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Post by Lord Voldemort on Nov 22, 2018 1:08:30 GMT
It was a peaceful night, if one did not include the very recent murder of a pair of rebels which had occurred hundreds of miles away. Moonlight shone through the large windows that looked out over the spacious grounds at the back of the property. The gentle pale light from outside mingled with the candlelight from the ornate chandelier that hung at the center of the room and the sconces that lined the ballroom’s walls. Upon a dais was an elaborately carved chair, almost throne-like, upon which Lord Voldemort sat. He spoke softly to the smaller of the two wizards in the room, a still large man cloaked in robes of deep blue and black. Thin fingers waved him off and the man nodded, bowed, and returned to the arch of loyal followers needed for the night’s success that surrounded him. Though their numbers tonight were sparse, it was with purpose.
Lord Voldemort was not kept waiting long. The events of the evening had been meticulously planned, the auror’s skill set evaluated by her peers at the Ministry and a schedule established without her knowing. The spells surrounding the property were interrupted almost precisely when expected, and following a few more moments of patience the doors of the ballroom opened and a couple entered. Voldemort’s face was the only one exposed as Lestrange entered, bowed, and took his place quietly beside Claudia, trailed by a small witch, their guest of honor. Black eyes evaluated more than her posture as she approached. “Welcome, Miss Meadowes.” His voice was soft and melodic, ringing gently through the otherwise quiet room. “I am so pleased to have you here with us this evening. Your companion has told me much of your merits.” He spoke of Rodolphus as if the man wasn’t in the room, not bothering to pull his eyes away from the lovely creature he spoke to in order to give even a courteous glance at the wizard he was referring to.
The black figure rose, standing to his full height and stepping forward to meet the auror who stood before him. She wore robes that were in contrast to the rest of her attire, fine fabric and stitching that spoke of wealth her clothing underneath lacked. She appeared comfortable in her juxtaposition, having long experienced it. Running a slender hand over the fabric of her sleeve, Voldemort admired her. With a wave of his hand, Dorcas’ mask vanished in a wisp of smoke and his head tilted lightly to one side as he looked upon her face for the first time. “Tales of your beauty have not done you justice,” he remarked, complimenting the witch as he looked down upon her. “Though it would seem you are every bit as capable as Mister Lestrange has assured me you would be.”
Summoned: Dorcas Amilie Meadowes Rodolphus Adalrich Lestrange Notes: .. |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Nov 5, 2018 5:44:23 GMT
Fabric rustled as his Death Eaters shifted their weight, all eyes upon Jovian and the Dark Lord. He could hear their bated breath, the slight movements as they moved their head to get a better glimpse at the contact being made between the two figures standing in the center of their semi-circle. Everyone awaited some sign of Voldemort’s pleasure for those who had worked for Lord Voldemort longest would have been quite familiar with the gentler side of his personality. His charms laid both in softness and in strength, in his touch as well as his words. It would have been foolish, however, to feel at ease in his presence and the deep, melodic breaths coming from Adolph and Rodolphus Lestrange showed they were smart enough to still be apprehensive about their success. If Lord Voldemort was displeased, Adolph might lose a son but Rodolphus might have been faced with a much more severe punishment.
The Dark Lord was not displeased, however, and so he smiled at the young lady stood before him now, his grip tightening around her upturned wrist. Black eyes moved from the redhead and looked at the still hidden faces that surrounded them. “My friends,” he spoke with a warm yet commanding tone that demanded their already provided attention. “The war is raging and our numbers, while growing, are still small. We cannot afford to weaken our ranks by admitting filth and vagrants among us. We must be strong and only accept those who would make us stronger if we are to fight against the evils of the muggles and the disease they spread.”
The room was unnaturally silent as Voldemort took a moment and turned his eyes on the young witch still standing before him, her dainty wrist still clutched tightly in his long, pale fingers. She had demonstrated tremendous loyalty in attacking her former professor in his family’s home. Knowing full well she could have been slain in the attack, or apprehended following it, Jovian had proven her bravery, dedication, and skill. Her labours completed, it was time for her to receive her reward. “My child,” Voldemort’s voice was warm as he spoke. “You have shown a great deal of devotion to our cause, and it is time for you to be given a gift in return.”
From beneath the dark folds of his black robes, Lord Voldemort withdrew his wand; a thin, pale wand that had served him well over a number of years. This wand had given new life to some standing in this room, and it had taken life from many outside of it. Today, a new life would be granted for the lovely Miss Rowle. Her unmarred skin already exposed, Lord Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand firmly to the girl’s inner arm. A black mist appeared just below the surface of Jovi’s skin. It swirled visibly, coiling like a snake as the sound of fire crackled from within. Voldemort watched the witch carefully, looking for any sign of weakness as the Dark Mark was burned into her flesh. Satisfied at what he had seen, the Dark Lord lifted his wand. Where it had met with Jovian’s forearm was now a gleaming black skull with a serpent slithering through the mouth. The tattoo shivered for a few moments then became motionless.
“You have served me well and I trust that service will continue through what is to come.” He smiled at the redhead before him, now marked with his symbol and available at his beckon call. “Come, my dear, and join my Death Eaters as their equals.” Lord Voldemort held his head high, pride clearly visible in his regal expression. His numbers were growing and with it, so too would his reach. He had already infiltrated the Ministry with some of his long-standing servants positioned near the top of the political stadium, not to mention those scattered about in some of the more prime departments; magical law enforcement, the wizengamot, even the department for the regulation and control of magical creatures had its uses and Lord Voldemort had his servants there as well.
Summoned: Jovian Isobel Corrine Rowle , Rodolphus Adalrich Lestrange Notes: . . |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Nov 3, 2018 6:14:28 GMT
Fire crackled in the hearth at the far end of the ballroom, causing the shadows to dance as the flames licked the bricks that contained them. Dark, elegant wallpaper seemed to spring to life in the presence of the flickering lights. Patterned swirls danced gently to the music of the burning wood as dark cloaked figured entered the room. A soft murmur broke the air. The masked men and women who filled the room spoke in hushed whispers, discussing the planned events for the evening and wagering on the outcome. A light rain whipped at the window panes creating a melodic underscore to the conversations before the clouds parted and the stars began to peak out through the black night.
The doors opened and a figure appeared in the doorway. Lord Voldemort’s presence sent a chilling silence through the room. All eyes turned to face him as he entered, black robes billowing gracefully as he strode into the center of the room where his followers had gathered. Turning slowly to face one of the older wizards, Voldemort extended his hand and rested it gently on Adolph’s shoulder. “Let us hope, Lestrange, that your son is as skilled in recruiting as he is with killing.” Long, pale fingers gave a gentle squeeze of the man’s arm, comfort or caution, it was difficult to decipher. A cold, thin smile spread across Lord Voldemort’s face but it did not reach his eyes and then he dropped his hand and turned away from the anxious father. Taking his place upon the dais, Voldemort surveyed his minions, awaiting the honored guest of the evening.
Shuffling of feet and a swish of robes were the only sounds in the room, sans the crackling fire. No one spoke as they waited eagerly for the sound of footsteps in the long corridor just beyond the tall double doors. Finally the time came. Voldemort’s lips curled devilishly as Adolph Lestrange gave a silent sigh of relief as his eldest son came into the room and took his place near his father. The slender figure of a young woman entered next. Voldemort sat back in his seat, taking her in.
The silence was palpable. Voldemort relished letting the young witch before him stand nervously in front of him, her future peers surrounding her like wolves surrounding a strayed sheep. They could attack at any minute if he gave the signal. With a snap of his fingers his faithful servants would end this girl’s life without a moment’s hesitation and he wanted her to bathe in that feeling before he finally spoke. A warm smile, completely unlike the one he had shown to the senior Lestrange minutes ago, graced his pale face. Rising from his chair, he towered over the redhead before he stepped off the dais and moved closer until he stood mere inches from her. “A lovely mask,” the timbre of his voice was piercing as he made a gesture with his hand in front of her and the silver mask turned to smoke and dissipated, “and an even lovelier face.” Slender fingers reached for her left hand, bringing it up to his cool lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “Your cousin has sung your praises, my dear Miss Rowle. Tell me,” turning her hand so that her palm faced the ceiling, Voldemort slide the sleeve of her robe up to reveal a pale, unmarred forearm, “do you wish to join him at my side?”
Summoned: Jovian Isobel Corrine Rowle , Rodolphus Adalrich Lestrange Notes: .. |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Oct 21, 2018 5:38:05 GMT
congratulations Your efforts have pleased me, Mrs Lestrange.
You have proven yourself worthy of the mark you now bear upon your left forearm.
It is a great honour bestowed to only a few select wizards and witches.
When summoned by the Dark Mark you will report immediately to me.
For now, you can keep abreast of the dealings of the Death Eaters on our plotting board HERE |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Sept 5, 2018 5:42:10 GMT
 The 24th of June had started out as any other day, but by the time Evie Nott had left him, everything had changed. A warm breeze rustled the yellow and orange leaves of the trees outside as Lord Voldemort stood silently, his back to the young Hit Witch. Her reflection in the window’s glass appeared apprehensive, though to her credit, her voice sounded strong as she reported the news. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. Voldemort’s slender fingers interlocked behind his back, taking in the details as they were known to the Ministry witch and filling in the blanks with his own knowledge of Bella.
“Thank you, Evangeline. If that is all...” His voice was low but there was a dangerous air about it as he dismissed her. He seethed internally but raging at the messenger, least of all one of such value, would do nothing to further his cause. There were others with whom he could release his fury upon. Miss Nott was safe, for now.
***
Plans change. This was something that Lord Voldemort knew very well, and he was able to adapt when problems arose. It was what separated himself from all the other dark wizards who had tried their hand at the same ambitions as Lord Voldemort but who now found themselves locked away in Azkaban or buried six feet under. They had failed. He would not.
***
The echoes slowly faded from the hallways as Sybil Galanis’ screams died. A single, glorious burst of green light had filled the room momentarily but as quickly as it had come, it too faded into nothingness. Lord Voldemort smiled, pleased at the momentum his plans had already achieved. The Minister’s body laid crumpled on the floor, her limbs distorted into unnatural positions. Her final moments had been a blur of regret, sadness, and unbearable anguish, but it was all over now. Lord Voldemort had released her from her earthy duties and in her place he would situate a more malleable Minister for Magic. Aurelius Avery was never more useful than he would be right now.
“Drop her body in the Thames. I want her to wash up on shore right at the Ministry’s feet.” A cruel, thin smile spread across his face as he envisioned the headlines in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet. He would ensure there was a photograph to accompany the article as well. The Minister for Magic’s death would make front page news, followed by the announcement of the interim Minister’s swearing in. The smile widened, undisturbed by the sound of Sybil’s body being dragged from the room, and a low chuckle emanated from his throat.
Within a matter of hours, the entirety of wizarding Britain would be completely under his control.
Mentioned: @sybil , Evangeline Lucille Nott , Aurelius Emeric Avery
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Jul 2, 2018 7:27:12 GMT
If you attempt to delete the Dark Lord you will be met with a slow and agonizing death.
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Apr 29, 2018 8:51:12 GMT
congratulations Your efforts have pleased me, Mr Malfoy.
You have proven yourself worthy of the mark you now bear upon your left forearm.
It is a great honour bestowed to only a few select wizards and witches.
When summoned by the Dark Mark you will report immediately to me.
For now, you can keep abreast of the dealings of the Death Eaters on our plotting board HERE |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Apr 5, 2018 0:27:28 GMT
congratulations Your efforts have pleased me, Mr Lestrange.
You have proven yourself worthy of the mark you now bear upon your left forearm.
It is a great honour bestowed to only a few select wizards and witches.
When summoned by the Dark Mark you will report immediately to me.
For now, you can keep abreast of the dealings of the Death Eaters on our plotting board HERE |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Apr 4, 2018 5:31:27 GMT
congratulations Your efforts have pleased me, Mr Bellerose.
You have proven yourself worthy of the mark you now bear upon your left forearm.
It is a great honour bestowed to only a few select wizards and witches.
When summoned by the Dark Mark you will report immediately to me.
For now, you can keep abreast of the dealings of the Death Eaters on our plotting board HERE |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Feb 11, 2018 5:50:18 GMT
congratulations Your efforts have pleased me, Ms Nott.
You have proven yourself worthy of the mark you now bear upon your left forearm.
It is a great honour bestowed to only a few select wizards and witches.
When summoned by the Dark Mark you will report immediately to me.
For now, you can keep abreast of the dealings of the Death Eaters on our plotting board HERE |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Feb 7, 2018 7:16:54 GMT
For a few moments the room was strangely silent of any human noise. Gentle crackling of fire in the hearth could be heard, as was the wind that whipped the window panes as a storm grew outside. The clouds, which had blown past the sun and let in a small glimmer of light over the crystal-like snow that laid across the lawns, had now swallowed the sun whole and cast the day into an early night. The only light came from the fireplace and the sconces that lines the walls, casting eerie shadows which danced across the ballroom floor like shuttering royalty.
Black eyes scanned the room; the faces hidden behind black and silver masks told him more than their expressions ever could. The flickering sparks on ideas were forming in his servants’ minds. They were fragmented and not yet fully-formed but they were there, ready to be built upon and exploited. Voldemort could feel the adoration in the room as he sat upon his throne and surveyed his army, who waited for his command to overtake the land that rightfully belonged to him. “Miss Nott,” his cool drawl broke through the silence as his eyes landed finally on the slender young witch. “You are in a very prized position, one which I am sure everyone here envies greatly.” And why wouldn’t they envy anyone whom the Dark Lord was praising? They were but children suckling at the teat of their mother and pleading for a scrap of affection and nourishment, and should they prove themselves useful then they would be rewarded. If they show themselves to be less than useful, well, that would be a terribly bad idea. “You shall be my eyes and ears within the Ministry.”
The Ministry would be the first brick in the wall, then Hogwarts, then all of Britain. It would not be long before Dumbledore and his ideological rubbish pile he called The Order were bowing before him or slain at his feet. “But the Ministry is large and there is much to be learned and many weaknesses to be exposed.” Lord Voldemort sat stiffly in his chair, his chin raised slightly as he looked at his warriors. There were so few of them that were worth any importance beyond fighting. “I require more than one Hit Witch and I expect to be offered more political assurances.” He spoke firmly as he commanded his minions to exploit their connections and bring him someone of value. “We need allies in London. Bring them to me.”
Without another word and with no formal excusal, Lord Voldemort rose from his chair upon the dais and moved toward an antechamber on the far wall. Black robes billowed behind him and the hard soles of his shoes clicked against the marble floor. ‘I must speak with you privately, my Bella.’ The words would ring loudly in her ears as if his lips were mere inches from her face, his hot breath warming her skin. Yet his lips did not move and no one else in the room would be able to hear him speak. His voice was trapped solely in her pretty head and he left the door to the antechamber open as he disappeared into the shadows.
Summoned: @bellal Finley Charles Avery Rodolphus Adalrich Lestrange Severus Theodisius Snape Vienna Phoebe Rosier Evangeline Lucille Nott @raina etc. Notes: If you wish to chatter among yourselves, do so on your way out. |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Feb 7, 2018 7:08:50 GMT
congratulations Your efforts have pleased me, Ms Beaumont.
You have proven yourself worthy of the mark you now bear upon your left forearm.
It is a great honour bestowed to only a few select wizards and witches.
When summoned by the Dark Mark you will report immediately to me.
For now, you can keep abreast of the dealings of the Death Eaters on our plotting board HERE |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Feb 5, 2018 6:41:39 GMT
denied Not everyone can be blessed with my Dark Mark, Mr Malfoy.
You may be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when I have a need for you, but only my inner circle are branded with the Dark Mark, you have not been granted this highest honour.
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Feb 4, 2018 5:21:08 GMT
congratulations Your efforts have pleased me, Ms Nott.
You have proven yourself worthy of the mark you now bear upon your left forearm.
It is a great honour bestowed to only a few select wizards and witches.
When summoned by the Dark Mark you will report immediately to me.
For now, you can keep abreast of the dealings of the Death Eaters on our plotting board HERE |
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Post by Lord Voldemort on Feb 4, 2018 5:15:36 GMT
pending Your efforts have proven insufficient, Mr Malfoy.
There are a few requirements I demand of my loyal Death Eaters that your application does not meet.
Before you can be presented with such an honor as my Dark Mark you will need to make some modifications.
A raven has delivered you a PM detailing my concerns. |
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