(This is my Application so if I get it can someone change my name thankyou!)
Name : Lord Voldemort (Tom Marvolo Riddle)
Nickname : He Who Must Not Be Named, You Know Who
Gender : Male
Age : N/A
Year : Graduated
Blood : Half Blood
Physical description : Skeletally thin whith frosty pale skin and flaming red slitted eyes like a serpents. Where a nose was is now two more slits, more monster than man.
Height : 6 foot 3 inches
Weight : ?
Hair : None (Toms was jet Black)
Eyes : Flaming Red
Ethnicity : Descendant of Salazzar Slytherin
Personality/Moods : Voldemort is never a kindly figure although rewarding his followers 'generously' for their services, he is prone to violent mood swings in which not many are said to have survived. Driven by his hatred of all Muggles, he seeks to bring the world under his supreme rule via usage of incomprehendable dark magicks.
Character History :
Voldemort was born in an orphanage. His mother was one Merope Gaunt, daughter of Marvolo Gaunt and Sister of Morfin Gaunt. She was a disturbed child (much like the son she would come to have) and was beaten regularly for her love of the muggle Tom Riddle, who would ride past the house on a horse and carriage, She used a love potion to subdue him to her will and therefore bore him a son but learning that his love for her would never be real, she extinguished her use of potion and he fled from her life, leaving her penniless and pregnant. Seeking shelter, she came across an orphanage where she pronouncing he was to be named Tom after his father and Marvolo after his Grandfather. Tom Marvolo Riddle was always different from the rest of the children, morbid, deranged, selfish and unkind he was able to command strange powers, hurt people who had hurt him or cause great mental damage to those who got in his way. No amount of therapy would be able to change this horrific child, he was possessed of an evil that far surpassed all else. It was only when he was called upon (by Albus Dumbledore himself) to go to Hogwarts that he learnt to focus those powers in a less chaotic way.
Dumbledore was the only one Tom ever looked up to. He was the one who had delivered him from a parentless home, where he was treated equally or even less than other normal children. During his schooling at Hogwarts, he was one of the staff favourites, maybe it was the fact he was such a gifted magician for one with no parents? He worked his way to achieving prefect and then Head boy, showing that the spark for domination in him had long grown into a wildfire inside him. It was he who unleashed the Serpent of Slytherin from the depths of the Chamber of Secrets, for being his heir, only he could control such a beast. His end at hogwarts approached and with fear he begged Dumbledore to let him stay where he felt welcome, where he had family. He was turned away, turned away from the one place that offered him shelter from the cruel world. He left the school in anger, gathering around him followers which he named Death Eaters, who would help him achieve his meticulous ends, ends which would lead to one thing, World Domination...
Hometown :
London Presumably
Relationships/family :
Voldemort never really had a family. His twisted nature came from the fact that he was never loved, and he was never cared for like every other child. You would expect that being descended of Salazar Slytherin, he would live in riches and bathe in gold. But family squandering had ruined that plan centuries before. His mother grew up in poverty, in a ramshackle hut in the depths of a orest, beaten by her father and loathed by her brother. It was probably from her that he learnt how to hate, to want to kill. His father was as far as he was concerned, dirt on his shoe, he had abandoned him, his son! He was disposed of as soon as he was found.
Pet/Companion : Death Eaters and the miraculous serpent, Nagini
Weaknesses :Visibly, Voldemort has no weaknesses but since (using the most ancient and foul magicks) he split his soul and divided it into Horcruxes, destroying those would once again make him mortal.
Fears : Voldemorts only Fear is Dumbledore, for it is he who knows the most about Voldemorts ashamed past and also the ways in which he keeps himself alive.
Special Posession : His wand (13.5 inches Yew with a tail Feather from Fawkes the Phoenix) and his Horcruxes
Notes : snorkack
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Desired house : N/A
Have you read the rules? Yes
Where have you learnt about NLM? UHPR
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Role-playing sample :
The Aurors cowered before him like beaten dogs. Voldemort hissed with laughter his ruby red eyes scanning their fear struck faces.
"Well...Well...Welll...The ministry have been busy little bees havent they!" he hissed, drawing his wand and raising up the first auror with a simple gesture.
"Still, Who would blame them, what with us lurking around!" a wave of sniggers crept around the area, from each of the hooded figures that had now closed in tightly forming a barrier against and escape.
"Now then," he continued, baring two rows of needle sharp teeth, "Where shall we start? Oh yes! Lets start with...the Minister, What has he been up t..."
"He will get you Vol..." he broke off. Voldemort grinned again.
"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself!" he remarked "Which is why you should all be fearing my name alot more!"
He pointed his wand at the Auror, whose face went white with terror.
"Lets teach you some manners shall we? Crucio!"
A bolt of scarlet light jetted from the tip of his wand, rippinng apart the Aurors robes as he screamed and writhed in agony. Voldemort cackled and turned to one of the hooded figures.
"Kill them both!"
He swept away, taking a seat on a nearby gravestone which moulded into a basin like shape for him as he did.
Two flashes of emerald green broke through the icy cold night air, a wind of death whipping through the graveyard with taunting roars from the Death Eaters and an amused smirk from Voldemort.
It was several minutes before the first of the Death Eaters approached him.
“Why did you have us kill them, my lord?” he grunted under his hood.
“They were useless!” Voldemort hissed, summoning a goblet brim-filled with a steaming substance next to him. “They barely knew of their mission let alone my strength, we need someone higher up!”
“But Sir…”
“Are you questioning me Merrick!?”
“No sir I…” The death eater backed away slowly. Voldemort rose.
“How dare you question my methods you filthy little Mudblood! I knew you were trouble from the star you half blooded dirty little wretch!”
“My lord I, I”
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
The green jet pounded Merrick off his feet, blasting him backwards. The emerald energy pulsed around him, beaming from his mouth as he screamed and from his eyes as he fell with a thud t the floor. The Death Eaters looked startled, but none dared approach his dead corpse for fear of incuring their masters wrath.
Voldemort let out a roar of anguish, the goblet shattering along with the gravestone he had previously used as a throne with and infernal crack.
“Apparate back to your positions, I want daily reports on Ministry and Resistance motives!”
His eyes lit up, the thought of the minister of magic cowering beneath him gave him great pleasure. All it would take was one incantation and he would be gone, but torturing the head of the magical community brought a tingle of evil glee to his face.
“GO!”
And with a whirl of cloaks, the death eaters apparated from the spot.
Role-playing sample 2 :
The icy night wind whipped around his face. His eyes burned in the gloom of the forest, lighting a red glowing path before him. It was along time since he had been here, the crooked trunks of the many oaks twisted around each other like pairs of gothic ballet dancers, waving in the impending storm. The grass and the dead leaved crunched beneath him, the frost melting as he trof heavily upon the unstirred earth.
"So many memories!" he hissed, his tongue forked and bladed ripping the air around his open mouth.
He waded through the forest, coming to a tall open clearing, the moonlight beaming through the open air. In the centre of the clearing was an overgrown pile of rubble, covered in ivy, which inder closer inspection appeared to be a ramshackle cottage, weathered with age.
"My mother grew up in this," he cussed to himself, "My predecessors inhabited this....cave!"
He surveyed the structure, the ragged hand-built stone walls, the misty glass windows, half of which were cracked or shattered, the awful log panelling along the corners and the door, to which was nailed the skeleton of a snake. He chortled venomously and whirled around, pulling his wand from his scabbard and pointing it over his shoulder.
"Bombarda!"
A jet of white light was followed by a tremedous crash and a tower of smoke erupted into the sky.
