The Ritual of Draugr

The priest stood on the dais, looking over the temple hall. Before him knelt the supplicants, those who had volunteered to forgo the afterlife, to serve him and the spirits forever. The number pleased him; the faith of his flock was strong. The air was thick with fragrant smoke, wreathing in curls from the braziers now burning sacred resins. He nodded to his acolytes, who began to walk down the line of kneeling worshippers, daubing intricate designs of woad upon their skin.

The ritual was a painstaking one, and the application of paint would take some time. None spoke, though. They were unclothed, for the patterns must cover their full body, yet there was no shame. Not in this time, in this place. They served a higher purpose.

He watched silently, impassively, as the runes and spirals took shape upon the bodies of the men and women that offered so much. Finally, the acolytes were finished. He took up the chalice from the lectern in front of him, filled with deep red wine. An expensive rarity in these frigid climes, but necessary for this. From his robes, he took a small vial, and tipped a single drop of dragon's blood into the chalice. It swirled in the wine for a moment, then spread evenly through it, giving it an even deeper, richer red hue. The power of the blood was palpable, and the wine almost seemed to glow with it.

He walked down the line himself, now, bearing the chalice, and each of the kneeling men and women took a sip, taking into themselves a tiny fraction of the strength of Dragon. When all had drunk, he returned to the dais, and spoke for the first time.

"Mighty Whale, we call upon you to bless these supplicants. Reinforce their flesh, that it may stand as a sanctuary for their souls, free from the ravages of time, ever living in service to the spirits."

The totem of Whale inscribed on the front of the dais glowed, and wisps of golden light washed out from it, brushing over the supplicants, entering them. The power carried with it the sound of a thousand whispers, and underneath it a low, singing sound, as sailors sometimes heard at night on the open ocean.

"Fierce Wolf, we call upon you to bless these supplicants. Strengthen their arms and hearts, that they might stand as protectors eternal, guarding these halls from all who would disturb us."

The totem of Wolf glowed now, and again, tendrils of light flowed from it to break over the kneeling forms. The air chilled with the crispness of a winter's night, and the thousand whispers carried the distant sound of a wolf's howl.

"Cunning Fox, we crave your pardon. These brave souls will not follow you to the Halls of the Underworld, for they pledge themselves to this life, to serve for all time."

The totem of Fox glowed, but no power blessed the worshippers. After all, they were not asking blessing from Fox, but apologising.

"Great Dragon, we thank you for your gift of blood and power. We pledge these souls to you, and ask you to make them greater than they were, to serve you above all."

Now Dragon responded, magic flowing from his image to the worshippers, and carrying a clap of thunder with it.

"Wise Owl, soaring Hawk, we thank you for your gifts of Craft and Voice. Watch over your humble priest, and ward me as I use the gifts you have given. With your power, I wake these children to life eternal, forever bound to this earth! Ul! Laas! Vahlok!"

The room thrummed with power, as the two avian totems bestowed their blessing upon those present. The cry of a hawk could be heard as well as the screech of an owl, and unlike before, the light wove around the priest, as well. The final words ripped from his throat, the raw power almost more than he could stand, even with Hawk and Owl strengthening him. He fell to his knees as the room shook with the thunder of the Voice. He saw, though, the Shout washing over those before him, staggering them, and causing their woad markings to flare to brilliance.

Slowly, the thunder died away, and the light flooding the chamber dimmed to normal. The heavy feeling of power in he air dissipated, and the priest took a deep breath, rubbing his raw throat. One by one, he saw chests still, as the supplicants realised they no longer needed to breathe. They were draugr now, and would serve the spirits forever.