Turning his head, Keraer regarded Corithal as the older elf gathered his courage and intervened, trying to draw his attention away from the slender creature whose hair he was gripping painfully tightly. Ignoring the girl’s words he pushed her carelessly backwards with a tug on her hair, not too harshly – she seemed delicate enough that she could break far too easily for his liking – just enough for her to hit the wall with a moderate amount of force.
Simultaneously he strode in front of Cori, a small gleam in his eyes. A slave standing up for another was one of his favourite scenarios, it was always so gratifying to watch them futilely watch and be unable to lift a finger to help the object of their affections. Even physical pain could not break a person as effectively as that.
“Where is this man you speak of?” he taunted, reaching out to grip Cori’s neck, turning his face from side to side with strong fingers, looking anything but impressed with the sight. The tall elf curled his hand into a fist, before dealing a blow straight to Cori’s stomach, right beneath his ribcage. “Let’s start with lesson number one. Don’t speak to your betters unless you’re spoken to.”