Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-30014014-20190508015430

His finger rose to the man made clouds, this time, gathering much more power. As he did, his gem threw strings of shackles back to the banquet of remnants at his side. Their time was nigh, to be called back elsewhere. By the hundreds, they all swell with a malicious shriek to the last spirit.

The gem brittles and fades from this world, leaving Host-Prad his second hand that he siphons more thunder with. Twice he is charged. With those, he points his palms at the distant scores of beasts rolling down like a tide. No way he could hope to miss.

Five fingers, five volleys of ten sharpened bolts he launches.