Drinks that stuff

'A good mjod,' he said.
The Shadow Wolves laughed growling laughs. Amarok's brow wrinkled with malevolent humour.
'You appear to be having trouble with your refreshment. Allow me to help you.'
Amarok snatched a torch from the post behind them and held it over the bowl. With supernatural rapidity, the ice melted, and the surface of the mjod churned with miniature waves. Russ raised the lanx again. Amarok followed the bowl with the torch so that it singed Russ' hair. The mjod thrashed and bubbled, steaming now. Russ raised it to his lips and drank, and drank, and drank. The mjod was boiling hot. Its fumes pushed up his nose and made his eyes stream. Still, he drank, ignoring the pain.

Wolfsbane