The hand moving along the club froze as Katherine started talking, Berserker’s eyes rising to regard the woman as she continued to speak. The Servant gave no impression of understanding her words; there was nothing within his eyes to suggest comprehension or acceptance of her explanation or offer, or even recognition of his own name. The dangerous glint did not come back at least; the primal fury that had been there on his summoning remained absent and the wild Viking merely watched impassively as the witch snapped her fingers and prepared a drink of her own blood. When she held the goblet out for him Berserker lowered the club back to the altar and walked around it, covering the distance between them in a few short strides before coming to a stop before her. Now that he stood closer the difference in their stature was more apparent; the height difference was not too great, only a head or so between them, but Berserker was far broader of shoulder and chest than the witch. He tilted his head down to look at the goblet held in Katherine’s outreached hand, no doubt seeing the viscous mixture of blood and something else within, before reaching out a hand to take it from her with surprising gentleness. If he had any reservations about accepting a drink mixed by a witch, especially one that included her own blood as an ingredient, then he didn’t show it. Lifting the goblet to his lips and tipping his head back Berserker drained it of its contents swiftly before throwing the container aside. His eyes locked with Katherine’s own again, the Servant waiting patiently as if in preparation for the next command. [@LukasVolkov]