338Welcome one, and welcome all to the start of the last book in the Hogwarts years, The Philosophy of Fear.
So, without further ado,
On with the show.
Wizengamot Hall, July 4th 1996.
The sound of murmurs filled the chambers as the noble houses of the British Isles talk among themselves in low voices as they discuss the fate of the four men chained in the middle of the chamber while being gagged by magic. They had been captured and caught in the middle of helping the self stylized Dark Lord known as Voldemort in a ritual most foul. The announcement of Voldemort's return had broken in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet just two days ago, much to the collective horror of the United Kingdom. The paper had hailed Dumbledore and Harry Potter as heroes for warning the people of the British Isles of the Dark Lord's return that was later collaborated with all eight Ancient and Noble houses. Before reassuring the good people of Britain that the Ministry had everything under control.
The bang of a gavel draws the attention of the Lord's and Ladies of the Wizengamot to the large podium in the middle of the hall of thrones. Amelia Bones presided over the trial that was wrapping up before them, her monocle glinting in the flickering witchlights as she looked down at the criminals before her with contempt.
"Lords and Ladies of Wizengamot, the evidence before us is damning. We have heard testimony from both sworn Aurors and other members of this esteem body testifying to the guilt of the four men before us," Amelia announces to the gathering of Wizengamot, her eyes scanning the crowd below her for those who would try to speak out against her words. "Two of these men, I remind you, were cleared of any wrongdoing at the close of the last war. With that in mind, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is leveling our harshest punishment against these men. Life imprisonment in Azkaban," she says before the murmuring of the courts begin again.
"Antonin Dolohov, Alfred Avery the Second, Vincent Crabb Sr, and Anthony Gibbon, we of the Wizengamot hereby sentence you all to life imprisonment in Azkaban. May the gods have mercy on your souls," Amelia Bones states before raising her gavel to strike it against the block to render the verdict final, however before Amelia could bring the hammer down, another voice spoke out.
"This is the harshest punishment that this grand body can levy against these men?" A voice says with scorn in her voice. Amelia and all other of the noble lords of Wizengamot turn to the highest seats in the court, The Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses. Two seats sat empty after the deaths of Lord Sirius Black and Lady Lupusregina Nott just a few days before. "These men were involved in the resurrection of one of the greatest threats this country has ever known. They help in a ritual to release horrors that stretch human comprehension and indirectly contributed to two deaths of this…esteemed body," Talia Peverell says from her seat. Disgust in her tone and on her face as her lips curl as she looks around the hall, and in the shadows of the chamber, giving her an almost animal-like look to her.
"Imprisonment in a place that we know that can be cracked open like an egg whenever Voldemort wants?" Lady Peverell asks, her eyes sweeping the chamber as if she was looking for an explanation for what she saw as madness.
"Lady Peverell, Azkaban is our harshest punishment other than the Dementors' Kiss. You are not seriously considering damning two lords of Wizengamot to such a horrible fate, are you?" Lord Corban Yaxley says, standing from his seat in the mid rows looking at Talia aghast at what the woman was suggesting.
"And feed those creatures? Nay, Corban, you misunderstand me," Talia says, sending a false smile of a shark down towards Yaxley. The man sighs under his breath and goes to sit back down, not expecting this show to continue. He had bribed and threatened many Lords and Ladies to vote to send the four men to Azkaban after all.
"No, I am saying we execute them," Talia says, causing some of the Lord and Ladies to gasp at the mere suggestion, and for Yaxley to completely miss his seat in shock to land on his ass.
"We are not muggles, Lady Peverell. We do not execute our-" Lord Flint says in a rage as he stands with a red faced and scowling, but his words die in his throat, as he begins to choke on them; quite literally.
"Oh please, do keep your Holier than thou pretentious attitude to yourself, Flint. Because I assure you, the only thing that separates Wizards and Witches from their Muggle counterparts is the fact you can use magic, that is all," Talia says as she stands, her hands straightening her dress as she does. "But the truth of the matter is rather simple: Humans, no matter what they like to do or say, are animals. The only thing that is separating you all from the likes of Lions, tigers, and Baboons is the thin layer of civility you thrust upon yourselves," she says as she folds her hands behind her back and begins to walk down the stairs of the ancient hall.
The whole of Wizengamot found themselves unable to speak as the chamber filled with an unholy amount of power. Flooding their senses with a power that dangled above their heads like a sword as the Lady Peverell continued her way down the steps at a slow, meandering pace.
"And you all are the worst offenders of that, so enraptured by your perceived place on the totem pole that you refuse to get your hands dirty and going so far as to turn your noses up at even the mere suggestion of the act," Talia says with a small shake of her head, showing her disgust with the nobility present in the chamber. "And Voldemort has gleefully taken advantage of that simple fact. The fact is that you all lack the conviction of implementing a final solution to these cowards, to these rebels against the crown and country, to these…dissenters," she says with a curling lip as she makes it to the bottom.
Everything about Talia Peverell began to unravel before the Wizengamot eyes. Her outfit shifts like mist and shadows, the dark robes melted before them into a long dress of pitch blackness. Her hair that was normally done up into a neat bun becomes undone as her long dark hair falls down her back before it rises as if she was under water. Her features become sharper, more angular, and less human than most have seen outside of the rare fae that crossed from the Hedge.
"But that is fine. For you mortals are such simple creatures, always needing a leader, an example to follow. So allow me, in lue of that firm leadership, show you how it's done," the inhuman visage says as she saunters forward to the bond criminals before waving her hand and freeing them from the gags that were ordered upon them. "Vincent Crabb Sr, you are found guilty of your crimes against the isles and hereby sentenced to death for them. Do you have any last words?" She asks, looking down upon the first one in the row of four.
"You- you can't. I am a sitting Lord of Wizengamot, you can't just- just execute me! They won't allow it!" Vincent says, looking around at the wide, terrified eyes of the other sitting lords and Ladies, unmoving from their spot. "A-Aurors! The- the Aurors will-" was the last words that Vincent Crabb Sr speaks just before the inhuman woman he had met in the graveyard flicks her hand and lops off his head. His body remains kneeling as blood spurted from his neck, before it fell over, pooling blood from the stump around his cooling body.
She walks past the headless corpse of Vincent Crabb Sr to the next person in line. Alfred Avery the Second was looking at the body of his fellow Lord in open shock before slowly turning his head to the merciless goddess standing over him.
"Alfred Avery the Second, you are found guilty of your crimes against the isles and hereby sentenced to death for them. Do you have any last words?" She asks the kneeling man with a flat emotionless face and tone of voice.
"Fuck you!" Avery screams in the face of death. "Fuck you, you blood traitor cunt! When my lord is done with you, you'll be begging for death! I hope you scream while they rape-" was the last thing that Alfred Avery the Second says as the merciless goddess smirks and flicks her hand once more. His words turn into screams as his organs begin to cook and burn in his chest, the choking black smoke that begins to pour from his mouth smells of burnt fat, meat, and feces. The fire burns up, engulfing the collar bone, neck, and skull, charring the bones black before what was left falls to the floor, undoubtedly dead.
Horror. It was the only thing that most of Wizengamot felt as they watched as this inhumanly beautiful creature that had been masquerading as one of them executed, without mercy, the men who had sided with Dark Lord.
"Anthony Gibbon, you are found guilty of your crimes against the isles and hereby sentenced to death for them. Do you have any last words?" She repeats for a second time, looking down at the next kneeling man in the row.
"P-p-please, I-I-I know things! I can tell you whatever you want! Please I-I don't want to die! I'll do anything! Ple-" but once more, the cries were cut off when a loud, wet, snap, the man fell dead as if he was hung by the neck.
The inhuman woman footsteps echo around the chamber as she approaches the last one in the line, none step forward to stop her, none could say anything, they could only watch.
"Antonin Dolohov, you are found guilty of your crimes against the isles and hereby sentenced to death for them. Do you have any last words?" the beautiful unearthly creature asks, for the last time. The last prisoner had said nothing, done nothing, and watched each one of his comrade's deaths with a passive face.
Antonin looks up at the inhuman creature before him with a resolved look set up on his face. "My only regret is that I did not die with my boots in the dirt and wand in my hand. So, do your worst," he states without fear before closing his eyes and accepting his fate at the hands of the goddess before him. The dark lady however, pauses as she looks down at Antonin Dolohov, her black eyes sparkling with something akin to respect. She graces the warrior with a smile before reaching down to tilt Dolohov's head back, causing the man to open his eyes once more.
"Be blessed, warrior. If you wish for a battlefield to die upon, then you will find an endless one in endless dreams," she tells him in a whisper before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead and the light leaves Antonin Dolohov's eyes as he slumps forward in a painless death. The woman stands straight before turning to the gathered Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot. Her face was a sheet of carved ice and shadows were thrown over her face from the dark fires burning in her eyes.
"As for this moment forward, all who bear the mark of Voldemort, all who wear a silver mask and dark cloaks to sow and inspire fear are to be killed on sight," The Morrígan voice echoes around the chamber, reverberating in everyone's mind. "The Death Eaters and their allies will be shown no mercy and given no quarter, if they wish to act like animals then they will be put down like animals. So speaks your mother magic, so speaks your queen, so speaks The Morrígan," the queen of the Celtic Gods announces to the speechless masses.
Malfoy Manor, July 5th 1996.
"All of you but Lucius are dismissed," Voldemort says from beside his throne, his new wings folded in under his arms. All of his inner circle but Lucius Malfoy bow deeply to his dark radiance before sweeping out of the room he had taken occupation in. One hand resting on the shadowed and stone throne as he looks out into the dark of night with a passive look on his face as his mind turns over the new information from the meeting. As the door closes behind the inner circle with only Severus looking back momentarily before the door closes completely.
"Does the news of the Ministry installing Thief's Downfall so disturbed you, my lord?" Lucius asks, leaning on his cane with a blank face and unblinking.
"If it was just that bothersome Goblin enchantment, no. But it is the other ways they are shoring up the defense of the Ministry that has me more worried," Voldemort admits with a frown, The Morrígan had usurped the Ministry in a day and had taken the office of the Minister for herself without anyone even raising a fuss about it. She then proceeded to round up every member of all departments that were even suspected of being a Death Eater before telling them they were not to return to the Ministry unless called to it. She had effectively closed all doors but the Wizengamot to him, but even then, those who bore his mark were watched constantly when inside. "She has neutered my hold on the Ministry from within, and most of the ones who we had ensorcelled will be free as soon as they pass underneath the thief's downfall. If we just hold them back, then suspicion would be aroused as to why they haven't showed up," he tells Lucius as his clawed fingers tap on his throne as he considers his options moving forward.
"What did you expect? The Morrígan is a war goddess as well as one of fate. She's been fighting wars far longer than you have and could see through all your plans prior to us Mantling," Indech whispers in Voldemort's mind, causing the compost-being to frown. It had taken a day to get used to Indech whispering in his mind, he tried to block him off from the sanctity of his mind but the ancient fear had laughed at his attempts. They were one being now, both avoiding Death's grasp by using one another. It had taken even longer for Voldemort to grow used to his body and new powers, while his body was now stable thanks to them devouring some half-fomorian from the lightless beast, his powers were ever growing.
Voldemort doesn't dignify Indech with an answer, even in the privacy of his own mind. Lucky enough another arrives to distract him from the ancient fear of the Dark in his mind, by sitting in his fucking throne.
"My, is it me or does magic seem to rob you mortals of your imagination whenever you discover you have it?" A new voice asks, his words are like honey upon the lips, smooth and sweet as if they were crafted for you alone. "Where's the subtlety? The skullduggery? The seduction? Have those concepts all but died in the modern age with you mortals or has magic made everything so…easy for you?" The voice says as Voldemort turns to the being speaking with a scowl.
He looked decidingly mortal with his extra eyes closed and looking no more like moles. His robes were neither extravagant nor worn down, he looked as if he came from money but did not flaunt it.
"Get off my throne, Bres," Voldemort warns as he bares his teeth at the ancient fear.
"You must forgive Bres and his flippant attitude, while he is the most lax of my kin, he is also the most resourceful. Bres not only got the Tuatha to actually like him enough to marry Brigid, but also to crown him king for a short while. Do Not underestimate him," Indech whispers into Voldemort's mind, causing the dark lord to narrow his eyes at Bres.
Bres merely chuckles before pushing himself out of Voldemort's throne. "But of course, my lord. I didn't mean any offense by it, you have my word," he informs Voldemort before walking into the middle of the room before doing a sweeping bow to Voldemort.
Voldemort scuffs, sooner trusting the word of a snake oil salesman then the Spider just behind him. "Where are the rest? I believe I called most of you here," he says as he turns to face both Lucius and Bres.
"But, my lord, most of us have been here," Bres says with a grin, showing off the razor sharp teeth that Voldemort now had as well, as Voldemort narrows his eyes at the weaver of plots. Bres turns his head to the far left side of the room where a door sat, bright yellow with purple spirals dancing across it. The eye sore was something Voldemort was sure wasn't there before Bres had pointed it out.
The door opens as someone steps through checking a pocket watch for the time. It was a woman of dark complexion with wild and curly hair that shot all around her head and was only held back by a black band. She wore, in what Voldemort could only describe, as a very loud purple suit. She turns to the gathered monsters in the room and smiles a wide shark-teeth filled smile before snapping the pocket watch shut before putting it into her pocket.
"Evening luvs, how are we doing tonight?" Loscenn-lomm says, her fractal like pupils twinkling with a mad glee. "Ooooooh, Lucius, lovely to see you again. How's the new suit treating you?" Loscenn-lomm says with a wide smile that splits her face in two as she throws her arm around Lucius' shoulder.
"Ah, Loscenn-lomm, it is not what it is, the distortion, and the Twisting Deceit, all names that mean something to you but are meaningless to it. If there is one being among my kin that you absolutely should not trust, it's Loscenn-lomm. It will smile, it will tell you everything you want to know, it will even act as your best friend, but that's all that it is, an act," Indech says sheepishly as if he really had no excuse for Locenn-lomm antics. "But it is easiest to control out of all my kin once you know how to. It lives to play games with its food, whether they be games that span decades or the ones that are only a few days long. All you have to do is remind it of its place and point out an interesting person every now and then," he points out to Voldemort.
Lucius' polite smile was strained as he turned to the woman. "I am fine as ever, Lomm. But do you mind removing your arm from me, now," he says with a bit of an edge to his tone before using his cane to shove Loscenn-lomm's arm off of him.
"Touchy, Touchy aren't we?" Loscenn-lomm says with her grin never wavering. "Fine, be that way I guess I'll just have to hang out with Raggy," she says with a flick of her hand as she steps by Lucius.
"How about no, Lomm," a new voice says with a snarl. "All I want is peace and quiet, can't have that when you're mucking about," the voice echoed around the room in a way that it seemed the room was far larger than it was. As all eyes turn toward the farthest corner of the room from anyone else in the room, Regan is seen leaning against the wall. He was dressed head to toe in a fine black muggle suit with a white tie, over it and hanging low to the ground, was a leather duster with a fine white mist hanging around the hem of his coat.
"Ah, Regan the One Alone, the most sensitive soul of my kin. Out of all of them, it's Regan that I've gotten along with the best on a personal level. He'll do what you ask without question so long as you leave him be to do it and never pair him up with anyone, especially with Loscenn-lomm," Indech whispers once more in his mind as he watches the ancient fears interacting with one another.
"Oh, come on now, Reggy," Loscenn-lomm says deflating a bit. "Don't you want to get out, paint the town red and all that," it says with a frown.
"No," Regan says with a slight growl to his voice that causes Lomm to sigh.
As Loscenn-lomm goes to open its mouth again, Voldemort quickly cuts it off. "Enough, I did not summon you to bicker with one another," he says before fully turning to the gathered monsters.
"What we should be doing is asking just why we are letting some stuck up mortal order us around?" A haughty and snide voice says right before the main doors to the room opens. Nemed, in all his wrapped and disgusting grandeur walks into the room, still dressed as lost royalty from over a thousand years or more ago. The moth wing-like cloak sways as he walks into the room, his once handsome face now marred with sickness and malady. Voldemort watches with a frown as a centipede bursts from one of the pustules on the side of Nemed and crawls over his face to bury itself into his tear duct in his right eye.
"Nemed, the crawling rot, the hive of flesh, and the coughing prince. He was once a mortal, like yourself, a Prince of the Nemedians that settled upon Ireland long ago. Oh, how we tormented his people relentlessly back in those days, he and his people rebelled against us and sacked Conrad's tower. After they had thought they won and went back to Ireland, they also brought back the infection from our claws, fangs, and weapons that kick started a plague amongst his people. So swallowed up by the paranoia and fear of what was happening, none had noticed the changes happening to Nemed till it was far, far too late," Indech explains with a dark chuckle at the end, so infectious was that dark glee of Indech that Voldemort felt his own smile grow on his face.
"Nemed needs a firm hand to keep him in place, while his abilities are…annoying, he can be dealt with much like the mortals that knee before you. But do not think you can win him over, The Coughing Prince will always hate you for the simple fact of what you are," Indech informs Voldemort as the dark lord frowns at Nemed.
"It does not matter why you listen to me, Nemed, just so long as you do so," Voldemort says, his tone short and clipped with the ancient fear.
"Do not speak to me as if you are greater, mortal," Nemed spits with disdain as he stands in the middle of the room. "I've killed and devoured a host of your kind in a day, before the swarm you are nothing but a snack," he growls out.
Voldemort's eyes narrow as the growl becomes louder, turning more into a hum that causes his joints to ache. The dark lord sneers back at the Crawling Rot, before and without warning, the dark lord lashes out. Voldemort's shadow pools around him like deep, dark waters as he watches Nemed body shift under his clothes as if multiple pieces of himself begin to break off and writh across his skin. As Nemed shifts his body to unleash whatever he had prepared for Voldemort, a pair of inky black tendrils burst from the dark waters of Voldemort's shadow. With barbed tips and gnashing maws dotting down the side, they pierce Nemed before slamming the Crawling Rot into the wall behind him.
The inky blackness begins to cover Nemed head to toe as a wet ripping sound of meat fills the room. The other Formorians stand apart from the conflict, watching on with mixed reactions. Regan was passive and frowning as if he didn't even want to be in the room, Bres looked on stroking his chin with an impressed look upon his face, while Loscenn-lomm was pointing and laughing madly at the Coughing Princes struggle.
"I remind you, Nemed, that I am in no way mortal," Voldemort says with a sneer as the dark begins to cocoon the disrespectful former prince. "And I do not allow disrespect to slide with my Death Eaters, so you lot will be no different. So long as we are civil with one another with the understanding we are working toward a common goal, then I will, benevolently, allow you your continued existence," Voldemort states as he makes his way over to the cocoon of shadow as Nemed struggles against its confines. "But make no mistake about just who is in charge of you malignant creatures. If you wish to feed, fine, do so so long as no harm comes to my Death Eaters or their families, if you wish to sow fear across the land, then do so, in fact the more the better. But if tell you to stop, if I tell you to starve, then you will, or you will be trapped in The Dark's umbral embrace until you-" Voldemort's smile grows, large and sadist as he feels the maws of the dark continue to bit and rip into Nemed putrid flesh. "-see the light? Shall we say?"
Indech's laughter echoes in Voldemort's mind as their wings twitch with amusement. "Oh, oh, I am going to steal that one, if you don't mind," Indech says betweens bouts of laughter.
"By all means," Voldemort thinks back before causally tossing the body of Nemed away to land in a heap toward the middle of the room. Voldemort had punched through the heart and brain of the Crawling Rot and brackish seawater leaked from the holes he had made. The body twitches as he walks by it and back to his throne to take a seat, his wings fanning out as he does. After a few more moments, Nemed's body jerked and began to pick itself up, pus, seawater, and all manner of creepy crawlers falling from the holes Voldemort had made as Nemed stands.
In a twisted and disgusting display of the Formorians regenerative capabilities, the wounds closed, throwing pus and seawater all over the floor causing Voldemort to frown.
"Fine, have it your way," Nemed says as he falls in line. The unspoken "for now," hangs in the air as he glares at Voldemort on his throne.
Voldemort looks at the mess Nemed made on Narcissa floor, his lips curling in disgust. He waves his fingers once and vanishes the mess with what little magic he had access to. He was mastering Indech's power at a rate that surprised even the fear himself, he excelled in it as he did in all things, but the access to his own power has been cut off. His wand was destroyed by that interloping jap bitch that almost destroyed his body with the help of Dumbledore, and the worst part was that he couldn't find a replacement for it. Every time he held a wand and tried to use it, the Dark would consume it as Indech would call it incompatible with his powers before apologizing to Voldemort.
Neither thought it was wise to only rely on just Indech's power, it was something Voldemort would need to fix and fix soon.
At the very least the jap cunt had been given the boot from the isles just a few days ago. Makoshi had broken the ICW treaty that disallowed any operations other than recruitment on signed ICW soil without a three-fourths vote from the Wizengamot and was quickly asked to leave. Voldemort had little doubt that the troublesome woman would return in due time, by his estimate, by the Winter Solstice meeting at the latest. So, for now she didn't matter.
"What of the tasks I have set you all on? Have you started and or completed them?" Voldemort asks as his shadowed eyes look around the room.
"I've already started on mine," Bres says, raising a finger to catch Voldemort's attention. "Luckily, I can both feed and start spinning my web all at the same time and have already made inroads with many of the guilds and families on the isles with some help of that lovely woman, Narcissa," he says with a charming smile.
"I remind you, Bres, that is my wife," Lucius speaks up, drawing a snide glare to the Father of Puppets. "I would ask you to keep your hands off of her, all eight of them," he threatens Bres with a glare.
The waver just rolls his eyes and chuckles. "But of course, Lucius. I would never dream of hurting her in any way, besides I am far more interested in this Wizarding Wireless Radio and The Daily Prophet more than stealing someone's wife," Bres says as he waves his hand dismissively toward Lucius with a dark chuckle.
"I've started on mine as well," Nemed says with a sneer toward Voldemort. "But I need to go slow, if I rot them too fast then it will alert someone I'd rather not meet in combat," he informs Voldemort as he crosses his arms over his chest in challenge.
"That is more than fine, Nemed. The task I gave you is delicate in nature and I am aware that it will take time," The Dark Lord says with a single nod to the Crawling Rot. "And I would rather have the task done right instead of fast, but be prepared to collapse them immediately if asked to," Voldemort informs Nemed before turning his attention to Loscenn-lomm.
Lomm shuffles its feet for a moment before speaking. "So, like you asked I tested if I can go to the places you asked of without getting caught and I can," it says with a wave of its hand as if it was a joke to it. "Buuuuuuuuuuuuut, the orb thingy you wanted me to snag wasn't…there…" it admits as it's face screws up in disconcert for delivering bad news.
Voldemort grips the stone arms of his throne, sending cracks throughout the chair as his face twists in anger. "Then where the bloody hell did it go, Lomm," Voldemort asks, his anger showing as the shadows around begin to bubble like boiling water, but before the Twisting Deceit could open its mouth, a new voice spoke up.
"It was taken by the mortal, Albus Dumbledore," the voice says, causing all within the room to look upwards towards the vaulted ceiling. Sitting on the ceiling upside down was a striking beauty, her short blond hair looked flipped over one side of her face with the side buzzed down near her scalp and seemingly unaffected by gravity. She wore a simple sleeveless white sundress with odd black markings all over it, causing each fold in the cotton-like material to look like an eye. Always watching, always waiting. The woman's skin was decorated in eye-like iconography in the forms of tattoos, from the tips of her fingers, up her arms, across her chest and cheeks and forehead, all eyes looking in different directions, always open and always watching.
Voldemort hears Indech sigh in aggravation in his mind and feels it course through his body. "Cathlenn, the Ceaseless Watcher, the Beholding, it knows you. Out of all my kin, you will find not one more hated by us all than Cathlenn, the only two that seemed to stand her were her husband, Balor, and just barely at that, and Goll. I never understood her and Goll's relationship and the odd couple they make, but do not expect much from her; all she ever does is watch, record, and report," Indech informs Voldemort with disdain clear in his voice for The Ceaseless Watcher.
"Then pray tell, Cathlenn, what did Albus do with it?" Voldemort asks, a little of Indech's own emotions pouring into his voice as he was looking up at the fear of being watched, blinking only once and opening his eyes to see the tattoos across Cathlenn's body have moved. The eye that was in the middle of her forehead was now in the hollow of her throat, the ones on her cheeks now resting on her clavicle, and all were turned toward him. Voldemort could hear the echoes of the air raid sirens going off in London, the stench of cooked bodies and burning flesh heavy in the air, as the dust chokes his lungs as Cathlenn smiles at him.
"Be careful of how you speak to me, Lord Voldemort. Mantled to Lord Indech you may be, but a Mantled mortal is still a mortal and thus you fear runs deep like dark water," Cathlenn whispers to him before falling from the ceiling, her body twisting in midair with her dress fanning out as she lands on bare feet. "But I do not know what became of the Prophecy between you and the Legacy of Tethra, Albus Dumbledore delivered it to the hands of the Six-Eyes and the Washer in the Fens. I was not about to risk exposure with those two around, so I fell back, but if my guess is correct; and they normally are. The Prophecy has been destroyed by the Washer," she calmly states, her lips curling into a small smile.
Voldemort growls at Cathlenn's words, his lips pulling back to reveal shark-like teeth. "Watch yourself, Cathlenn, or I will blind those eyes you are so proud of," Voldemort threatens and Cathlenn bows her head in repentance as they both ignore Lucius' scathing comments under his breath, egging Voldemort to do just that. Voldemort takes a deep, calming breath before leaning back into his throne. "But what of the tasks I've set you upon, are you able to do them?" He asks flatly.
"Unless it is a place where the Six-Eyes dwells, I will go unnoticed by all. Be it the throne room of the Dé Danann or the depths of Dún Scaith, I am able to behold all with the Watcher's Crown," Cathlenn says with a smile as the tattoos across her body begin to smoke and glow an ominous dark green. In the twisting smoke from her rising hand, a kaleidoscope of images begin to dance and play before them all. Flashes of everyday lives of both mundane and magical, from shades of love to the deep waters of fear, of gods and mortals. Cathlenn closes her hands and the images vanish along with the smoke as she turns a haunting smile to Voldemort.
"But with that news, another fact I feel the need to share," Cathlenn says, all the eyes across her blink at once. "The boy is no longer on the isles," she informs Voldemort.
Voldemort frowns at the news. "Then where is he?" He asks of the Beholding, but to his annoyance, Cathlenn just shrugs.
"Beyond my sight, but there is a good possibility that he went to America," Cathlenn informs the dark lord. "And before you ask, no. I will not look into those lands to keep track of the boy," she tells Voldemort.
"And why not?" Voldemort asks, more curious than angry at Cathlenn for not keeping track of Potter.
"We already have to deal with the Tuatha Dé Danann, which will be difficult without my husband and Cichol, so I doubt we would want to anger another pantheon of gods or at worst, the multiple that call that land home," Cathlenn points out as Voldemort frowns. The Ceaseless Watcher had brought up a good point, his understanding of divine politics was lacking but finding another divine in the territory of another just spelt trouble, even to him.
"So be it. But you will keep an eye out for the boy's return, I wish to know as soon as his feet touch the isles,'' Voldemort informs Cathlenn who curtsies in acceptance of her task. "Conrad will be retaking his tower soon, afterwards we will be moving all operations there to use as a fortress against our enemies. In the meantime, those of you who have tasks will return to them, as for the rest I will call you when I have something come up. Until then-" Voldemort's smile turns malicious as his shadow filled eyes scan the room. "-torment and feed to your black hearts content," he informs the monsters of myth in front of him.
"Oh, bloody good!" Loscenn-lomm says with a wide mad grin. "I've found me a lovely pair of blondes to play with for the time being, so if you need me just follow the screams!" It replies with cheer as it turns on its heels and walks over to the door from whence it came, giving a wave to her kin as it goes. A mad laugh sounded as it was echoing down endless hallways as it opened the door and vanished through it.
"I will be with Goll if you wish to see me, Lord Voldemort," Cathlenn says as she turns on her heel, raising her hand to wave goodbye before vanishing herself in the blink of an eye. One by one most of the Formorians give a bow or say a goodbye before vanishing, Regan and Nemed say nothing as they vanish to only leave Lucius and Voldemort in the room.
Lucius turns to Voldemort with a raised brow. "Are you sure you're okay with Bagna and Goll running wild, my lord?" He asks.
"Bagna is of no concern, he is working with Nemed on their project together for the most part and i'd rather him be busy working toward that rather than him attending pointless meetings," the Dark Lord states as he steeples his hands. Some things were more important than simple meetings to stay informed about things that did not concern a person or monster in this case. Much like how he treats Rockwood, the man was always busy with one thing or another for the war effort, so he decided to treat the Formorians. If they are busy with a task he assigned them, they needn't come. "What concerns me more is Goll ignoring my summons," he says out loud.
"I would not take that personally if I were you," Indech whispers in his mind. "Goll has always been…difficult to control even at the best of times. Out of all of my kin, Goll, Tethra, and myself are the oldest and while me and Tethra butted heads more times then I care to count, Goll has never challenged me for leadership. I could not tell you why that is, and it is not for the lack of strength I'll tell you, but if I were to hazard a guess, it would simply because he doesn't care. Goll has always done his own thing but has always turned up when there was a fight to be had. Besides, we will need him in the long run, so best to keep on his good side and not force him to do anything he doesn't want to do," Indech explains in a whimsical voice, as if he enjoyed whatever shenanigans that Goll would get up to.
"Why will we need him in the long run?" Voldemort questions Indech in his own mind as he frowns.
"To deal with the boy, of course," Indech informs Voldemort before pausing as he feels Voldemort's displeasure. "Oh, will you just drop it," Indech snaps at the dark lord. "Forsake the notion of you killing the boy personally, it's a fool's play to go after the boy yourself. He is the living legacy of Tethra and wields the very same weapon that killed the End, and if it works on Tethra, it will work on us," he tells Voldemort with an edge to his tone that causes the dark lord to scowl.
"And if the spear works on us, how would Goll be able to overcome it?" Voldemort asks and his answer was Indech's mocking laughter ringing inside of his mind.
"Quite simply because all things are prey before Goll," Indech says ominously as Voldemort could feel his dark grin in the back of his mind.
"My Lord?" Lucius says, a bit forcefully as he looks up at Voldemort as the dark lord finally turns his attention back to Lucius. "My deepest apologies, my lord for my tone of voice, but you didn't not answer me," he says calmly.
"You are forgiven, Lucius. And have my apologies as well, I got side tracked by another," Voldemort says, gesturing to his head. Lucius merely smiles knowingly before giving a quick bow.
"I understand completely, my lord. But back to what I had asked, do you wish me to track down Goll and bring him before you?" Lucius asks with a raised brow as he raises himself back up.
"No, Goll is just fine as he is, but you have my thanks for the offer. For now, we will continue with our war preparations, is everything going according to schedule?"
"To a point, my lord. Greyback is being as contemptuous as usual but the rest of the dark creatures are amassing under your banner as expected. The only ones that have not been seen are the Vila," Lucius informs his lord with an almost bored tone.
"Not all that surprising seeing that their Queen has returned," Voldemort says with a frown, for the Vila were a true loss to his forces. They were small in number but their ferociousness and blood thirsty attitudes made them a force to be reckoned with when combined with their martial prowess. Voldemort lets out a small sigh as he turns this information in his head and before long a small smile begins to grow on his face. "My orders for you, Lucius, are twofold. First I wish for you to track down Goll and introduce our mutual friend Fenrir to him," Voldemort tells his servant with a dark grin, one that Lucius shares with him.
"Oh, my, that will be fun," Lucius admits with a dark chuckle. "I will have to stay around to watch that for, at the very least, to pass along the memory of it to you, my lord,"
"Indeed," Voldemort says, sharing Lucius' dark chuckle. "But your second task is one that you will be doing first, for it will be the quickest, I require seven large toads," the dark lord tells Lucius, much to the others confusion.
"Whatever for, My Lord?" Lucius asks with a confused face.
"What else? For war, my dear Lucius. For war," Voldemort says with a dark grin as Indech howls with laughter in his mind at Voldemort's plan.
"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," Indech says and Voldemort couldn't agree more.
Chapter done!
The lines in the sand are drawn as man, gods, and fear prepare for the war to come.
Voldemort and the Formorians take center stage in this chapter because we will rarely see all of them together in one room. We will get to meet, speak too, and learn about each of the fears in turn as they pop up throughout this story.
Kingsxcaul, out.