Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-30014014-20190703041204

It's other hands tolls with a harrowing jab at the winds, wounding the fabric as it punctures empty air. Prad's back is tethered with shivers of his own body, telling him to move. Pleading him to move. Begging him to move. He struggles in response, wholly given to his flight instincts, trying much to forsake the choking strife his neck is held in­. Futile.

Futile to do anything but feel the breach force itself behind him. A dancing breach briefly writhing like a thunderbolt striking the earth form the heavens, gaping itself from the inside to gestate a swirl. It groans, feeling the young man squirming under the gray's shadowy grip.

The groans grows...gleeful? It is not the first time either it or the boy have been through this, worded by his words of plea "Please...not again...I don't want to...go...back...not...here..."

Shackles begin to puncture the ground beneath him, directly from the gate. Deliberately glancing at his armor. A warning shot, and a demonstration of malice...