[i]Colin Roche[/i]

“A magister, eh?” Colin asked, his voice losing it's almost default tone of humour. He screwed up his face and looked the lad up and down. After staring intensely for a few seconds he took a step forward. He placed his hands behind his back, puffed his chest out and took a quick look to the right and left as if addressing a crowd before shouting in what was obviously a tone of mock nobility:

“Excuse me master, teacher, magister ser, but isn't it awkward sharing a camp, food, safety and indeed a title: Refugee! ... With all those you would previously have called and treated as slaves?” He leaned his head forward slightly, raising an eyebrow as if he were a teacher awaiting an answer. Suddenly he regained his normal posture and his face softened.

“Oh, but don't think me heartless. I do indeed remember when my homeland was tainted, plagued and massacred by those darkspawn bastards, so I can empathize. I was just ten years old during the Battle of Denerim. I remember feeling... Hold up, I was ten...” His face turned from soft to a look of remembrance and humour and suddenly he was mashing his clenched hands together making a slapping noise. “I 'skinned the sausage' every fifteen blighted minutes when I was ten, but I don't remember caring about much else... My apologies, I guess I can't empathize.” He smirked, nodding as if to signal he was done talking, but of course, he wasn't. 

“So we know who you are... We ALL know who you are!” He grinned at the Tevinter before turning to the lady present. “But who's the weirdly nice on the eyes knight? Or did you steal daddy's armour and decide to go on an adventure? Nope, not that. I can see you separating me from my limbs in your eyes. You really are a knight! Damn, and I thought I was a talented youth.”