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The Fire Lance howls. It drenches all before it in a screaming tempest, a burning sheet of wind - you can actually see the edges of the air emanating from the sheet of fire before you, rippling and twisting in blackening wisps of agony, lesser curling squalls and spirals of the greater inferno, the relentless immolating fury spouting in torrents from the mouth of the fire wand raised in your hand.
You have the sense to release the trigger, for you feel the toroidal tank lessening and lightening rapidly, as its fuel depletes the hunger of this devouring beast of flame, this all-consuming ravager of ancient wars.
