The Resurrection Circle chimes gently as Marquanthis looks up from his afternoon tea. The elf stands from the table glancing out the window of the Guild to the streets of Volaire. Taking in the visual of the smooth cobblestone unobstructed by red mist for the first time in what seems like a lifetime.
He makes his way over to the Resurrection Circle and sits on the worn cushion, its seams splitting and colours faded from years of use. Marquanthis had been asked to throw it out several times but politely refused, stating it would take ages to adjust a new one to his liking.
"Circle up." He closes his eyes, sensing for the spirit floating about the confines of the ritual space. He speaks softly, "Are you going to resist me, my friend?" Sensing no resistance, he begins the ritual, chanting ancient words of power as a human form begins to manifest on the floor before him. A few moments pass and the body of Blodwulf lies fully formed on the soft rug.
With a gesture and a final word from the Elven mage, Blodwulf's back arches as air fills his lungs in a gasping breath.
Marquanthis places a hand on the human's shoulder, "Peace, friend. you've had a journey."
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