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Brandoril sighed. "Agreed." He sought out a smithy or work bench to patch up the holes in his iron cuirass.

Brandoril soon found a blacksmith's shop, set up within a small crevice in the massive stone wall. It was owned by an aging Dunmer, his long grey beard reaching to his waist. He was perched on a small stool, next to a brazier with a few bars of metal heating in it, an anvil, a workbench, and a grindstone. Behind him was a trio of wooden chests, thoroughly locked.

"Hail, there, stranger," wheezed the old elf. "Come after arms or armor?"

"Greetings, brother Elf," Brandoril said with a light bow, "could you patch up my armor here? Got clawed pretty good by a...Volkihar vampire." He unbuckled his cuirass and held it out to the Dunmer, showing the gaping punctures in the armor. He looked into the old man's eyes. "You remind me of my father..." he said quietly, with a thin smile on his face.

Gives-Out-Shadow sighed. He looked up to the heavens and laughed once more. He went off, searching for a contract.

The Dunmer dusted off his hands and swiveled the position of a cob pipe in his mouth, reaching out to accept the curiass.

"Yeah, I can fix this," he said, inspecting the damage. "But what a man like you wants is a set of bonemold. Strong stuff, that, and better than iron or steel because it won't puncture or shatter. I've got a few pieces lying around, if you've a mind to try it. Your call."

More memories flooded to the front of the Altmer's mind. "My father wore Bonemold when he served House Redoran..." He coughed, shooing the memories aside. "Well, I've only got, uhhh..." He inspected his gold pouch. "...Seven shinies, and my iron cuirass, fur greaves, and iron boots--and my gloves--here for trade, if that's even worth a portion of the cost."

Gives-Out-Shadow slipped off his ring, upon his middle finger, he looked around. "Does one seek a guard.." He asked loudly.

The old elf inspected Brandoril's face. "Now don't go blabbing about this, I don't want every laddie who thinks he can use a sword and his ma to come waddling here for a hand-out. But I'm an old man, and soon I'll retire to sit by my son's fire, and smoke me pipe, and reminisce 'bout the good old days. I'd like to have one last glory for my forge. I'll take your payment, on one condition: Wear it with honor, and make something of yourself."

Adrianne, who had given up waiting for a contract, decided to look around the market for a shop selling spell tomes.

Brandoril grinned ear to ear. "The armor you give me will see glorious battle. People will write epics and ballads of a dark haired Altmer, clad in a fine suit of Bonemold armor, whose deeds will echo across eternity." A bit dramatic, but perhaps it will put his mind at ease. "I will wear it with honor, as I stain myself with the blood of my foes, and my own." He handed over his old armor and his coins to the old smith.

The Dunmer nodded, and slowly got to his feet. He silently opened one of the chests, and removed a bonemold breastplate, greaves, boots, and gauntlets. They were excellent pieces, each one made of quality bone and covered with a layer of semi-opaque laquer. Daedric runes, etched with a careful hand into the armor, provided decoration. The old smith passed them to Brandoril. "May the wind in your path be clear, Altmer," the Dunmer murmured, returning to his seat.

Gives-Out-Shadow smiled and looked for a shop for magics.

Gives-Out-Shadow spotted a small wooden building, painted a vivid heliotrope, with a wooden sign out front bearing the legend YE OLDE MAGICKE SHOPPE.

Dal saw the same magic shop and entered, hoping to find a better ward it maybe a better healing spell.

Donning the fine armor, Brandoril bowed one last time. "Many thanks, Muthsera Master Smith. May Lady Azura bless you and your kin." He strode away, seeking the folk who were to be his travelling companions.

Gives-out-Shadow looked at the shop and entered, He looked around.

Adrianne followed the others into the magic shop. She was thinking of one or two spells she wanted to learn, to prepare for the adventures to come.

The interior of the building was completely swamped with bookshelves. Volumes of every shape, size, and color, jockeyed with each other for position on the many, yet simultaneously cramped shelves, which were made of a deep brown wood.

A rather diminutive female Wood Elf emerged from behind one of the shelves, paging through a massive book. "Oh...hello," she said absentmindedly, not looking up from her reading.

Brandoril followed the others into the magic shop and a smile spread across his face. "Wonderful! So many volumes and tomes...Would you mind if I just read a few...?" he blathered as he began fingering the spines of all of the books. "I'm actually a scholar, of many topics...Magick, the Dwemer, Aldmer, Falmer, all mer, really. And history. Nature." Brandoril's continually mouth ran non-stop as he basked in the presence of all of the accumulated knowledge.

Adrianne approached the Wood Elf. "Do you have a spell tome for Flames?" she asked quietly.

Gives-Out-Shadow looked at Brandoril. He looked at the elf and grinned. "Do you have, what was that spell.. Erm.. Fireball?" He asked.