Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-30014014-20190427044207

Host Prad watched them all. Watched them fight to a standstill. Or rather, an uphill battle against the promirdial king. It was rather obvious to him how none of their strike and stroke could put a serious dent on the man's posture, let alone presence. He could continue to watch from the sidelines...

...but he grew interested at Pramool, doging and deflecting everything thrown at him. From a basic attack to a blessed or cursed stroke, he passed through them all "He walks with wantom confidence corroded to arrogance. His mannerism peeks my curiosity".

The sky over Host Prad and his court of voiceless specters grows dark and orchid, Lightning booms over the onyx man, gathering, gestating. And then, a singular lightning node crashes through the man, accumulated on his hand. Concentrated lightning as the tip of his fingers.

"You sought and defied close ranged attacks. Would you purchase success from afar?" Host Prad points his index solely at Pramool, not looking to worry about the potential collateral damage. Lightning gathers at the very tip as particles depart from his palm to the front, waiting, as his hand now shaped a make believe gun a toddler would go, only, with a ominous sense of malevolence.

Harrowing Star

A singular light is expelled form his finger, shot with the ten times the speed of a musket bullet. It schreeches across the air it travels, disintegrating anything in the way of its target: Pramool.