"Why is it that an armed man can not be found standing in front of burning wreckage without everybody instantly assuming he had something to do with it? The world has truly become a cynical place. It makes me weep. No, really.  " he remarked dryly as the dwarven woman approached him. Not so much as a hint of a tear. Why, he wasn't even misty-eyed.<br/><br/>He'd been heading in this area after meeting on the road with a Dwarven merchant and his simple-minded boy. Enchantment! Enchantment! The poor lad needed a hobby. He had done what he often did when meeting well-traveled people. He'd made casual conversation and eventually steered the topic to that of Wardens. The merchant was all too eager to reveal his own modest role in providing 'logisitical support' to the Wardens who thwarted the blight. It wasn't too hard from there to get him to mention the location of a Keep up north where a man wanting to express his...ahem....'gratitude' to a Warden might travel to meet them.<br/><br/>He smelled the wreckage before he saw the faint wisps of smoke rising over the tree line. It was amazing how sensitive his nose seemed to all the scents of the surface after years of smelling nothing but mold, and darkspawn. He had just arrived on the scene and was looking over the wreckage of the wagon for some sign of what had happened when the dwarven woman arrived. He sniffed a few times and said "You smell like wet dog. Unless that's just Ferelden's natural aroma rubbing off on you....by Andraste! I don't smell like Mabari do I?  "