I'm certain I could with a bit of bending, but I'd rather not have an audience.
[ All right. He nods gently to Joshua, then calls Ifrit's flames to his left hand. It's far different than Phoenix's. Where the Phoenix is warm and orange, the color of fire in an hearth, Ifrits is red and dark. Magma boiling from the earth.
He lets it surge, let it engulf his arm, heat pouring out. Let's it burn aether, then stops it.
The stone on his arm doesn't budge, which makes Clive frown. Then he calls Garuda, and she responds with a whip of the wind into his hand, a soft whirling tornado that - like Ifrits flames - creeps up his arm. It sends papers flying with the force and like with Ifrit he cancels it.
This time the stone reacts violently and Clive grunts in pain as the stone creeps up his shoulder, flesh turning ashen and grey as it solidifies up like small tendrils and into his neck. Reaches across his throat like spidery fingers and suddenly Clive's eyes widen, his left hand reaching up to grab there, his mouth open.
He can't get air past the petrification, and it's still crawling, up his throat to his chin, across his jaw. The look in his eye is very much: I have made a mistake. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2025-02-10 04:39 pm (UTC)[ All right. He nods gently to Joshua, then calls Ifrit's flames to his left hand. It's far different than Phoenix's. Where the Phoenix is warm and orange, the color of fire in an hearth, Ifrits is red and dark. Magma boiling from the earth.
He lets it surge, let it engulf his arm, heat pouring out. Let's it burn aether, then stops it.
The stone on his arm doesn't budge, which makes Clive frown. Then he calls Garuda, and she responds with a whip of the wind into his hand, a soft whirling tornado that - like Ifrits flames - creeps up his arm. It sends papers flying with the force and like with Ifrit he cancels it.
This time the stone reacts violently and Clive grunts in pain as the stone creeps up his shoulder, flesh turning ashen and grey as it solidifies up like small tendrils and into his neck. Reaches across his throat like spidery fingers and suddenly Clive's eyes widen, his left hand reaching up to grab there, his mouth open.
He can't get air past the petrification, and it's still crawling, up his throat to his chin, across his jaw. The look in his eye is very much: I have made a mistake. ]