Post by Deleted on Jul 7, 2013 13:27:01 GMT -5
while everyone SCREAMS
Voldemort was much more aware of the nature of the beast then the beast himself seemed to realize. For example, Voldemort knew the pack mentality that any werewolf, but especially a monster like Fenrir, possessed. It was about dominance and power, but also numbers; despite the fact that Voldemort was wary as to building Fenrir’s pack in the event of an uprising of sorts, it seemed essential for the future of the werewolf army Voldemort was intending to utilize. However, in order to build this army, this pack of dogs, it was obvious simple attack and infect tactics weren’t going to work to the extent he was hoping to achieve. Few were actually infected to the degree necessary to turn, and of those, several did not escape the chaos at Hogsmeade. What did he gain from the battle? Probably a handful of werewolves, but then again he lost many more in the raid. Exhaling harshly, Voldemort recognized the failure of his plan, even if he would never admit it openly to his servants. Coming to terms with this exchange of more experienced beasts for new ones was difficult, but not impossible. The Dark Lord was not vain enough to think he was infallible.
Currently, the Dark Lord sat in one of Lucius’ more private rooms, specifically the one he had been accustom to take when he had need of individual meetings. It was a rather small, private room in comparison to the rest of the mansion. Its walls were lighter colors of grey, framed by a small fireplace on the far wall. On the rich, maroon rug placed over the hardwood floor, furniture to match the color of the wall sat in patient expectation. Crown molding lined the ceiling, giving the room a more royal feel. It was small, though, so the furniture consisted of two arm chairs and a small table between, not that Voldemort intended to use them. Still, it was a cozy little room that Voldemort felt was well taken care of, especially given the information that he tended to appear here for meetings. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Voldemort twisted slowly to take in the room one again – the room that never changed. Without a change in expression, Voldemort quietly walked over to one of the grey arm-chairs and sat down, his arms spaced out as if he too where a royal fixture of the room, despite his impact of presence. With almost a tired sigh, the Dark Lord moved to take out his wand, which he pointed the tip of to his neck. Once positioned, Voldemort closed his eyes and spoke in his borderline whisper that normally filled the room. ”Fenrir, come to me.”
A small smirk came to Voldemort’s non-existent lips, which really ended up looking like a distorted smile of good intentions, when it became obvious that Fenrir would not like being summoned in such a manner. Opening his eyes and removing the wand from his neck, Voldemort glanced around the room once more in a tired manner. This werewolf army, the planning and execution it took to raise it, was wearing his patience thin. It had been several months now, and the army was only slightly larger. With this in mind, Voldemort had begun a different scheme altogether to include outside sources of werewolves. The children at Hogwarts were not off limits to him, despite what the foolish Headmaster may think of its defenses. As Voldemort had learned long, long ago, individual people were the best weapons of all. They followed power and promise like moths to the flame, just like Zambini’s boy would do.
Currently, the Dark Lord sat in one of Lucius’ more private rooms, specifically the one he had been accustom to take when he had need of individual meetings. It was a rather small, private room in comparison to the rest of the mansion. Its walls were lighter colors of grey, framed by a small fireplace on the far wall. On the rich, maroon rug placed over the hardwood floor, furniture to match the color of the wall sat in patient expectation. Crown molding lined the ceiling, giving the room a more royal feel. It was small, though, so the furniture consisted of two arm chairs and a small table between, not that Voldemort intended to use them. Still, it was a cozy little room that Voldemort felt was well taken care of, especially given the information that he tended to appear here for meetings. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Voldemort twisted slowly to take in the room one again – the room that never changed. Without a change in expression, Voldemort quietly walked over to one of the grey arm-chairs and sat down, his arms spaced out as if he too where a royal fixture of the room, despite his impact of presence. With almost a tired sigh, the Dark Lord moved to take out his wand, which he pointed the tip of to his neck. Once positioned, Voldemort closed his eyes and spoke in his borderline whisper that normally filled the room. ”Fenrir, come to me.”
A small smirk came to Voldemort’s non-existent lips, which really ended up looking like a distorted smile of good intentions, when it became obvious that Fenrir would not like being summoned in such a manner. Opening his eyes and removing the wand from his neck, Voldemort glanced around the room once more in a tired manner. This werewolf army, the planning and execution it took to raise it, was wearing his patience thin. It had been several months now, and the army was only slightly larger. With this in mind, Voldemort had begun a different scheme altogether to include outside sources of werewolves. The children at Hogwarts were not off limits to him, despite what the foolish Headmaster may think of its defenses. As Voldemort had learned long, long ago, individual people were the best weapons of all. They followed power and promise like moths to the flame, just like Zambini’s boy would do.
woooo! let's turn some chillins!
Created by FIZZLE of BTN