Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190114001113/@comment-30014014-20190118025816

Prad's path sees him returned to the mausoleum palace, place littered in tomes. A lonely place for one such as him, where the shadow growls under his feet.

He unwraps his hands from the folds that bind them, allowing the lightning to circulate freely between fingertips. A miasmatic purple dies them, as much as is allowed to him, most of it drawing strength from his embedded dagger hidden on his belt. A judge of how much was he allowed to utilize before it would spiral out of control was needed.

As such, the solitude, doubly needed...