Dryly, Kit replies, "Yeah, we don't get out much." Beyond that, he doesn't delve into the subject of the Legion. He can't hide the tattoos, and he's yet to find a smith capable of forging armor of better make than the set that was made for him upon his initiation. He sticks out, no point in denying it... but for his own reasons, he takes some pains to avoid discussing it.

He hoists himself up onto one of the empty stools next to Korrin with surprisingly little difficulty, given his stature, then pats his pockets for coins. "I've heard of Valo-Kas company," he says, and trades the barkeep a few coppers in exchange for a tankard of sour ale. He sniffs it, not too put off by the stench, then swallows down a gulp. "You all were at the Conclave, weren't you?"