At that, he laughs. "All right--extravagantly flattered, in that case; you've knocked a whole decade off." He looks like he'd say more--and then scent of ozone catches him as the breeze shifts, and his thoughts clunk to a halt.

...Has he been sassing a templar this whole time?

Maker's nails.

Well, whatever. The fellow's been so kind as to roll with it and he'll get over the fatal embarrassment eventually. "--Uhm. It's," he takes a breath to steady himself, "my own design, ser, though they're modified from a similar passive glyph we use for marking things. They're extremely flexible, if you're willing to experiment and risk the periodic exciting failure."