Oghren and Wynne are win.

* Oghren: Ah, Wynne... Care to partake of Oghren's fine homebrew? It's the drink of the gods.
* Wynne: Mm, ale, is it? And I hope it's brewed hygienically?
* Oghren: Of course! I may not know clean from a beggar's ass when it comes to most things, but I don't mess around with my ale.
* Wynne: Very well, let's have a taste.
* Oghren: Well? Well? What do you think?
* Wynne: Very nice.
* Oghren: You like it? well, I never...
* Wynne: Attractive amber color. Nutty flavor, slightly sweet, just a hint of toastiness. There's some spice to it... I'm finding hard to place...
* Oghren: Yes? Yes?
* Wynne: Is it... cloves?
* Oghren: Cloves! By the stone, you're a lady after my own heart. if I weren't buckled into this armor, I'd take you round the corner and... well, you know.
* Wynne: Give me more ale?
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* Wynne: Why do you occasionally refer to Alistair as a "little pike-twirler?"
* Oghren: Why? Has the little pike-twirler taken offence?
* Wynne: It's just a curious description.
* Oghren: Curious? (Snorts) Bah. it's entirely true. What, you haven't seen him twirling his pike? Goes at it when he thinks no one's watching. Knocks about in the trees like there's no tomorrow. Caught him just the other day. Blushed all the way down to his navel, then couldn't find his shirt. I swear he's going to hurt himself one of these days, the way he wors that thing.
* Wynne: I don't want to hear this anymore, do I?
* Oghren: I keep telling him, pikes are for sticking things at long range, aye? Horses and such. Not for twirling like a sissy-girl.
* Wynne: Wait, you're talking about an actual pike? Like a spear?
* Oghren: Obviously. What else would I be talking about?
* Wynne: I can't imagine.

and also the dialogue exchange when talking to him in camp on one of the occasions he's drunk, and he's going on about the dog stealing his pants. That is the funniest part of the game so far I swear.