"[b]The kind of drinks that drive most men mad, though Abram has the tendency to stay sane.[/b] [b]But he is chosen. You should kneel, vermin, or be destroyed.[/b]" [i]Äbath's voice would suddenly transfer over to Gregor's head, seeping into his mind. It wasn't mind control, but instead prying into him.[/i] "...He is quite rude at times, though." [i]Abram muttered, bringing his hand down to the hilt of his longsword. A defensive maneuver, if anything.[/i]