"Mm. Enough said, I guess," he mused, frowning at the description. He'd gathered enough from Zev's various little quips and comments to deduce that he'd been engaged in some sort of grand and heroic quest when he'd been so abruptly detoured into Luceti, and read enough of Eugene's handy magic-and-sword-world compendium to have a vague impression of Darkspawn as a sort of zoms-on-steroids level threat, minus perhaps the infectious qualities. It wasn't a much more pleasant conversational prospect than the draft, and he finished the slow round of scratching only to move into an experimental kneading of the tender muscles he'd felt on his way across Zev's back. He wasn't nearly the masseuse that the elf was, but he could imitate the basics, at least. It was a start.

"In that case, you'll just have to somehow find the will to eat all the baked goods Eugene will be tossing at you," he pronounced, in a tone of almost mournful gravity. "I do hope you can face such hardship bravely."