•» Year: 2021
•» Season: Spring
•» Month: April
•» Weather: The snow has melted in most areas of the school and the sun has been shining bright giving the grounds warm temperatures.
GRYFFINDOR POINTS [ 0030 ]
SLYTHERIN POINTS [ 0100 ]
HUFFLEPUFF POINTS [ 0050 ]
RAVENCLAW POINTS [ 0000 ]
How To Earn Points
“Thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else.”
Madam Pomfrey, Order of the Phoenix
The Harry Potter series is a creation of J.K. Rowling. Most characters belong to the books and belong to her; we thank her for giving us the ideas of using them for a RPG. MPC has no contact with her even though we wish we could! The skin was created by Tariq of IF Skin Zone (see links at bottom of page for source). Other images created by me, Erin, with help from Tariq and Nicole from KHRPF. Plot and sub-plots created by Erin. If anything gets taken, you will have severely upset me and you should plan on running far, far away. Thank you for everybody’s help that has made this site what it is, especially the members, young and old.
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Group: •» master goddess
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THE MAIN PLOT Somewhere in the Arctic – twenty years previousThe wizard looked like he hadn’t left the tiny little shack in the freezing cold in ages, thirty years to be exact, according to the scratch marks that lined the thick log walls heated only be a magical green fire. Vials and herbs and cauldrons were thrown about the two room hut like a hurricane had come by. There were fixtures and relics that looked to be centuries old. They looked like they had been manufactured by the devil himself. Scars and black creations twisted around his whole body, a calling card, and dark mark symbols everywhere. They hurt so much anymore, burning and stinging so much that he was tempted to divulge in the snow that was building up from the blizzard. Trouble was stirring, and he didn’t need the marks to tell him that – they were written in the tea leaves and every crystal orb his hollowed eyes peered into.
Who was he? He was a death eater. Why had he been in solitude for thirty years? He was Lord Voldemort’s secret weapon. This man, a prophet, foretold the future to the clearest of detail to his master. What he said came true, no matter if it were a tornado in winter or the falling of a satellite. The dark art of magic coursed through his blood so steadily, so strongly, it turned his blood a thick black. He had told Voldemort that when the war finally put his beady eyes face-to-face with the Boy-Who-Lived, his master would be vanquished. It took months for him to fully understand that he would die, finding it foolery to believe such a thing, but what the man said was true.
Would he go down without a fight? Never. He had an ace up his cloak.
When the time came and Voldemort’s prophecy was fulfilled, the body that was the lord died, but the dark magic that was his soul did not decease. It spent years living on the breeze, trying to find the right breeze that would get him to the most north point in the Arctic. Years it took, but finally, the soul that had taken others seeped into the hollow bones that were this vagabond. The marks crawled across his wrinkled skin, literally moving and fighting at his husk. One of the dark marks that had covered his back wasn’t just a mark, but a portal of life for those that were dead. Few knew about it. It was the worst form of dark magic imaginable. Had word got out, those of evil would want it and those of good would want him dead. Evil won that battle because evil offered protection, safety, and food, but what did good offer him except for death?
The skin of the man ripped away from his back, leaving a hole that ebbed dark light and screamed like a banshee. The orb passed into the hole and after several minutes of agonizing screaming, something fell from the hole – a pebble. The man, no matter how much pain riddled through his body, made haste to grab the pebble that sparkled like a marble and rush outside, burying it deep into the snow where he waited. There it would manifest and grow. Ten years laterInside that mound of snow was a womb, inside that womb a man. In ten years that pebble had grown much like an egg, sprouting a baby that formed into toddler, into an adolescent, and into a teenager before the resemblance of a man took shape. Ten years to that day, the Arctic Man came out with a pick and hacked away at the igloo inside the snow. Hours later, he pulled the manifestation of Voldemort out and into the shack.
The memories of Voldemort were still held in the crevices of his mind, but it took time for them to be released and for the man, whom was given the name of Gage since his mind always collected thoughts much like a water gage, to gain his strength. Gage was simply mortal. It would take a decade or so until the full potential that was Voldemort to twine around his bones. He would stay hidden away from the world until it was time for the Wizarding World to be destroyed. The oracle had broken. All those other prophets had seen his death, but they didn’t see his birth. They didn’t see him. They occasionally got a glimpse of a young man, but it was just one in many flashes of images in an orb. Present day EnglandGage had killed the only father he had ever known with the rage that overpowered him. He had run away from the Arctic, the power throbbing faster and harder, making him out of control. His memories and power still hadn’t completely grown. He was scared. He was off his rocker. He felt a longing for England. He lived in a rundown flat near a pub and inn named the Leaky Cauldron. He always felt watched.
Gage always was watched. Death eaters followed him ritually ever since they found out that their Lord had returned to England. They had all known for years that Voldemort would come back bigger and stronger. They were all uncertain what a teenaged looking boy could do, but it allowed access into families with children. It was a work of art that was what it was. It left the hearts of the death eaters satisfied that they would finally get what they wanted. This manifestation was their one and only weapon, and what a weapon it was. It was brilliant. It was a masterpiece conspiracy.
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