Summon stuff

Tom finds himself staring down at the summoning circle. It's a funny thing, being faced with the ritual of a world you were never a part of. Olga had given him the crashiest crash course he had ever heard from a person from the comfort of her medbay bed. There was some shouting, some throwing of pencils at his stupider questions, but, all in all, he thinks he's got it.

... He's still reading steps off the back of his hand, but, he's mostly got it.

... Gods above this is going to be a hell of a show isn't it.

He brings up a hand, and using a bit of his magic to "open" a wound on his hand, the summoning circle beginning to glow.

"... My words, can you hear them?" He calls through the annals of time, through the echoing branches of history, rustling as his words and breath blow like a calm breeze through its leaves, a single one beginning to stir.

"My will creates your body, and your will creates my destiny."

Drip. Drip. DRIP.

The room begins to glow, mana flourishing in ways previously unseen, filling the room with light...

"If you heed the call of the screams of humanity, feel my will and drive to save them, then answer my summons. I hereby swear that I shall stand by all that is good, that I shall put to the sword all that is EVIL!" He cries, drawing his hand up, his blood shining and shimmering a silver-green hue, before he slams his palm into the center of the circle.

"Seventh Heaven Clad in the Great Words of Power. Come forth from the circle of binding, O Guardian of Scales! There's grim work to be done indeed!"

Embellished? Yes. Changed a little? Absolutely. But magic, to him, is something that is evocative of the soul. Something that reaches out personally from the "self", that is stained and touched by those who wield it.