Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-30014014-20180411043000

Prad had halted his movement by now, unmoving in the spacious skies. The ravens, the fog, the supposed discovered individual found amidst it...

"...they're walking into a sneer, are they..." he seemingly askes himself, looking up to his right, as if speaking to someone. The tone of his voice, unhesitating to the statement of his confidence. Obviously, it had to be a snare.

One he could not do much to interrupt it. His hands still protested in violent lashes of lightning, still reeling from the over use. He watches them screech in their high pitch, spurning microscopic lighting leaps all across his arms.

Action is out of the way for him. All he can do, it watch. Watch and mend to his injured arms...