It is not wise to interrupt a caster in the middle of a spell. The stories always make it seem as if that is the best solution for the hero to pursue when confronted with an eeeeevil magic-man. Run them through with your sword while they're distracted by their foolish little chanting! Those protective incantations TOTALLY aren't an indication of just how much power is being channeled here, or the consequences of a slip-up! So many aspiring mages lose their lives when their friends see fit to interrupt a carefully prepared ritual, misguided by their childhood fairy tales.<br/><br/>Apparently monsters listen to the same damn stories.<br/><br/>Absolom could hear the twisted seige-beast running rampant through his patients, and would have cursed the sky blue had he not been otherwise engaged. The Deep One that leaned over him -maw gapping, breath reeking- scrabbled madly at the stones as it attempted to claw his face off. The only thing that was preventing it from turning him into a fistful of beef jerky was his cane jammed firmly into it's chest. Absolom's arms were ridged and trembling, screaming at him to collapse as he struggled to keep the flow of magic he was a conduit for stable. The power arcing through him was rapidly becoming autonomous, snatching souls as they fell and forcing them along the paths he had already laid out. But without his will to regulate the flow, his reservoir had filled beyond capacity and was flooding those pre-determined paths. He was drowning in souls, drowning in power, arms weakening, aether destabilizing...<br/><br/>And the floodgates broke.<br/><br/><br/><br/>There was a blinding flash of grey, and for a moment the area was steeped in unbroken silence...<br/>And then a psychic scream tore through the minds of everyone within a kilometer radius, bringing everything living to it's knees.<br/><br/>The wail emanated from the Skeleton, his figure writhing beneath the charred corpse of his assailant. His flesh was tarnished an abyssal ebony black, every vein standing out as a blinding bolt of electricity. A world-weathering incandescence emanated from those lines, flaying and fraying the veil of reality. His eyes were seared in the same flaying light, cold fires pouring forth through the opaque eye-slits of his mask. Reality was beginning to shudder about him, his agonized mantra sending fear arcing through everyone who had a basic understanding of magic and was still sane.<br/><br/>"THE WARP! THE WARP! THE WARP! THE DAEMOOOOONS!"<br/><br/>Among those who managed to shut out the screams, a few legionnaires not reengaging their fishy foes attempted to approach the thrashing conduit. Most stumbled as an unseen force shunted them back, but one figure struggled through. Taller and slighter than most of the XIV, the soldier pressed forward as if fighting n unseen wind. At a mere foot away it seemed that the storm was at it's pinnacle, forcing the soldier to fall to her knees. Still, she reached out, gauntlet forcing its way forward until it rested almost gently -soothingly- upon Absolom's void-painted brow.<br/><br/>And in that instant there was calm again.