The smug, arrogant smirk on Prince Gorr's face shattered instantly. The bloodless gray of his skin seemed to darken, a furious, ugly purple flush creeping up his thick neck. The rotting ash aura surrounding him flared violently, hissing as it lashed out against the ambient energy of the room.
To be shut down so casually, so coldly, in front of both his own elders and the Veynar court was a massive, humiliating blow to his ego.
Seeing the diplomatic situation turning violently sour before the negotiations had even officially begun, Elder Thorne panicked. He hurried forward, physically stepping between the seething Prince and the Warchief's dais, waving his hands in a frantic, placating gesture.
