Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-30014014-20190312060350

Somewhat behind the group, Prad quietly approaches, the color of his armor finding a home within what little darkness there could be. He takes shelter within, crossed at his arms. One of them shades itself under the silk part of his armor, the same adorning his hood.

Having overheard Armata's warning, he keeps the words to himself, the visor of his helmet once more whispering in a dying glow of purple behind a shifted head staring into the immediate left of his side.

Ponder bursts within his mind, contained to see the lost motes of light interact with breeds they so utterly despise. Would they adress the dead one's question? Or let the temporal leader of his dissinant group speak in their behalf?