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2017-04-20 03:18 am (UTC)
I'll drink to that.
[ You're a good bro, Strange. Lambert swirls the shitty cocktail in his mug before he tilts it up to drain the cup before he continues. ]
That's at least twice as many witchers as you've got magicians.
to point out the obvious potshot with a smirk. Well, all right, he doesn't
to do anything, but you know, just reminding Strange of that. It's better than dwelling on the actual answer to his question, though he does get to it after a moment's pause. ]
As you can guess, the job's dangerous. Nothing nearly as dangerous as people who think you have something they want, though. Hundred or so years back, a mob attacked the castle, destroyed or stole the formulas and spells for making new witchers and massacred all the witchers and the boys that were in training then. Only ones that survived were the ones who were out hunting for the season.
[ He holds out his cup for more wine when he finishes, brows raised. Top him up, bro. ]
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