Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-30014014-20180416032724

Prad's hands are wrapped in a gray silk mending the threads of his bandages, now focused on the thing of black steel. His eyes are swollen in exhaustion, the aroma of terror overdriven to the point of desentization. Where he should fear, he instead feels indifference.

His gaze turns to the ravens stationned overhead. They're up to something, that much he knows. But, in his current state, observation is his only weapon against them. An eye for Alburn and should he need to, Praetor. His flight, dimmed by the idle stance of his body, enabling the foreign energies pouring from his calves and feet to dilute, thereby erasing some of his presence in the skies. He waits and watches...