Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-30014014-20180408022239

Tending to the lumo of dirt like he held the ashes of a deceased, Prad, never the less notices their movements to the two counts. With his other hand, he scatter the dirt airborne, fragmentating into microscopic stars, the same he implanted to the dead from before, an ode to those who do not have anything to bury but the earth that consumed them.

His head lowers, Threnody slowly dissipating from his shoulder. Whatever allowed him to keep his faithful weapon had rescinded the thing back to wherever it came from. With the spear withering away as lightning spilling on the floor, so does the purple irises that seem to possess him. Prad regresses to his genesis, but sadness fills his heart rather than fear. He looks down one last time as he gets himself up "So many people died here...A sad existence it is to be human here..."

Now standing up but with his head crooked down, he turns it to the group, reminded of the supposed monstrocities that stand with Praetor and Alburn. A worried stare replaces his sorrow, though he casts it away as he approaches as well, stopping at a certain distance, waiting for them to move out.