His accostee speaks, and Connor stiffens. Nigh on ten years removed from the disaster that was Fiona's alliance with Magister Alexius and he's lost none of his distaste for the Tevene accent, nor any of his knee-jerk suspicion of those who bear it. If anything, it's grown: Tevinter is the enemy of all Thedas now, which makes anyone bearing its accent the enemy. Riftwatch should know better than to ally themselves with such backward heretics—
But he was warned that Riftwatch accepts all types. Anyone invested in defeating Corypheus can join and be welcome, and Connor is here merely as a guest. He doesn't get to turn his nose up at the organization's recruiting practices.
(Not until he's returned to Madame de Fer and Montsimmard, at least.)
"Late?" he asks, quick enough to cover his momentary disquiet. His own accent is noticeably Fereldan, with just a hint of Orlesian flowering up his syllables—he's spent a lot of time there in the last few years, or else had an Orlesian close to him as a child, or both. "Have they torn down the memorial?"
no subject
But he was warned that Riftwatch accepts all types. Anyone invested in defeating Corypheus can join and be welcome, and Connor is here merely as a guest. He doesn't get to turn his nose up at the organization's recruiting practices.
(Not until he's returned to Madame de Fer and Montsimmard, at least.)
"Late?" he asks, quick enough to cover his momentary disquiet. His own accent is noticeably Fereldan, with just a hint of Orlesian flowering up his syllables—he's spent a lot of time there in the last few years, or else had an Orlesian close to him as a child, or both. "Have they torn down the memorial?"