Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20190303210034/@comment-30014014-20190325195323

Prad’s surroundings turn choke full of remnants. Whimpers, laments, whispers. He is surrounded.

The man rises as well as grabbing the gem in his hand. He lifts it to the front and center, seemingly attracting the violet atmosphere that had become thick.

Then, it dissipates. For but a second. His surroundings once more turn violet, this time extending to the immediate sky. Figures in their thousands surface from what sounds to be humans cut down to their graves. Vengeful spirits and ire-filled spectres shrieking and dancing in their flocking to his gem.

''“Yes, come. A true burial for those who have been discarded by the walking corpses of this land...”'' he speaks in whispers as more and more of the dead flicks to his gem, irradiating him in a black aura, tones of a regretful parent.