Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26852465-20160318050706/@comment-25547106-20160318205450

Armstrong settles onto the ground and begins digging a circle into the dirt, tearing away at the soft soil. He pulls a large tome from the small pouch at his side, its mouth stretching impossibly as the thick text is pulled forth. "Ashne mrith thric lexri. Renthisj mrith ssejinw." he mutters repeatedly. She recognizes the language, but only faintly. It sounds like the gutteral roars of dragons, but miles away. As minutes ticked by, she heard his words de-sync from his lips, getting slower and quieter with each repetition. The circle slowly comes together, forming some sort of ritual circle. His grip upon his book now releases, lightning sparking from the circle up to the book, keeping it afloat. The lightning lingers, like it were willed to continue. She notices now that his lips are no longer moving, but his chanting remains until the lightning lowers the book back to the ground and he rises to stand, looking at her, smiling. And now, malady, allow me to show you what you have never seen. he says in an echoing voice, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.