As the bonds broke, Vexmagog fell to his knees, his green cloak draping over his body. His head fell, and all four of his hands gripped handfuls of sand.
Everyone looking in his direction noticed the sand under him fusing to black glass and spreading, shifting. The indigo mass on his right arm was at his elbow and steadily ascending. He uttered a quiet series of foreign words. One might presume from their inflection that they were curses.
"I don't want to know who did it," he growled, in a more menacing tone than he'd adopted previously. "Everyone needs to get away from me."
As if to emphasize the suitability of this suggestion, black glass hands with long, pointed fingers began to pull themselves out of the ground around him.