This fellow was a bit on the stiff side, Cyril could tell that at once. As a fighter, such formality could result from a whole host of reasons. Cyril had not fought alongside humans often enough to feel completely confident enough to determine it from the brief conversation. Dwarves on the other hand, he knew and understood. Some of them acted like they had a piece of flint up their bum, but it came from anything as feeling the need to toot their own horn or a desire to compensate for personal failings. One of the men in his command had been overly formal for the simple reason that he liked it to be that way. Anselm said that being formal meant that he never had to put his foot in his mouth. Over time, the other warriors made him regret that remark.
Although he had been around humans for the past fourteen years, and interacted with fighters and warriors at times, Cyril believed that one could never truly know a person until they have fought alongside another. Sometimes, not even then. He put that aside, knowing that it was more idle thinking than relevant to the job he was supposed to do. It was not as if stiffness was a valid measure when sizing for armor. He briefly considered making it one, but tossed the thought before he went too far.
He could tell, though, from the way the man spoke that the Antivan armor would not be for him. Which was disappointing, but Cyril was getting used to the feeling. It seemed that this would be another case of standard Fereldan armor for a standard fellow. Cyril almost sighed, but he pinned his hopes on the next question, "Any other requests?"