Khoriya... hates that he realizes what Ankari is doing, hates that he allows himself to play into it, even as a black lip curls back in instinctive contempt at the sweet bell-like tones of the elven prince, playing at courtly manners even now with foul words spoken in lilting voice.

"Was that his name? I did not bother learning it."

Not by choice. By the end of the battle, Khoriya had ordered his men to cut him a wide berth and then thrown himself into the maelstrom of fury, the cursed gift of the bloodline of Theros. A toss of the head, swallowing down the memory of blood-soaked earth and stinking flesh that threatens to rise in his gut and blot out what little reason he still holds. Finally, finally the stable doors come into view. Only a little further now before he can be free of this, of Ankari tailing him like a distasteful shadow.

"A boastful braggart who loved the sound of his own voice. Full of tedious threats and promises of wiping worgs clean from the world, until he choked on his own blood - and my blade lodged in his throat." A hand on the stable doors, shoving them open with a screech of rusted hinges even as his words turn now to deeper cruelty, all the better to drive away his unwanted elf minder. "I tore that worthless tongue from his mouth and swallowed it down, rent him from limb to limb, left his carcass to be buried in the mud and burned with all the rest of your worthless kin."