Byerly's blasphemy cuts both ways. "Eh. You'd also think the Maker would have crafted His Golden City so it didn't turn black as soon as a few Vints showed up." His voice turns pensive. "Then again, I've interacted enough with Vints that I understand the impulse to burn your house down rather than have to host them."

He ambles easily along next to Talin, his long legs eating up distance in a way that an elf simply couldn't match. Perhaps a bit of a metaphor for what it's like to be a human in Thedas - carelessly easy.