Unbalanced

With the sound of a tornado, the room erupts into a whirlwind of papers and debris. Knocking you to your feet, the whirlwind expands and contracts, ripping pages free from books and whipping them through the air like knives. A heavy tome slams into you, knocking the breath from your lungs and hurling you again to the ground. A figure begins to form from within the opaque windstorm, at first humanoid, then taking the shape of a giant mantid, it's spiked carapace the color of bleached bone. It turns its head slightly at you and emits a low muttering in a language you cannot understand.

It extends one long, razor sharp arm, tracing a glowing symbol on the ground with the grace of a calligrapher. The room is filled with a white light, and suddenly, you are alone. The debris crashes to the ground in a heap.