Isles-Wolf
On its surface, Isles-wolf is not particularly modern. Instead it is a primal tongue, refined and spoken into being by the werewolf packs of Ireland who spread through the British Isles. The greatest advantage of the dialect is the inherent complexity of a simple system.
What one must first understand when attempting to learn or translate Isles-wolf is that almost every speaker of this dialect speaks Irish fluently. Isles-wolf is the substitution of various words. The verb, subject, and object of Irish syntax can all be replaced with wolf-like growls, teeth-gnashing, barks, and the like. Furthermore, there is a visual element to the dialect as body language and gestures are just as important as the tonal inflection put into words or growls.
The substitution of words for wolf-like mannerisms began as an unconscious choice. The more connected the word is to a expressed emotion, the more likely it is to be replaced. This is why most debates between isle-wolfs begin in fluent irish or english before inevitably devolving into rougher and less-irish growling as tempers flair. This penchant for violently guttural speaking has helped solidify and maintain the impression in various supernatural circles that werewolves are simply primitives dressed up in suits.
<Spoken in Irish>
Sisters. Brothers. Betas, omegas, my alpha. I am Maeve. I know you, and you know of me. From a young age I have been among you. Raised by you, trained by you, and a snap of her jaws, her hands held forward as if in manacles (enslaved), by you. Yes, I have seen the light. It cut through the a gutteral rasp as she makes a ripping motion to her throat. (lies)
I have put up with the deception, the lies, and I have been a a high pitched groan, a clenched fist hitting her side, a muffled huff and her hand claps over her eyes. (knife in the dark) And for what? To be a servant in life and a keening howl as a hand is against her stomach turns into a vehement snarl as she flips the alpha's son the middle finger. (broodmare to him?)
Maeve reached over her shoulder, claws extended, and carved bloody furrows through cloth and the inked flesh of her shoulder, destroying the tattoo of her allegiance to the O'Connollys. A painful, wrathful howling and gnashing of teeth as she flails her head side to side, hair sticking to her sweat-damp forehead. Her eyes staring at her alpha, an a finger pointed direct at him. (I hate you all, but I especially hate you, Alpha)
"Fuck all of you." And with a brand that had been sitting in a bed of coals next to her, Maeve plunged the searing metal against her own breast, marking herself as a lone wolf.
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