Mithias blinks a moment. Looking 'up' he sees the orc happily back to a table. Some angel was picking herself off the 'floor' not too far away. He looks skeptically back to Bob, then to his cup, allowing it to come closer to him as the flames die down slightly. "Pure fear, and suffering..." He repeated. 

So he wasn't dead, but he was certainly far from the world he thought he had come from. Maybe he had been poisoned. Maybe he was being mind-controlled despite his efforts to resist. Freaking out or getting angry wasn't going to be at all productive. There was but one way to learn. 

Mithias cast his vision over the light liquid to read Bob's expression as he lifted the mug. The drink still flickered dangerously. The sparkling being merely maintained his toothy smile and nodded. If he wasn't dead, and the drink was what the being in front of him said it was, then drinking it might very well be the end of him. Mithias held it aloft as if in toast to his host. "Taker of souls." He said. The vampire was nothing after 800 years, if not willing to risk the unexpected or the terrible. Closing his eyes, he brought the mug down and drank deeply. 

Dropping the mug... onto the ceiling, he winced and clutched his chest in a futile attempt to contain a painful burning sensation.