Hawke takes note of that grimace and mentally chastises himself for his carelessness, remembering how Justice had bristled at being called a demon. It strikes him as odd that beings of the Fade would care about mortal terminology, but perhaps it has more to do with the emotional connotations attached to the word than the word itself. Emotions, he reminds himself, are made manifest here.

“That’s right. Why do you ask?” Hawke squints at Emmrich, desperate to find some flaw in the performance, some damning evidence that the being before him is a demon and not a flesh-and-blood man. He finds nothing. This spirit, or demon, or whatever he may be, is a devilishly good actor.

That, or his surprise is genuine. That possibility raises several questions, none of which Hawke particularly wants to entertain.

He isn’t sure what to make of that little tidbit about Emmrich’s nationality. The only Nevarran Hawke can recall meeting in recent years is that brute of a Seeker who dragged Varric to Ferelden by his ear. He spoke but a few words to her during his short stay at Skyhold, the interaction too brief for him to get a good idea of what a Nevarran accent ought to sound like.

Perhaps the demon is testing him—putting on an elaborate charade just to see if he can spot the flaws in the performance. “If you’re a professor, I imagine you’re attached to the Circle of Magi in some capacity. Which Circle? Cumberland?” He knows good and well that the Cumberland Circle fell years ago, but perhaps the demon doesn’t.

Just when he thinks he’s beginning to learn the rules of their little game, Emmrich flips the proverbial chessboard. “Charm? What are you—why would you—?” After a moment of ineloquent sputtering, he fully grasps the demon’s implication. “Wait. You think I’m the demon? Is this some kind of trick?” He realizes that the question is an idiotic one before it even leaves his mouth. First rule of demons: they seldom have the decency to let you know when they’re trying to trick you.

The question about armor is equally flummoxing. “I didn’t send anything anywhere. If you’re referring to my current state of undress, believe me, it’s not intentional. Whoever—or whatever—is in charge of all this topsy-turvy Fade nonsense thought it would be amusing to make me cross a river to get here.”

He narrows his eyes slightly at Emmrich, his expression an odd mix of accusation and bemusement. “If you wanted to admire my form, you could have just asked, you know.”