The three cultists wasted no more time.
With cold precision, they stepped away from the ritual circle. Its dark energy pulsing silently now, swirling like a storm contained in a glass.
The circle no longer required their attention because it had reached the phase where it only needed time.
Time for the portal to open and for the being that slumbered beyond to awaken.
Time for the King — Thar'Zul-Vekar, the Forest God — to emerge from the ancient world of Varn-Kuruth.
As one, the cultists raised their arms and began chanting.
Magical syllables twisted the air around them, warping it with pressure and heat.
Then, from the thin space between planes, armor began to form.
Those armors were not summoned from their armor storage but woven from darkness and enchanted power.
