Return of Soulscorn
The duel moons rose from the northern horizon, and began to rise through the violet dusk sky. A great circle of piled stones sits beneath one of the full silver moons. Within the circle stands a tall black marble altar, resting upon which is the staff of their former leader, Soulscorn. A faceless crowd surrounds the circle of power, a steady murmur working in waves over the crowd. At the southern end of the altar stands Ivy, her ebony hair rippling over her shoulders and down her back. Across from her stands her twin sister, Winter. Their crimson eyes blaze across the night and stare into the crowd. The pitch of the crowd frenzies as they know the time nears for their leader to return in full glory. Winter turns, facing the staff and raises her hands to the deepening violet sky. Mirroring the motion is Ivy. They work in perfect sync, the twin weaving their arts before their mob-esque crowd of followers.
The runic staff rises, hovering above the marble altar. The air nearby electrifies, charging with the increasing power of the choosen eve. Ivy lowers her left hand; Winter, her right and together they draw a intricate pattern, woven easily with their knowledge of the art. Violet light explodes from the crystal atop the staff, washing over the audience, seeming to draw upon their very lives. This light ebbs and flows with the frenzied cries of the people, as they claw over one another wishing to be closer, to see better, the show at hand.
Ivy and Winter draw off of the crystal's growing light, bringing forth a hunched form that kneels upon the altar. No life yet surges within this man-form, only the energy created body, or the once great Soulscorn.
In unison Ivy and Winter raise their deep draconian voices, calling out to the great Barak Tor, god of the dead. The doubled growl increases as they work their way through the carefully written words, and stances, knowing an error could bring certain doom to them and their followers.
“On this eve of darkness and power Within this circle of faith Hear our calling Mighty Barak Tor Give us the power The strength The knowledge To raise the one whom left us To join ye in thy lands of fallen life Lend us thy power To return he who brings ye Many anew in thy lands Bring forth! Soulscorn!”
The night sky fills with lightning, the light rippling across the lands. Around the circle the crowd picks up on the call and begins chanting: “Praise thee Barak Tor.” Between Winter and Ivy's hands begins to flow a red surge of power. They close their eyes, their heads tilting back as they begin to take in and manipulate the new found power. Directing it up to the hovering staff, the light reflected among the gathered mass. In a sudden flash the energy flies down to the bowed form. A deep growl echos over the lands and slowly the form unfolds.
Before everyone's widened eyes, Soulscorn rises upon the altar, taking in hand his staff. The crystal dims, as the light recedes back into it at his touch. Ivy and Winter step back as the power flees from them. Their gaze drifts up, catching the eyes of Soul. Identical wicked smiles appear upon their full lips, their sharp fangs reveled as their lips part. Soul floats down from the tall altar and the women make their way to him. On either side they wrap their bodies around his, eccstatic to have raised their lost lover.
The crowd has now fallen silent, their eyes filled with awe in the act the twins just performed. Before them once again stands their great leader and many begin to fall into prayer for Barak Tor. Stepping easily through the awed crowd, Soul and the twins make their way to their Temple nearby.