Tormenoth fingered his shield straps idly as the group made their trudge back from Moontown, starting to relax again after the danger of the death cult's catacombs and having watched Myrkul fade from view. His head and shoulders still felt phantom pressure from being in the belly of the kraken, a harrowing experience where either he or the beast was bound to die. Even the smallest of the cramped barracks and bunks he'd slept in hadn't prepared him for such primal fear from being squeezed and swallowed.

He felt around the edges of the plate mail and found what he was looking for on his left pauldron: stress fractures from being compressed beyond its breaking point. It wasn't natural to have such shear force on them and that would compromise its integrity. It would need closer inspection and repair once back in town. The kite shield's flex seemed to be off too, he mused as he checked its balance. It was brittle on top, not ringing properly when banged with gauntleted hand.

It was fortunate, he thought, that he could now afford magic items of superior strength with his newfound adventuring wealth. Freedom from the need to use standard-issue equipment was proving to be a cornucopia of possibility for a warrior with a budding curiosity about fighting styles and battle tactics. The slimmer, quicker blade he was still getting used to had already proved its worth in battle and blood. Similarly, his plate mail's uncanny resistance to damage provided both physical and psychological comfort that continued to surprise him. He was even learning new ways to use the equipment, with his mind on meeting up again with Urza Stoutforge to explore the possibility of throwing his katana accurately.

As the group headed into the market, Tormenoth made a beeline for his new favorite smith's shop, and eagerly dove into the discussion of how to apply magical enchantments while refitting new plates and bindings to repair the damage. He had a growing sense that these hard-won improvements would be sorely needed in the battles to come.