[ Kostos smiles, briefly, as much as he ever does in non-exceptional situations, and finishes off what's in his mug before reaching across to steal the liquor bottle. He thinks, one more, which means two to three more. ]

It's an Averesch. My Great-Great... [ He pauses, counts generations on the fingers around the bottle neck, and seems satisfied with the two greats. ] ...Uncle Isidore. He killed some wyverns. [ And Kostos has progressed to shots-straight-from-the-bottle. ] I'd have taken his head, but the hand was already cracked.