Nor had Dorian ever given the Commander any guff for being a Templar, or for judging mages without warrant. Mages had, just in recent times as well as over the centuries, done a lot of things to earn such fear, and he respected Cullen's ability to see through it, to form his own opinions. He also envied the man's chess expertise but that was one thing Dorian would never admit, even on pain of death.

The corner of his lips tilted up in a smirk at the slight jab. He also found Cullen's surprising sense of humor refreshing, as unexpected as it was entertaining, even if it was turned on him.

"Size isn't always important, Commander. Skill factors in as well," an d he turned from the buildings to regard Cullen more fully. "More so, in most cases." He hazarded a glance back toward the building and nodded. "It does, indeed, though," and he looked back to Cullen. "It's also vaguely Nordic, which is a term I've only learned since coming here. Many worlds share similarities, and not only in architecture. 'Templar' isn't exclusively Thedosian, nor is 'Inquisition'." He made a motion toward the Quarantine at large. "As I said. Small, though perhaps 'common' would be more accurate." He grimaced. "But I'd rather use small. Common is painfully droll."