Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-30014014-20180418143254

Prad's arm still lingers on the thing in black. His focused eye briefly turns to Praetor, the sudden movement giving way for curiosity. He sees the ambient heat accumulating in his hand while he gazed back at the infested storm brewing directly over his head, in the heavens.

Though Prad cannot judge what expresison the man has, considering the unfinished state of his attack, he could only presume Praetor now knows of Prad's intention of working his lightning in tandem with his flame. Perhaps a hurried state to have his molten sphere ready.

"You don't need to force yourself, mister armored man", he utters to himself, briefly bringing his idle hand in a circular motion to Praetor, a deliberatly slow one as to mimic the patient of casting. Prad was all too aware of the consequence of a rushed spell and with what they faced right now, last thing anyone needed was a crippled armored man baking in the aftermath of a flame rebelling against his hand.