Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180622174908

Prad watches the rest flutter away and starts walking toward the danger. Not in a disply of flight, nor might. He goes not with a speech or a roar. He simply follows, slowly and steadily, lightning rising from his hand.

His walk, pertubed by the encroaching storm, quiet and hidden. The alien thunder wiggling around his fingers, stabilizing, growing firm. He follows, not with a display, but a veiled performance.