Downstairs in a parlor, a Laetan mage is sitting quietly, twirling the end of a salt-and-pepper braid around one finger. His beard is short and well-kempt and a little more salt than pepper, and the sun has etched fine laugh-lines around his eyes. Being a mage from Tevinter doesn't mean he has had an easy life, though at least being a mage hasn't made it more difficult. He occupied a space in the lowest rung of the Circle of Magi, only barely standing above the Liberati and elven mages in how he was treated. If you're not descended from the Dreamers, there's little social climbing to be done, and Colin hasn't really wanted to do it. His only business is keeping from getting assassinated and taking care of his mother.

Something about this deal feels off. He can't remember where he knows the name Artemaeus from, given it hasn't been a greatly relevant one for years, but it's familiar in a nagging way. After waiting for a few minutes, Colin stands up and starts pacing the room.