[ when someone tries to pass gale a broadsword, of all things, he throws his hands up in surrender. a sheepish smile crosses his otherwise slack features, decidedly surprised by this turn of events. ]

Oh, no — I assure you I’m not the type.

[ his pale blue wizard’s robes certainly seem to suggest a softer nature than that of the burlier, armoured lads around them. ]

I can yield — and take a look at those bruises, perhaps? [ a sweeping gesture in luca’s direction. well. ] Though I should say I’m not a cleric, either. [ directed at the referee, then — ] We appear to serve the same Queen, regardless, so it is quite literally a moot point.