Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-30014014-20180721190753

Prad slowly crawls from the crater. Every inch he drags through the earth is retributed in pain, pain that bites him into releasing a screech. He grits his teeth in an attempt to work around giving into his instincts. That bravery is rewarded with the absence of momentary relief, his nerves bound to relay him his very state every second.

Never the less though, he does shelter himself against a distance tree. Far from Pramool. Far from Tirush and her opponent, Marcus. Far from Praetor and his speech with a cosmic entity. Away from Alburn, who likely had slain his mob.

Here, only once certain he is isolated does Prad deign pulling out his bag, eyes in tears of denial blurring out his vision. Encroached in torment, he takes hold of bandages, knitting their opening between his teeth. With a grunt, he begins wrapping his arm. The first roll around his sundered arm sends an agonizing pulse across his body. Strong enough as a first bite to recoil his head backward in a second of blackout.

Heavy breathes balance on his teeth, the young man continuing on despite his arm's heightened sensibility. Each following roll sends yet another tortured pulse reeling him out, forcing a grunt out. Yet he continues, sometimes spending a few seconds of glances at the group, allies and enemies, to see what may happen or is.