Arcane pulsed in the room, from Belialthorn, Rota, and Alaric. A mixture of grey, yellow, and blue that carried a gust of wind with it.
"Kill each other," Belialthorn said as flat as his voice could go and it carried an open threat in it. "Explain yourself."
The man laughed, free and joyous. "You challenge me? Well, it's my right to explain to you anyway," red fire burned like the light inside a furnace. "After all, it's my room and you must know the rules."
The man stood, limbs nimble and flowing. "First, my name is Valor Gold. Yes I know it's a terrible name but my father is worse at names than Greylord is at using arcane."
"You know Greylord?" Alaric asked at the same time Rota asked;
"You have a father?"
