Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-30014014-20180315061428

Once again, Prad brings his gray arm to his jet black twin's wrist, seemingly holding it. HIs head is lowered why doing so, the hood of his poncho-type cloak enveloping it. He does so for a few seconds before lowering his hands, the black one barely clenched.

He makes a few centimeters rise of his head simply to observe. Observe the cross on which he stnad upon. Observe the seats that elevates certain members. Observe those lower than the affermonted elevated. HIs arms cross while he turns away, his interest simmering and withered.

"Those ones must like a theatrical entrance..." he notes, not particulary to anyone "...be it a jury, council, strategical meetings or a simple gathering, nothing really changes among the nobles, it would seem".

Uncrossing his arms, his gaze returns to the highest seats as his black hand reaches for his tempered helmet at the chin section. HIs voice grows rasp "Misyama kim sahelam tayoh maughya vartante".

His attention turns to the count, who strangely enough, had not unfastened his restrains. A subtle growl comes from the man as he makes a remark "Is the rust anathema to your function or are those specialy made from a sturdy material?"