Micolash at least seems to have his spirits lifted by being able to show off. "Oh of course! The start might be a little...sudden, but give me a moment and all will be well." That's not encouraging!
Regardless, the caged scholar unfolds his legs and totters into standing, making sure he has his balance and his feet planted. One arm is raised, shaking down his cape's sleeve, pulling it back with the other hand to make sure it is properly out of the way. Now it's just his arm outstretched, clad in the white sleeve of his button-up.
There's no gesture, magic word, incantation, flexing or anything similiar to precede the sudden loud, visceral eruption. A sound (BOOSH!!) and sparks and swirls like a night sky dotted with stars accompanies their arrival. A dozen pale, segmented tentacles burst from Micolash's hand, transforming it entirely to a mass of squirming, grasping, reaching tapered limbs. Micolash keeps his arm locked and held out straight as the bizarre appendages stretch outwards to several feet's length. Some seem to fall as if stretched thin enough that they break free to the flesh conjuring them, but they dissolve into silver mist before they ever touch the floor.
Micolash can't help a frantic laugh, briefly struggling to tame them, exert his will to keep them present and behave how he dictates. Soon, the tentacles are waving and squirming like branches in the wind, making a series of slithering, wet noises. The scholar watches them with obvious pride.
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Regardless, the caged scholar unfolds his legs and totters into standing, making sure he has his balance and his feet planted. One arm is raised, shaking down his cape's sleeve, pulling it back with the other hand to make sure it is properly out of the way. Now it's just his arm outstretched, clad in the white sleeve of his button-up.
There's no gesture, magic word, incantation, flexing or anything similiar to precede the sudden loud, visceral eruption. A sound (BOOSH!!) and sparks and swirls like a night sky dotted with stars accompanies their arrival. A dozen pale, segmented tentacles burst from Micolash's hand, transforming it entirely to a mass of squirming, grasping, reaching tapered limbs. Micolash keeps his arm locked and held out straight as the bizarre appendages stretch outwards to several feet's length. Some seem to fall as if stretched thin enough that they break free to the flesh conjuring them, but they dissolve into silver mist before they ever touch the floor.
Micolash can't help a frantic laugh, briefly struggling to tame them, exert his will to keep them present and behave how he dictates. Soon, the tentacles are waving and squirming like branches in the wind, making a series of slithering, wet noises. The scholar watches them with obvious pride.