Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180621051117

Two forwarding paroles against the lone dismiss. One he only recently spoke of in higher regards, masked by the initiale fear, the other, one that gazed on his reclusite behavior. To distance himself, now of all time when cohesion would be needed, for his sake, of all things, a terrible mistake.

One he was not ready to carry on. Prad could already hear it. His heart pulsing at the thought of what he was doing. Held in stare by the motherly dragoness and pushed forward by the one he looked up to...

...he gave in.

His hand, previously in a wool of his shroud, is now bare, the visual damage now much more prevalent than expected. The ice had failed to delude anyone's mind at the state, still blackened, worse than the other times he was scarred. Twitching in a subtle gesture, Prad slowly approaches his galvanized limb toward the talon, halted midway, in a gesture of hesitation.

He was all too aware of the metal man gazing back at him. His pain, all laid bare for the experienced man of many years to see. As one accustomed to the pain, Prad's visage was like an open book to his eyes; hidden, yet to disgustingly exposed, like a black stain on the maculous robe of a preacher.

Doubt in his eyes, if not mired by the severa backlash of his broken hand. Fear, buried under the rubble. A sight, he once saw, now gazing back. His gaze, returned to Praetor, overlapping the young man's. A disapproving one, pouring from his smoky body.