[center][h1][color=#B4C1C9]Fyodor Strelnikov[/color][/h1][/center]

"You alright, lad?"

Those words and the feeling of Ulgad's paw on his shoulder pulled Fyodor from his wine once more. [color=#B4C1C9]"I... I am better now."[/color] Fyodor said after another sip of wine. [color=#B4C1C9]"...Forgive my outburst. I try to remember what you told me about Sigil being different. I try to remember that I shouldn't even care. But... the fangs..."[/color]

Fyodor took another, longer sip of his wine as he tried not to think about the memories that fangs dug up. Memories of the fangs that glinted in the dark of the night. Memories of the fangs that hounded him in the wake of that ill-fated siege. Memories of the fangs that one of his older brothers grew after killing their youngest brother and drinking his blood.

Fyodor tipped back his head and downed the rest of his wine just as Jarret had, then took up the pitcher and refilled his glass nearly to the brim.