Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-30014014-20190608144620

Host-Prad rises from the soil, thinking of adding on in Pramool's annoyance. His hand rises to the sk of his making, contaminated by clouds and srrating lightning. One of the dozens of spikes breaching to this realm fall in pieces to him.

The pure radiating thunder gestates back to a human-size spear, so clinging to this world that it takes the appearance of a physical spear betraying its genesis.

Host-Prad takes a throwing stance and waits. Waits for the right moment to hurl it.