Who: Voldemort, various NPCs Where: Dorset breeding camp When: Tuesday evening Why: Voldie's horny What: Guess. Warnings: Not gonna lie, pretty high for gross factor. Notes: Okay I'm not just a Voldie perv. The breeding camp has been mentioned a few times in game, so I wanted to get this out so that people could have a clearer picture of what it looks like and what goes on there. Obviously not all characters will have the same insight, but it doesn't hurt for the players to have it.
Voldemort apparated to just outside the breeding facility in Dorset. There were three in total, but this one was the first, and the biggest. There were apparition wards inside, in case any of the inmates had sufficient magical knowledge to attempt it. The place was perhaps the size of a moderate estate, surrounded by a high wall on all sides. He approached the main gate, which was solid, with a spell set up on the inside to see who was waiting. It took no time at all to be admitted, and he was escorted with all haste to the nearby stone building, where he entered the office of the Administrator.
The man was short and lean. He was cousin to one of his own Death Eaters, Walden MacNair, but bore little resemblance. He had a superior sneer that spoke vehmently of his heritage, however. "My Lord!" he exclaimed, standing up and bowing deeply. Voldemort's lips curled with amusement.
"MacNair," he greeted the Administrator. "I have come to survey your progress. And sample your product."
MacNair chuckled darkly. "Technically Master, I think the product would be the children, no? I'm not sure how well they taste."
He almost laughed, but stopped himself just in time. "You are impertinent, MacNair," he said instead, though his tone conveyed approval rather than reproach.
"My apologies, Master," MacNair said with another bow, coming out from behind his desk. "Allow me to give you the tour."
He opened the door that opened out onto the main yard. The place was mostly gravel, dirt and mud, with a few squat buildings scattered about. Several wizards in dark robes patrolled what passed for streets, but there was otherwise little movement. MacNair led him to the first building and slammed the door open. There were not many people in here, and less furniture. Several pallets littered the floor, and there were seven or eight young men sitting on them. The young men shielded their eyes from the light, but got quickly to their feet when the MacNair barked an order. "Our male stock, my Lord," the man explained, guesturing non-specifically at the room. "Purebloods only, blood-traitors mostly. Not many, not many, but we rely of course on our visitors, like your good self, Master." The men wore scant clothing and stood in a line, staring at the floor. Voldemort surveyed the room and nodded his approval. MacNair closed the door.
"Tell me, do they do their duties willingly?" Voldemort asked as MacNair led him to the next building, which was larger and appeared, even from the outside, to be slightly more well cared for.
"Usually sir, usually, though of course some of them have wives and sisters in here. And of course they know what happens to the children. So some of them need a little encouragement. Of course we try and avoid pairing them with their sisters if possible. Stronger bloodlines, of course, of course, but the babies tend to be weak in the head."
"Good, good." He wasn't really listening. MacNair opened the door to the new building and there was a squeak of panic that was silenced quickly as they entered. There were beds in here, and the walls and floor were clean. There were about fifteen women in here, all in varying stages of pregnancy. Another woman hurried up to them and bowed. She was not pregnant, and dressed in the same dark robes as the guards. "My Lord," she said in a quiet voice.
"Mary Rochford," MacNair explained. "One of our midwives. We keep the girls neat and tidy in here once they're bred, they tend to go downhill if they stay with the others. And of course, the improved treatment in here encourages them to be pregnant as often as possible."
Voldemort looked around. None of the women dared even to look at him. "Continue in your work," he instructed the midwife.
They left the room and continued to the next building. "What is your sucess rate?" he asked MacNair. The man immediately looked shifty. "About eight in ten survive, my Lord," he said. A probe with Legilimency told Voldemort that he was exaggerating. "And another eight in ten show magical ability. This is a significant improvement, sir, significant, now that we've weeding out the ah, offal, as it were."
He was impressed, despite himself. When he had first begun the program seven years ago, very few women had live births, and many of those had had to be culled for their lack of magical ability.
The next building was the nusery. They didn't stay there long. The place practically rang with the screams of small children, which was not a sound he liked. The room reminded him of the orphanage in which he had grown up. MacNair explained that the children were kept here until they showed magical ability, in which case they were sent to be raised by the Marvolo school. Those who didn't show magic by the age of three were culled. There was a certain amount of argument for waiting longer, but it had been Voldemort's decree that only those with strong ability should be allowed to live, and the strongest ability would show earlier.
He grew excited as they moved on to the largest building. He wrinkled his flat nose as they walked in. The place stank of sex. "Our, ah, showroom," MacNair snickered. "As it were." There were perhaps fifty women in here. Some had mattresses, others had pallets, some no more than a blanket. Many were sleeping, or perhaps, only pretending. One was sitting up and looking right at them. "Who is that?" he asked, low.
"New girl, m'Lord," MacNair explained. "Jill, I think her name is."
"New," Voldemort repeated, licking his thin lips.
"Only one previous rider," MacNair said with a sneer that gave him a good idea of who that 'rider' had been. "May I offer you a private room?"
He nodded. MacNair ushered him towards a corridor lined with doors. He recognised the one at the end as the the VIP room. He went inside and inspected the room as MacNair went to fetch the girl. It was small, and not exactly luxurious, but it was at least clean. It served a purpose. He would have to see about getting a fire in here, though, especially if he decided to make regular visits. He cast a warming charm instead, and folded his wand inside his robe as he slipped it off his shoulders.
He heard the door open and close, and turned to see the girl standing there. She had short dark hair and pale skin. She could have been a Black, which attracted him to her even further. Strong wizarding genes. Her eyes were dark and not yet sunken, and they looked straight at him.
"Your name, girl," he said, laying his robe over the back of the only chair.
"Jill," she said, glaring.
"You will address me as 'my Lord'," he commanded, walking towards her. "You came here out of the Academy?"
"Yes, my Lord," she said rudely, her eyes flickering over his pale naked body. He slapped her.
"We can do this two ways," he explained. "You can shut up and do your duty in silence, or I will bind you with magic and take what I want. And if you choose that way, and do not get with child, I will order that MacNair slit your throat in front of the others."
Her glare turned to fear as she looked at him. Yes, he knew her type. She reminded him of Lily Evans - Potter, whatever her name was. Always trying to protect others. No doubt she had come here with tales of happiness and speeches of hope. Even MacNair had failed to break her. It looked like he would have that pleasure after all. She hung her head.
"Good," he said, pulling her towards him by her plain dress. He pushed the straps down her shoulders and let it fall to her waist, bearing her breasts. He touched them with his long, pale fingers and she bit her lip as if holding back a whimper. "On the bed," he growled at her.
She attempted to cover herself as she walked over and sat on the bed, but he put paid to that. He ripped the dress over her hips and pushed her further back, climbing up on top of her. The Horcruxes had erased a lot of the humanity from his face, but there was nothing wrong with his prominent organ of manhood. She gasped once when he entered her, but kept her mouth shut after that.
"And was My Lord satisfied?" MacNair asked half an hour later after a guard has escorted the girl out.
"Satisfactory, MacNair," Voldemort said, which was the most praise he could remember giving anyone in a while. "Bring me another in an hour."