[center][h1][color=a36209]Walgrave[/color][/h1][/center]

Post#2
[@Flamelord]
[hr]

The creature Walgrave listened to the commands of the Grand Marshal with rapt attention. He concealed his disappointment as perfectly as he concealed his simultaneous relief. He had been dreading the murderous games that he had expected to ensue among his colleagues nearly as much as he had been anticipating them. Not that his suspicions were entirely allayed, but surely the words of the great Schweinorg would sway the major part of the young party at least. For the rest of them... well, he would keep a careful eye out as always.  

Gazing around the room a finnal time he briefly crossed eyes with one of the older members of the party, a spectacled man in a pale green suit. He would endeavor to draw close to this figure when the time was right, for Walgrave judged that he was of a more stern aspect than the various other youngsters who had congregated here. 

Slowly, he turned and frowned down at the glimmering circle that lay about his feet. This Magecraft in a way, would be one of the greatest that he had ever performed, supported as it was by another entity, it was a moment to remember. He stooped down, feeling the contours of the crisscrossing summoning lines play about his fingers. Under his clothes the numerous cockroaches that were his familiars began to scuttle about as they felt his power activate. He begun to chant. 

Light began to fill the room as Walgrave muttered the words of summoning like a dirge. [color=a36209]"Blessed Root, iron doorway beyond the world, answer this rotting one. The earth is dying and soon the sun shall fail, but your doors will last long even into the utter dark. Grant us your benediction, send forth a small piece of that eternity..."[/color]

His words began to blur together into an unending murmur as the light of the summoning circle became brilliant. 

[hr]

[center][h1][color=fff200]Sinfjötli[/color][/h1][/center]

Post#1
[@ShadowKingman]
[hr]

Deep within the Throne of Heroes the words of a mortal were trickling down, drawing up a spirit from the depths of the host of legends. It bounded up from some dark forgotten corner of the spirit's realm, cautiously at first it followed the tendrils of Prana that were drawing it back to the mortal realm and then began to pick up speed, loping eagerly towards the offer of a second life. 

In a shower of light a large armored youth stepped into the middle of a summoning circle on earth. He was handsome, tall, thickly built but balanced and decked from head to toe in shining white and gold mail, crowned with a thick helm. The gleaming outfit was offset only by the pelt of an immense black wolf draped over his shoulders like a cape, it's skinned and cured head resting over his mailed breast. Skinned as it was, somehow the empty eye sockets of the cloak seemed to still gleam...

Sinfjötli locked eyes with a strange looking girl as knowledge began to flood into his mind along with his newly gained form. He felt a brief rush of something like rage as the Berserker class was imparted upon him, but then he was grinning and falling to one knee before the auburn haired girl. 

[color=fff200]"I ask of you, are you my Master?"[/color]