Kathashun listens, genuinely curious about otherwolders, whenever they arrive . . . but at the question, he offers a slight roll of his eyes toward the Ring once more. A Crowned Royal, Kathashun is still only twenty-three, at the most. Occasionally, he acts it.

"Not much is known about them to the general public, but I have the misfortune of knowing them -- him, personally." Kathashun pauses, rolling those words around on his tongue for a moment or two. "He is beloved by the lower ends of society, and is responsible for whipping up quite an amount of contention against the Crown, and my Throne."

Kathashun pauses again before he allows a sigh to escape through his teeth. He doesn't sound exceptionally bothered or offended or aggravated of this so-called Champion; it's something of an exasperated fondness, but only barely there, peeking around the edges of someone who is extraordinarily in control of every word and emotion he shows and says.

"But he is a good person, albeit naive. Impulsive and rash, with good intentions. I imagine that is why he is so good at what he does, in this place. He tends to just do it without thinking, much like everything else."