D'Artagnan stares at him. Hearing him speak is even more unsettling. He's never heard his own voice quite like this. It sounds wrong; the wrong accent, the wrong tone, yet it's coming out of a mouth that could be his. He finds himself searching for other differences, even if they're slight, to ease the strangeness of it.

He's profoundly unwilling to show how much it's affecting him. He draws himself up, rolling his shoulders.

"I'm d'Artagnan, of Lupiac in Gascony, Musketeer to the King of France and soldier of the Inquisition, Monsieur," he says, his gaze unflinching. "Now tell me who you are, and how it is you came to be here."