[The refreshment tickled the tongue with pleasant aftershocks, offering a full-bodied flavor almost bordering on saccharine...The Archbishop certainly had good taste, even if he was forced to endure a perpetual state of poverty.

A minor flick of deep green and he finds his head is swimming under that gaze, finger coiling around a warping bang.]

Ah, Amico mio...

[An almost sorrowful look darkened his kindly features and he thought out his next words carefully, reaching out to gently touch his familiar's hand.]

....I...T-thirty years....Post-Midian.