For the best then that Brónach isn't drinking since that answer would've seen her choking on it. "Don't know what any of those things are. The last three," with a new thing in her hand the clarification feels important since she's been mistake for simple before just because she's an elf from the forests in a land that doesn't want her. (So no change here in Thedas.) "Vigilants of Stendarr - priests but more into the fighting side - the honour bit might be their thing but don't think any world has kindness or temperance in it."

Not that she's seen, then again pledge yourself to enough daedric princes chipping away at what you call a soul and what do you have left to yourself in the end, seeing the worst of it all? The wildness, the violence, the blood and bone laid bare.

Her gut lurches uncomfortably when Herian continues, a hand curling against the table as if she can take the words back somehow. Poor tidings from home. Better than none but that first time pushing open the door to the Drunken Hunstman, Elrindir and how his heart soared to see a fellow bosmer; poor tidings from home she carries along with her. That was all they ever had. "Sorry," she croaks it out because she didn't expect that, she's not used to people. "I know what that-- how poor?" On second thoughts she'd rather talk about this stranger than the fires burned down to ash at her back.