Chapter 408 - Trip to the Marshlands (1/2)
In the depth of isolated marshlands, the moon is always murky as green fog swirls around two cloaked men. The night is eerily quiet as they make their way up the muddy path. The green fog eerily swirls around them as the odd glimpse of moving shadows can be seen within the fog. But nothing concrete is ever seen seeming that much creepier. It was though the fog hid dark things that revealed would leave the wizards gibbering in the mud.
The leading figure is a tall, muscular young wizard. He was no more than in his mid-twenties with a harsh visage. There is a thin black mustache on his upper lip neatly trimmed in a Parisian style. His eyes hold a bloodthirsty, violence that cannot quite be hidden. And for very good reason as Walden Macnair had killed before and had never been caught while abroad.
Following behind is a slightly taller man, powerfully built with broad shoulders and muscled body. Unlike the younger wizard, the middle-aged man had a trimmed black beard and gravelly voice when speaking. His dark eyes currently seemed rather bored with their present situation. But Albert Runcorn always calculated everything, and this meeting should prove useful to him. For it'd grant him the sole thing that he desired above all else, power.
”We're here,” Walden Macnair said as his voice seemed to twist in the green fog.
”So, we are,” Albert Runcorn murmured not impressed at all by the dingy, old home in the middle of the swamps. He'd seen better homes in the muggle villages than this tattered old home. Still, he did not speak and waited for Macnair to make the presentation.
The door creaks open as both men make their way up the squeaky stairs and porch. There standing in the doorway is a sniffing perpetual red-eyed figure of Empusa Snyde. ”Please come in Macnair and guest,” the widow Snyde requested as she moved aside to let them enter.
Macnair knew the way and led Runcorn through the dark, moldy smelling corridor. The furniture was old showing recent signs of dusting. But the moldy carpets were beyond saving and had all been thrown away. In their stead, newer and cheaper rugs had been installed taking away some of the moldy smell of the old home. Still, the dampness and moldy scent could be felt permeating throughout the old mansion.
Macnair stopped before great old wooden doors and opened both doors with ease. Steeping aside he allows Runcorn to enter first, who coolly eyes the dismal state of the grand hall. Dark masked figures are throughout the room all waiting, all watching. The only figure's face that remained uncovered was that of waxy pale like man creature. His crimson serpent pupil eyes started right through Runcorn causing him to almost step back. But he'd faced similar gazes and survived and as such stared right back.
The wizard on the black throne-like chair reminded him of a snake or spider. The fingers were unnaturally long and thin, and all body hair seemed to have utterly fallen off. There was a snake-like sheen to his skin as the man even licked his thin dark tongue as if tasting the air. And as for his nose, his nose seemed to be in the process of shrinking itself. A most terrible, awful sight as at present the nose reminded Runcorn of some sort of orc-like stout.
”Welcome Albert Runcorn,” Lord Voldemort graciously said. ”I've heard nothing but flattering words from Macnair.”
”Ah, yes, as have I,” Runcorn replied in his gravelly voice. ”I am told that you request that I join thee and your cause, Dark Lord.”
”Yours would be a valuable asset to my cause, Runcorn,” Voldemort admitted. ”And you naturally would be rewarded for your time and efforts.”
”And if I wished to be the Minister of Magic?” Runcorn proposed.
”That can also be arranged, but first naturally something must be done in exchange.” Voldemort leaned forward as if to emphasize the point being made.
”And what is exactly is that you want of me, Dark Lord?” Runcorn politely asked a bit intrigued.
”Passageway to a certain location.”