The Brucolac's footsteps behind Jason are hard to catch, but he at least offers the courtesy of not simply appearing beside him. The cold is shock enough. No need to startle people.
He has a mug of mulled cider in his hands, which he holds out to Jason. It's bitter, clove-stinking, rot-gut stuff, steaming hot and alcoholic enough to clean a wound. "Drink. Trust me. As for relenting? The Roc's a vengeful cunt by all accounts, but birds aren't known for their attention span."
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The Brucolac's footsteps behind Jason are hard to catch, but he at least offers the courtesy of not simply appearing beside him. The cold is shock enough. No need to startle people.
He has a mug of mulled cider in his hands, which he holds out to Jason. It's bitter, clove-stinking, rot-gut stuff, steaming hot and alcoholic enough to clean a wound. "Drink. Trust me. As for relenting? The Roc's a vengeful cunt by all accounts, but birds aren't known for their attention span."