People Who Write Legends

        People who write legends, fables, mythology are among us who use their creativity to explain the unexplained by filling it with what ever person, place, or event that satisfies that need. Explanations for our fears and anxiety are put in a magical mythical form to amuse and calm our senses. Some even create fear in us to teach us lessons when all else seems good. This, however, is not my intention with this story. I mealy mean to tell you how it was, how it is, and, perhaps, how it will be. Whether it fulfills any of these primordial feelings in you is how much you believe. It starts so long ago in a time of beast gods and magnificent tombs, to the days of pharaoh when myth was reality…
The night is black, but not as dark as the tomb the four cloaked figures baring torches approach. As they draw near the entrance of the pyramid they whisper amongst themselves quietly, excitedly, unaware of what they may cause here tonight.
“This is it, are ye all ready?” the tallest of the shadows speaks.
“I have everything, but I knew I would. This night brings salvation, I see It.” the smallest answers.
“What did I need to bring? I am here that is enough.” The next shadow retorts, the glint of its red eyes shows up in the night beneath the hood.
The fourth says nothing just nods and glides across the sand toward the hidden entrance. Suddenly it sticks its arms out touching the wall and gives a hard push. The door opens with a bang. The tallest shadow jumps with surprise the others stare unmoving into the abyss of the open passageway.
“This way.” the silent shadow barely speaks above a whisper as he sweeps into the room. The others follow single file into the pit. The last the outside sees of these shadows is two red glowing orbs of eyes disappearing into the gloom of the darkest dark as the door shuts.

They make their way through the gloom to the deepest part of the tomb were the sarcophagus lay. The shortest waved a hand and a fire started up in a fire pit at the centre of the room, the rest put there torches into holders around the sarcophagus. The silent one motioned for the largest to open it. The shadow yanked off the lid as if it were air and flung it to the floor. The walls shook with the force of the lid.
“Sorry” the largest mumbled before stepping back. The red eyed one shrugged.
The silent one slowly removed his hood and the cloak. He was Egyptian in looks, the coffee colored skin and the brown black eyes accentuated by the thick black lines common of his people. His skin was so taught you were in constant worry that it would snap off him. He had a shaved head, but wore a jeweled band around it. He was dressed in a large leopard skin around his shoulders and the cotton and gold wrap around common in Egyptian royalty. The only things he carried were purple and red dyed pouches at his sides and a long golden cane with Osiris the god of death at the top. He stood solemn, an undeterminable age, and silent as the others removed their cloaks too.
The smallest pulled her cloak off in a slow dignified manner. She was from the Far East and it showed in her small grey eyes. She wore a robe of magenta silk with green dragons and gold flowers embroidered on it. Her hair was put up in a ribbon shaped bun with tassels that moved when she did. Her fingernails were claw like and red and her feet were bound together in a way that was hard to believe she could walk. Despite her beautiful clothing she herself was old and worn in face. She never seemed to smile and was as solemn as her Egyptian companion. Her grey eyes stared ahead, seeing nothing, but everything.
She placed her hands in her big sleeves, “well?” she said looking in the direction of the Egyptian.
The tallest was a formidable sight as he striped himself of the cloak. Covered in thick dark blonde hair from head to foot he hunched over, his massive paws dangling near the floor. His razor blade fangs overlapped his long muzzle as he smiled. He wore a huge fur mantel and semi-shredded brown tanned leather slacks. He had no shoes to speak of and a big bushy tail pushing through a hole in his pants touching the floor. He pealed the small cloak off his enormous body with a satisfied sigh.
“Now what?” He spoke with an accent of the high north or the land of ice.
The fourth may not have been the most note worthy, at first glance, from the other extreme characters of the others, but a good look at him would send shivers down your spine. He didn’t just remove his cloak he slid out of it like it was covered in oil. He had a long mane of curly brown locks and skin as pale as mountain snow. His eyes were olive tree green, but glistened red strangely in the dim light. He was young and slim in stature and had a constant look of seductiveness about him. The way he stood so still he was statue like in his perfect looks. Holding perfectly still, not breathing because he didn’t need to, you’d almost believe he couldn’t move, but looks are deceiving. Truth be told he could probably be out of the tomb in the time it would take the others to figure out they were leaving. He smiled revealing two perfectly white fangs, “Patience furred one, we will be out of here before the nights finished, never you fear.” He said in a voice like honey. He adjusted his white robe of the Greeks and leaned against the wall patiently.
All eyes were on the Egyptian. He looked from each of them giving them a long look up and down then proceeded to the open sarcophagus. Standing directly in front of it he reached into his purple pouch and pulled out black sand. Holding his hands out majestically above the death box he mumbled an ancient chant reaching back to the dawn of magic and the human race. With eyes closed he went into a sort of trance chanting and rocking to the sound of his own voice. Suddenly he opened his eyes and threw the black powder into the box. A huge green flame burst forth sweeping over everything in the room.  Torches went out leaving the room in no light except of the eerie green from the sarcophagus.
The Egyptian stepped back and looked at the others, “We must now all offer our gifts to make the spirit wish to give up its body to us. Our gifts are needed to give the spirit a new spirit.” The three looked at one another; they had planed this out long ago, now it was time to make this new spirit of indestructible power.
The blind woman stepped forward to the edge of the box. “To the once dead emperor,” she said bringing her hand across her eyes, “I give tears of fore sight.” She brought the tears from her eyes in her hands and dripped two drops into the pit. Each one that hit gave a purple flash in the green. “And all the power of the magic in my fingers.” And she broke off one of her long nails and placed it in the pit. There was a huge flash of purple that enveloped them all then died back to the green flames as before. She stepped back and let the werewolf move forward.
The huge beast moved forward to the pit and looked within saying, “To the once dead conqueror,” He said stretching his arm out over the box, “I give the endurance of the beast in my fur.” And he tore out a clump of fur and threw it in. The green flashed blue and the werewolf continued, “And the strength of my whole body.” And with a slight grimace the werewolf pulled out a fang and giving a deadly howl of all things wild threw it into the pit. The flames burst forth in a blue wave shrink back to its original green.
The vampire glided forward and the werewolf was forced to get out of the way. In front of the tomb he said, “To the once dead King, I give the gift of speed and hidden abilities.” With that the vampire took a lock of the perfect hair and bringing it to his mouth cut it off with his teeth and dropped it into the pit. The pit flashed a spot of red. “And my immortality.” The vampire concluded and scraped his teeth across his arm and let the drops fall into the pit. Once again a wave of (now red) flame filled the room, but burnt no one. Fading back to green the Egyptian stepped forward.
“To the once dead God, I give my power over the dead and the underworld,” and with that he brought his staff forward Cut across his hand and rubbed Osiris in his blood. Then lifting the scepter high threw it into the pit. A huge black flame leapt up and quickly died. “And,” he continued, “a new life!” He pulled red sand out of his red pouch and released it over the body. The room erupted in a blinding white light and even the short fortuneteller had to cover her eyes for fear of blinding then just as quickly as it had come the flame was gone and silence filled the tomb.
The three not standing by the pit drew closer to peer in. “Is it done?” The wise woman asked. As quickly as it was asked a bandaged hand gripped the outside of the box. All four stepped back a pace. The other hand gripped the other side and the bandaged form sat up. Bandaged as he was he couldn’t breath so it desperately clawed at the bandages around his face. They melted before him of his own unknown power. Feeling the bandage melt away he looked down at his own hand amazed at what he had done. He tried standing up to orient himself and shot up at speeds he was sure to never have used in life.
“He’s amazing,” the vampire, “I want him first.” The bandaged man looked up at the vampire with fear and confusion. “You shall fight along side me first to rid my country of the people not like us.”
“You must be joking,” The small woman retorted, “I get him first to punish those who have persecuted those like me for so long! I will not live forever you will.”
“I thought it was agreed that I would have him first.” The werewolf added, “my pack is nearly massacred I need him now to survive!”
“I raised him, I should get him first.” Was all the Egyptian said.
The others all looked at him and then at each other. The vampire made a move to grab the newly reborn man and run, but the werewolf stood up and blocked his way.
“Just try it!” He growled.
The witch woman tired a spell to lift him out of the box, but the necromancer blocked her with his black flame.
Al hell broke lose as the four fought and cast spell after spell to prevent the other from getting the man. Back and fourth their strength and spell hit against the walls causing them to shake. The blocks rattled and the stones moved with their power. And the last thing that was heard was a huge ringing noise as the stones came tumbling down. That was the last that was ever seen of the Necromancer, the witch, the vampire, and the werewolf. But what of the new soul? The one with all the power of the world? That one continues later many years from then in a foggy battle field hundreds of miles from where he was reborn…