Chapter 277: Recompence
A group of Death Eaters apparated out from under the shaded forest near the old Carrow Manor. The majority of the Death Eaters gleefully congratulate each other on the success of their attack. The exception is a few who remain silent with pained expressions, who had been injured during the attack.
"Bloody hell!" Shrieked, a squat, young wizard with a doughy face and tiny eyes. Amycus Carrow cradled his bleeding hand, while his sister carefully held his dismembered fingers in her palm.
"I'll kill that Prince whore, if it's the last thing I do!" Amycus swore out loud to the general guffaw of the rest of the Death Eaters.
"It'll be alright, brother," wheezed the stocky young witch with stubby fingers, Alecto Carrow.
"My poor Snyde would have loved this!" Cried out, the perpetual red-eyed, puffy-faced, sniffling, widowed Empusa Snyde.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Empusa loudly sniffles, "There, there, Amycus. I'll have you right as rain if not at least your fingers back on your hand. But first, we must see the Dark Lord."
The Death Eaters hurry forward only pausing to greet the two men of the hour. The delighted dandy, Pyrites, and the handsome newly graduated wizard with dark curly hair, S.R. Wilkes. Pyrites claps his arm around Wilkes and grins most innocently.
"My, my, Wilkes, you, clever, clever boy, Master will be sure to allow you into our innermost ranks," Pyrites purred. "The Dark Lord in his magnanimity will bestow the highest honor upon you and grant you, his mark."
"That is all I have ever wanted," S.R. Wilkes sincerely admitted with a peculiar eager smile.
"Your uncle is waiting inside, he'll be most proud," Pyrites slyly added as he personally led the 17-year-old wizard inside the manor.
The great halls swing open to reveal a group of Death Eaters reverently kneeling before their master, while Lord Voldemort impatiently paces waiting for a sign of good news. Voldemort's deathly pale face is most eager as crimson eyes shine with a snakelike gleam.
"Welcome my loyal brethren," Lord Voldemort magnanimously gestured with wide open arms as if to embrace them as brothers in arms.
Pyrites bowed while S.R. Wilkes falls onto his knees before the Dark Lord. "Master," Pyrites reverently said. "Our faithful brother in arms, Rabastan Lestrange has fallen-."
Pyrites paused watching most intently the crowd, especially the elder Lestrange, but there was not a single trace of emotion or sudden movement from him. Failing to gain a reaction, he continues, "However, the younger Lestrange honorably reclaimed his family honor and took Abraxas Malfoy's life."
"Wonderful," Voldemort breathed in joy. "His glorious sacrifice shall forever be remembered."
Stepping down from his throne his trailing robes seem to slither as Voldemort moves across the marble floor. "S.R. Wilkes, is it? Your uncle has told me much about you. Come before me and show your face."
"Yes, Dark Lord," S.R. Wilkes said as he glanced up into the pallid face of the Dark Lord.
"Yes, you are quite strong and cunning," Voldemort mused as he looked into the boy's mind. "You've done quite well and for that, you shall be amply rewarded."
Without warning Voldemort took Wilkes' left arm and shoved his sleeve up. He ruthlessly pressed his finger into the arm of S.R. Wilkes. In parseltongue, Voldemort began to chant. Blood and ink began to mix as more than just a simple tattoo is inscribed into S.R. Wilkes flesh; but more fools are they, who accept such a brand without question.
S.R. Wilkes clenched his teeth together as he tried not to scream. After what seemed like an eternity Voldemort finally released his arm. Wilkes is sweating and his breath comes out in his pants, but he did not once cry out in pain. An admirable achievement as many had whimpered and even wept from the pain.
Voldemort nods his head in approval and says, "You are most certainly a credit to your family, young man."
There is envy in the gaze of the Death Eaters who lack the mark and are bare. The mark is the highest symbol of honor and is only granted to those among them who are found to be worthy and enter the inner sanctum of the Dark Lord. Sensing the great envy of those who are bare, Voldemort decides it is time to expand his inner circle.
"My loyal brother and sisters in arms," Voldemort said, "I am pleased to see your conviction and zealousness in bringing about a new world order. It is such that I am pleased to award all those that participated in the raid with the mark. I would be honored to bestow the mark upon all."
There is great awe and sincere admiration as the Death Eaters gaze at each other in shock and gratefulness at the Dark Lord's benevolence. A rugged, domineering Death Eater is the first to step out and claim the highest honor. The haughty featured Death Eater's hair is shoulder length, pale blond hair which is pulled back into a short ponytail. Though nowhere near as tall as his cousin, Corban Yaxley, Darith Yaxley did not have the same imposing, fierce aura that his cousin had, had.
"I would be honored to bare the mark of the Dark Lord," Darith reverently said, "if you would be willing to bestow the dark mark upon this most unworthy flesh."
Voldemort is filled with pleasure at Yaxley's statement. "Come forth, and I shall grant even the unworthiest of souls the mark," he beckoned the Death Eaters, before marking Darith Yaxley. By the end of it, Darith Yaxley is sweating and pale, but he did not scream even once in agony.
Trembling Darith Yaxley rises to his feet and shows his left swollen forearm to the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters cheer loudly before the next brave soul steps up to receive the mark. The ritual lasted for some time until the last Death Eater is successfully marked.
The newly marked Death Eaters swayed on their feet but proudly stood together showing off their left forearms to those who are still bare. The Death Eaters who are still bare gaze enviously at those that received the mark. They can only wait until they are found worthy to be bestowed such an honor.
"Now let us go and feast!" Voldemort wisely declared as the Death Eaters cheered and departed in celebration. Though not all the Death Eaters hurry to celebrate, those injured must tend to their wounds. The Carrow siblings hurry to Empusa Snyde to have her salvage Amycus's fingers before it is too late.
The crowd disperses leaving only a few Death Eaters still left behind. "Pyrites you and Wilkes may sit at my right and left side tonight at the head of the banquet table," Voldemort magnanimously announced. "Pryties escort S.R. Wilkes."
"Of course, master," Pyrites flashed a sparkling grin, before leading S.R. Wilkes through the manor to be seated in the banquet hall.
"A word, Lestrange," Voldemort called out to the tall, thin, broad-shouldered man Death Eater, who had been about to leave.
The dark-haired man with gaunt features turns and bows his head in greeting. "Yes, Milord?" Rodolphus Lestrange rather passively answered, rather unlike himself.
"You mourn the loss of your brother?"
"Indeed, Dark Lord. Rabastan and I are the last of the Lestranges."
Voldemort wasn't able to hide his lips curling into a sneer at seeing the anguish of loss that not even Lestrange could successfully hide. A lesser emotion, unneeded by one such as himself. But those weaker always held such sentimental, weak emotions.
"Then we shall ensure that your line continues, Lestrange," Voldemort ordered paying no heed to Rodolphus Lestrange's reaction.
"Then it shall be as Milord, desires," Rodolphus said hiding his hands in his robes as his fingers dug into his flesh hard enough into his palm to break the skin.
Voldemort casually brushes past him and departs leaving only Lestrange left behind in the great hall. Rodolphus Lestrange stands there for some time, before forcing his fists open and gazing at his wounded palms. With a sneer, he seals the wounds and composes his features, before joining the celebrations in the banquet hall. It wouldn't do for his innermost felt emotions to leak out.
In the crevice of his heart, the seed of hatred that had been planted began to fiercely grow. Unstoppable. Its roots stretched far and wide digging deep into the heart, it would be impossible to remove now.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone