[For a few long moments he is quiet, his hand at his mouth and his brow creased. His expression is more saddened than worried.]

And whether that's true or not. Whether the gods are gods at all, whether they'll take to the battlefield. Their followers will.

So it's a godsfucking holy war that's coming. Shit and ichor!

[He can't help but wonder if the assassination of the last Seven Star Oracle was something to do with this mess. And this wolf which must be extinguished, that's most likely the Shuck. The Brucolac knows that vampir here are, in myth, the sons and daughters of the Old Dog and his bride the moon, which puts them right at the centre of this mess. He sighs, and raises his hand to push his thick dark mane back from his face. When he meets Lauralae's eyes, it's with sincere gratitude.] Thank you. This is...greatly valuable, all of it.