Dorian possessed a beak, certainly. No amount of world travel or magical restriction would take his words from him, but claws? No. He'd been well and truly clipped, a fact that was driven home by the both of them, even if they hadn't intended that to be the case. He flexed his jaw slightly, glancing down toward his pocket, under the guise of checking on the kitten, and swallowed slightly. Neutered is what he'd been, thoroughly. After a moment, he found his verbal stride, though, and chuckled.

"One doesn't 'embrace' claims of blood magic, Tony, lest he desire swift decapitation at the hands of well-meaning but ultimately blind men and women serving the 'greater good'. At least not in public." Dorian of course would never partake of such a thing, but most people would never believe that.

"We were attempting to subvert an assassination attempt, which we accomplished with a few twists along the way. Orlais will continue its trade with Tevinter, they like our wine too much to say no." He seems to bristle at the comments, though, and does his best to look proud. "I'm smarter than most people, Bull. I'm well aware of that, and more capable."

But he also welcomes the shift in topic. "I wouldn't mind knowing to what they may be referring. 'Merchant of Death'? Are you an assassin?"