Dorian had many sources of pride: his appearance, his (in his opinion) vastly superior intelligence, and his spell-crafting ability. In short order, the Altus mage of Tevinter puffed himself up at the question, smiling a confident, if slightly conceded, half-smile.

"I beg or pardon? How does it 'work'?" He chuckled, shaking his head, sliding the book he'd been perusing closed to give the conversation his full attention. "Magic is the stuff of dreams, mages are capable of pulling that energy across the Veil between the world of emotion and the physical and give it form, bend it to our will. Like all things, it follows rules, equations, theorems, methods. We train for years to learn 'how it works'. It isn't so simply answered."