There's another high-pitched sound from the slave owner as he peers around the theoretical safety of the heavy door. His eyes are wide and staring.

And yet, in a continuing sharp contrast, Azwel laughs a delighted laugh. "Such a fighting spirit! I am fortunate indeed!" He takes a step back and drops his centre of gravity, legs bent and feet planted in a position that clearly speaks of martial arts training. He lifts his hands, fingers bending into an arcane mudra, the gauntlets glowing faintly--the right one red the left one blue. Magick swirls around him.

"Come, show me what you can do!" he exults, ignoring the thin squeal of terror from behind the door.