Resurrection
The Necromancer's Spells are never what they really seem
The candles burned low in the circle around me. The strange arcane symbol she drew for me to lie upon reminded me of my Ceremony, only instead of wax, she painted my skin in a blood red ink that I just knew weren't coming off until this was over. Innumerable symbols, divine, occult, familiar and foreign, common and rare. Still, she told me to open my mind and allow the dead to speak into my ears.
Hours and hours went by, nothing but silence. Only the sound of my own heart beat filled the void, I couldn't hear her heart beat though, I couldn't hear her breath. Stillness in death, stillness in the one who dances with it. After discovering the tunnels, after discovering the body of Rythia so far below our feet I asked Azorez if she would help me.
Every last attempt I made to contact her only met with rebounded magic and unanswered prayers. She told me it would be unsettling, she told me that I would change because of it. Should I be able to control my own memories and keep them separate from the ones I would hear, I would remain me. But, I wasn't prepared.
Her voice was like something from a dream, listless and beautiful. Like Kari's in a perfect world, her voice like a song that I had never known I needed to hear. Then, the memories flooded my mind as she spoke into my ears. Too much, too many... too loud... too powerful... too much too much too much... Visions of Mother's face, the fields where we were safe. The moment I called out to her and she called back. When I named her, when we met our goddess, when we brought our people to greatness. When we ascended with tears in her eyes.
Floor collapsing, I will grow wings, you will know where you are with, bouncing back around. The listless passing of it, the knowledge that one truth of this world is that it is always a transient promise. An ebbing of passion to despair, from light to dark. The choice of the kind is but a simple one, yet with all simple truths, it is never so easy. To enjoy that simple whisper, to sing to the song of the truth of existing, or to be a steadfast constant as the tree is to the shore. Yet as the ticking of the sands falls through the glass of your life, even the tree holding its sand beneath its roots, safe and secure. Loses grain by grain to the sea it rages against. Sing with us, hand in hand and change from change we sing that song.
Effect
Resurrection is not a simple spell, but one that takes time and patience. A life is not a simple thing, no matter who or what it belongs to. There is no magic that can bring life from rot, but there is not life free of chains. To bring back life to a vessel where there was none, a temple that has no worshippers, a field which will bare no crops any longer. A city gone silent, a memory forgotten no matter how hard the mind tries to seize it once more.
Freedom and death, is but spoken in the same thought. Death is a freedom, yet freedom is not death. The memory lingers with it so to does the spark of life, a fire cools to leave behind coals in which to breath new light into this world. When the fire cools to the touch of mortal hands, that fire still lives inside, a cold coal is but a promise to the next fire. The roots of the mighty tree exist long after the mighty has fallen, only to sprout anew under the light of new dawns. The life lived leaves a mark on the world, not in immortality, not in undeath, but in the mind of those who remember. In the minds of those who have forgotten.
Restore a life in the minds of those who have long forgotten, restore the memory of those who have lived and passed beyond the veil of life's embrace. Take those memories and pass them to the new vessel to remember, in this the life is restored as the memory is offered the chance to endure once more.
Side/Secondary Effects
Episodes of schizophrenia and dual personalities are common, as the living mind absorbs the memories and renders them into itself. Fear not, this shall pass, knowledge from those long before us is a profound thing. A whispered prayer answered in the mind of those who wished to see the skies once more. Many also develop multiple iris's has the body adjusts to memories that do not belong to them, yet acclimatize themselves to the new vessel. In the end, is the person who stands before the one you knew before or someone new? I suppose that is a matter of belief...
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