Khoriya bristles as Ankari approaches once again, the tap-tap of the cane ringing discordant notes against his too-sensitive ears.
"You would claim responsibility for me, like some hound you've let off leash? Truly, that elf arrogance of yours knows no bounds."
He bites off each word with a snap of jaw, voice heavy with scorn and the implicit threat of crushed bone. But even as he resolutely turns his head away, pointing his steps toward the stables, Khoriya cannot deny that that... to speak and be spoken to... it tempers the bestial edge of his rage, the mindless urge to lash out like a cornered animal curbed and channeled into verbal violence alone.
And it is in this way that he manages to stagger forward a step at a time, answering Ankari's carefully worded barbs with unfettered vitriol, what precious little control he holds directed toward unwilling limbs and tamping down the cascade of molten heat that pours through him in a scalding wave.
"Pah. I have no honor of which to speak of, and you ought well know it," he snarls, "The only reason I have not torn you from limb to limb is because I loathe the taste of you Stilmyst elves. I have already tired of picking the splinters of your father's bones out of my teeth, and if I wished another mouthful of old moss and cloying sap, I would have myself a bite out of some half-rotted oak before I ever bothered with a taste of you."
no subject
"You would claim responsibility for me, like some hound you've let off leash? Truly, that elf arrogance of yours knows no bounds."
He bites off each word with a snap of jaw, voice heavy with scorn and the implicit threat of crushed bone. But even as he resolutely turns his head away, pointing his steps toward the stables, Khoriya cannot deny that that... to speak and be spoken to... it tempers the bestial edge of his rage, the mindless urge to lash out like a cornered animal curbed and channeled into verbal violence alone.
And it is in this way that he manages to stagger forward a step at a time, answering Ankari's carefully worded barbs with unfettered vitriol, what precious little control he holds directed toward unwilling limbs and tamping down the cascade of molten heat that pours through him in a scalding wave.
"Pah. I have no honor of which to speak of, and you ought well know it," he snarls, "The only reason I have not torn you from limb to limb is because I loathe the taste of you Stilmyst elves. I have already tired of picking the splinters of your father's bones out of my teeth, and if I wished another mouthful of old moss and cloying sap, I would have myself a bite out of some half-rotted oak before I ever bothered with a taste of you."