[Guess what she has more but that was enough to demonstrate the point.]

I wasn't meaning like that, more that alchemists make poisons out of bits of them. Usually the ears. [But now she listens very carefully to the word, wonders what they look with detached horror because after her life not much gets past the armour. Things she can't eat. The Green Pact allows for this.] That's...well, Greybeards might tell you how it works better but even the worst days of Skyrim weren't like that. So kill any of them I see before it sees me?

Chantry? [The accent drags the word out more than her hesitance.] Imperial faith is the biggest and loudest back home but the Thalmor [nothing but bile scorching up the back of throat to say it, black robes laid out be dead patrols with notes on her hand, their blood in mockery: by my hand and seal] got them to outlaw worship of one god. Caused the civil war.