.

"… we are having a review panel in the next week about current regulations and procedures." He narrowed his eyes at her and frowned, surprised that a review panel about procedures would warrant a visit to his bedside days after his attack. British Ministry was a little unhinged. One of his bandaged hands went to his shoulder, pressing dressings in place, worried they were slipping.

Primrose took a seat, and Wolfgang watched her pull out a quill and parchment with trepidation. He knew he'd have to recount moments from the full moon to people, but he had to be very careful about which details he went for. The situation he'd been bitten in was incriminating, and he wanted to stay out of Azkaban if he could possibly help it. Unfortunately, by extension this did protect him from naming Hannah - who if found would also know where she had been, or be able to describe it. There were plenty of traps.

"I don't remember." He put it plainly. They said if you told the truth you didn't have to remember what you'd said your lie, but there was the third option of not providing information at all and playing dumb. "Last thing I remember is going to meet my son for a drink." He looked to the ceiling, screwed up his scarred face as if thinking hard.
"I just remember the pain, and the blood, and being brought here. It's all rather a blur." He told Primrose, though didn't look at her throughout, whereas he'd been quite intrigued to stare at her up until then.
"I don't… I don't like to dwell on it." He whispered, and closed his eyes, fingers clutching at the bed sheets. He had to resist the temptation to crack open an eye to see if Primrose appeared to be sympathising.

A bank is a place that will lend you money if you can prove you don't need it.

The new role at Gringotts was in it's second day. Wolfgang had thrown himself into the job, keen to ensure he did not lose the post. They needed the money so very desperately - living in one room on Knockturn Alley was all they could afford on what was left, and it wouldn't do to stay much longer unless they very much had to. He had already pursued other means, but there was no trust to be had with those who lured in that Alley.

By day he now scrutinised and examined the portfolios of wealthy wizarding sorts and businesses, much like he had before his ejection from his former post, and for Durmstrang. The British market was a little different, but nothing he couldn't keep up with. Some of the existing clients had been brought his way already, with familiar companies amongst their portfolios in European markets. He was escorting one out, laying on what charm he could stomach, trying to ensure their good custom despite his new face and foreign accent. Had he heard himself he might have heard the slight desperation in the tone.

As he shook hands and let the broad wizard in a bowler hat stroll through the doors to Diagon Alley beyond, he turned on his heel and looked up the vast chamber lined with goblins at high counters. As he did, his eyes were caught by a girl with shocking red hair at one of the counters. She seemed to be arguing, or protesting against the decision of the goblin serving her.

Goblins were evil little creatures, Wolfgang knew only too well. He had dealt with them for decades and spoke their nasty little language enough to convey exactly what he wanted them to do, and so he could understand the snide mutterings they employed while discussing the finances of their customers. If anything, the goblins of Gringotts were even further up their own backsides than the ones he had worked with in the past, and there were evil little rumours about their demands on the wizarding population that rubbed him up the wrong way too.

He made a decision to lurk a little closer to the scene, to overhear what was going on, and to hear what the pointy-faced buggers were saying to each other...

"No, no, it'll pass…" He replied semi-automatically, wincing and reaching for his leg over the sheets. As the sharp pain lessened, he sank back against the pillows again and squinted at her, trying to focus on what she was saying.
"… with the Werewolf Wing…"

"Are you now." He retorted, looking none too pleased. "Do you have a name, or do you go by your collective body?" She looked like efficiency and paperwork. These were good things in business and money, but not something he necessarily wanted to contend with at that moment. He would much rather drift back to sleep, where he didn't get bothered by anyone, and he wasn't in pain.

"You were just interrupting sleep." He told Primrose with a curl of his lip. "It's a place I'd rather be." He winced again, his lips forming sounds of pain, though he held them in his throat. He dragged his thin frame up the bed a little to sit more upright, anticipating she might be there more than a minute.
"What do you and the bloody Werewolf Wing want with me?" He asked, settling back gingerly. His hands lifted the sheets and arranged them around his waist. His upper body was bare, apart from the dressings on the cuts where the wolf had stood on him and clawed.
"Are you here to poke and prod at me too? They reckon they might have to cut my leg off. Bit bloody late now." His face, which was craggy at the best of times, had aged a few years in the space of days since arriving, and his cheeks were hollow. His eyebrows almost met above his nose a he scowled.

"I'll come back later." His wife squeezed his hand before she left his bedside. Wolfgang closed his eyes once again and let the combination of potions take him back to sleep.

His leg was bound in bandages, numbed. It would take at least a week of rest the healers said, then they would assess if was better to keep it or lop it off beneath the knee. He hadn't seen the state of it yet, in a way he didn't want to. He wanted to stay in blissful ignorance of the fact the skin and muscle had been torn by teeth. The claw marks across his shoulders were covered too, though the healers said they were healing well. They would leave permanent scars - larger than the cut Bombay had left on his face with her human hands. He would be forever disfigured.

A healer had come to him quietly about the transformation yesterday evening. Wolfgang had been cursed, that was almost certain, so an emergency dose of wolfsbane potion had been administered shortly after his arrival, not that it had yet proven successful in averting infection, the young man admitted. Wolfgang hadn't wanted to hear what he had to say, in stubborn denial. Despite a craving for bloody meat since the night of the full moon, he had barely eaten, barely spoken. He was waiting for the aurors to come, clap him in a bind and read his fate for Azkaban. He had no idea who had spoken, only that his son had not graced his St Mungo's bedside.

Not knowing how long he had slept, or what time of day it now was, Wolfgang stirred at the feeling of a presence close by. His eyes cracked open, expecting a healer, or a relative. He attempted to move a little on waking, and cried out in pain involuntarily as he moved his leg, the muscles in his calf and ankle still very much raw.

Character Name: Wolfgang Storm
URL Link to Biography: http://absitomen.com/index.php?topic=9561.0

Type of Creature: Werewolf

How did they become a creature?

Sink Your Teeth In.

On the full moon of July 26th 2010, Wolfgang was thrown in front of Hannah Bombay in werewolf form at an illegal werewolf fight in Birmingham. Unable to escape in time, he was bitten on the leg.

Are they registered with the Ministry of Magic?: Yes

If yes, what does registry entail? Registry means that Wolfgang's name is recorded by the Ministry of Magic, and he must report to a safehouse ahead of each full moon for his transformation.

Are they considered a 'Dark' Creature?: No

If yes, are they currently under pursuit by the Ministry of Magic?: No

What crimes have they committed?  Were they convicted?

• Breach of Statute of Secrecy - Magic in the presence of a muggle: City of Delusion, October 29th 2009. Reported but not convicted, cautioned at most.
  
• Illegal gambling/bloodsports/harm to  muggles: Amarilli, Mia Bella, November 2nd 2009 & Sink Your Teeth In, 26th July 2010. Not currently investigated.
  
• Harassment by post:  Who Let the Dog In?, January 5th 2010. Not reported to MLE.
  
• Bank fraud (Gringotts):  Never Retreat. Never Explain. Get it Done & Let Them Howl!, January 13th 2010. Not reported to MLE.
  
• Bank fraud, other white collar crimes (Chrysopoeia): The Squat Little Man with the Tall Top Hat, March 8th 2010. Sacked from job, stripped of loaned assets.
  
• Conspiracy to kidnapp A Careless Shepherd, July 25th 2010. Not yet investigated.
  

Wolfgang was quite surprised to find he was actually enjoying a conversation with another human being at this surprisingly happy party. He had thought it would be a horrible afternoon indeed, but he found Glass shared some of his own views already.

"Do you speak their ridiculous language? Almost as bad as mermish that tongue."

"In that I don't have to stick my head in a bucket to order them about, you mean?" Wolfgang asked, referring to the fact mermish sounded horrendous above water. "Yes, I do, not a necessity, but rather useful to keep abreast of what the nasty little beasts are up to." He gave a strained grin as he thought of it, looking not too dissimilar to a goblin with his narrow jaw.
"If the Ministry should need any advice…?"

For a man with one hand, Lawrence Musgrave was still very strong, Wolfgang discovered to his alarm. The kick in his ankle had drawn his foot off the floor instinctively and changed his balance, spinning on the spot to find Musgrave's face right in his.

He didn't have time to protest. The flash of light came a split second before the force. His back felt like it had been bent in the wrong direction and his stomach left where he'd stood as he flew backwards. His hands gripped at invisible ropes, unable to react quick enough to the fact he was flying backwards through the air without anything to break his fall.

Balcony twisted and shattered, his eyes stared in horror without really seeing Musgrave's outstretched right arm with wand in hand, or his son's scramble back to his feet after being bowled over. He hit the floor with enough force to wind him, his lungs empty of air, ears ringing, whole body momentarily disconnected by the impact on the hard ground.

His arms twitched, trying to make sense of what had happened. He'd not been knocked unconscious, but he felt close to slipping there as his head felt like it had been turned inside out. As his limbs began to talk to him, reporting they were all still attached, he rolled onto his side, and gasped for breath. Across the other side, in the shallow end was the wolf. He had to get to his senses to apparate out.

Wolfgang pulled himself to his knees, the world was spinning violently and he fumbled, searching for his wand. He wasn't ready for the streak of fur and claws that knocked him back again, and held him down with such a weight he thought he might be crushed. In fear he stared up at the face of the wolf as it stared down at him. He struggled to breathe, the weight pinning him down felt like it was crushing his shoulders.

This was it, he wasn't going to get out of there alive. Not with a werewolf pinning him to the floor, not if it was able to know why it was here. Then it rose onto its hind legs and howled. The sound was ungodly. It was primeval, and awoke the fear in Wolfgang that had kept generations of humans alive before it - the fight and flight instinct. He braced his arms against the floor, attempting to push himself away from the beast enough to seize his wand.

He was too late, the jaws wrapped around his leg and he howled, watching as the teeth sunk into flesh before his eyes. His body was contorted as he was flung like a ragdoll against the metal cage.
"Oh Merlin no - please merlin - no!" Wolfgang screamed as he rolled into a ball, not daring to look at his leg - wanting it to be over, either with swift death or with the wolf slain. 

As he curled into a ball his hand found the squeaky dog toy he'd thrown into the cage the previous day.

"Oh now he gets it." Wolfgang rolled his eyes. "Yes, it's the stupid dog who you proposed to. She's where she belongs. Look how happy she is, running after Muggles." The Muggle was almost at the top of the ladder, but struggling as there were swipes and bites at his legs.
"This is what you were going to marry - I thought you'd like to see." He gestured with both hands to the pool below.