[In the shade cast by a tree, the Forgemaster – sullen and guarded - watches the demonstration of air acrobatism with more than slight attentiveness, leaning back against the trunk with his arms folded. But there is only so long he can quietly watch the display before it becomes distinctly less enchanting and the urge to ruin it overtakes him. But ruin is such a harsh word. He'd like to think of it as simply making things more interesting.
His hands rise slowly and spread, and between them a shadow billows from the ground, wavering and swelling like a hungry flame. Bringing his thoughts to a sharp focus is no difficult task as a seasoned Forgemaster, and with palms aglow, he channels the raw power coursing through him – the devil’s magic, Twila, and a small measure of his own life energy – into the shadow. It springs to life, writhing and coiling as it assumes a serpentine form. A quick sweep of his arm sets it free and it arcs through the air in Jack's general direction, its ink-black, toothless mouth agape.]
no subject
His hands rise slowly and spread, and between them a shadow billows from the ground, wavering and swelling like a hungry flame. Bringing his thoughts to a sharp focus is no difficult task as a seasoned Forgemaster, and with palms aglow, he channels the raw power coursing through him – the devil’s magic, Twila, and a small measure of his own life energy – into the shadow. It springs to life, writhing and coiling as it assumes a serpentine form. A quick sweep of his arm sets it free and it arcs through the air in Jack's general direction, its ink-black, toothless mouth agape.]