The great grey wolf's ears flatten and hackles raise as he directs a glare at MMario.

"A 'kyree'? I protest, sirrah! I am no wizard's pet gone amuck in the Pelagir Hills! I have no retractable claws, and I can run down the wind. I am a wolf of the frozen north, born and bred in the Iron Hills. I have fought the isbjorn and won, and wear warrior's scars by right!

Nay, let us ha'e done with insult, and drink this night away in good company instead."

Suiting action to word, the IceWolf drains a tankard of ale in one long swallow. And if you think that's easy, try doing it with no hands!