Theron leans over his work table on the porch of the Knight's Transcendent's cabin, carefully examining a small rune carved into a smoothed, obsidian stone. All about the desk are a series of stacks of notes, various magical paraphernalia and some of his nick knacks . Rubbing his chin as if in anticipation, he holds his hand over the stone and narrows his eyes in concentration, taking a deep breath.
At the exhale, wispy plumes of smoke drift out of his fingers tips, wafting between a blue and green hue and seemingly are grabbed at the end by the rune as they pour into it. A slight glow emanates from the carved portion and his eyes grow wide for a moment with excitement, murmuring incantations under his breath.
From the smoke comes a faint "zzt" sound and he pauses in the incantation to puzzle the cloud-like plumes suddenly coalesce into a crackling bolt of shocking power anchored from the stone to Theron's hand. His body freezes in place, only moving to convulse until the force the energy surging through him pitches him sideways onto the floor with a 'whump' sound that can be heard outside.
A single hand finally clutches the table as he hauls himself back to his feet, the disarray of his items more chaotic as it had been shook during everything. He lets out a single cough and a small acrid bit of smoke escapes his mouth, followed by a ragged few breaths.
"Obsidian... isn't... the answer...it seems."
He emerges into the sun light of a hazy New Haven afternoon, the heat oppressive in the midday, holding his shocked arm with his good hand, sucking through his teeth in pain.
Glancing at the statue of the Maimed Lady, bloody and stoic as ever he freezes a bit. And slowly rights himself, ignoring the pain in his arm with a slightly guilty look.