Introduction.

[eyrienprince]

No door opens, but suddenly there is a tall and muscled man standing in the front hall, his wings still spread. His arrogant smile fades quickly as he looks around and sets himself in a fighting stance, noting escape routes. He sends out a message on an Opal thread, hoping that someone in the First Circle will hear him, and brushes his fingers across his sheathed war blade. The only thing that keeps him from getting really snarly is the faint residue of a familiar psychic scent in the air. Very faint, but still there. So here he is, a pissed Warlord Prince who'd really like some explanation of what is going on.

Typist: Yes, here he is. Lucivar Yaslana. Have at him. Retypisted and reset, just for safety.