Krem's shrugs. "Can't say I know too much about the Fade," he hedges, reaching up to scratch at his jawline. Might seem strange to outsiders for a Vint not to know his way around that kind of magical business, but it's not like Fade theory was part of the curriculum for a tailor's kid. Even in the army he'd been trained to fight enemies like the Qunari or to deal with rebellions: if you had a spirit or shade problem you called on Magisters, not foot-soldiers. Everything he knows about demons he learned outside the Imperium, and frankly, Bull had steered them clear of that sort of thing for his own comfort as often as possible. "But they're not like any demons I've ever encountered. They just seem like people to me. Bit weird, though, I'll give you that."

The next question makes him smile: boy does he have some ridiculous tales of what the Chargers have gotten up to, working for this crazy organization.

"They're a good lot, far as I've seen," he's fairly confident in that assessment. The Chargers had been with the Inquisition long enough that he'd stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop some time ago. They really are out to save the world, and when they help it's because people need saving, not because they profit. Sometimes they even do it at a loss, crazy bastards. "But I've certainly been to some ridiculous places for them in the past couple years." He looks down into his glass, suppressing a grin as he thinks which one might be funniest with the least context. "We went after a demon once, slippery bugger, it could look like anybody. Was giving the folks in Redcliffe a hell of a time figuring out who was over for dinner, if you know what I mean. We got it eventually, but there's just something unsettling about catching yourself with your trousers down."