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The Embellishing of a Soul


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The Embellishing of a Soul


 

Two animists stand within a forge, warmed with the roaring flames of the furnace. 

One of water and one of fire, opposites intertwined.

They step upwards to the anvil, their ritual spot, and they begin.

 

The animist of fire reaches to the stub of his former arm, ripping the scab.

Crimson fluid pours downwards as the animist of water dips a finger into it.

He draws a circle of runes of ancient orcish origin upon the anvil, chanting in the same tongue.

 

With one final rune, LAPUS, the animist of water stands before the anvil.

He places an ingot upon the surface, the animist of fire chanting prayers.

The animist of water raises a hammer high and strikes the ingot.

 

The runes upon the anvil ignite into an orange flame, spiritual energy floods the room.

The animists’ very essence is shaken as a raspy voice erupts from the anvil.

“MY NAME IS XALAT. I MARK YOUR SOULS.”

 

Pain overwhelms the animists, nails scratching, teeth gritting.

Nothing… The runes fade, the pain stops.
They have been marked, but at what cost?

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