[ Funny, how liking Gale is kind of a universal feeling known to everyone but Gale himself. Iorveth looks up at Astarion from where he's reclined, his toes skimming just against the edge of their cramped tent. ]

Gods, [ he murmurs. ] I can't begin to imagine being in a room full of so-called intellectuals.

[ Translation: "could you imagine us having to deal with a bunch of nerds????" Iorveth is the meanest person on Toril. ]

I fear I'd become boring by osmosis.