"Many thanks for your time, Master Smith." intoned Keystone in Dwarvish. A little stiff, but respectful. Speaking again in Common, "Another time, when money's not scarce, I'd love to see what you do with knuckle dusters." He balled his hands into gargantuan fists to emphasize his statement, bowed his head politely, and took his leave. 

Thinking on it, either the Identify scroll he used was faulty, the Bracers were off somehow, or there was more to this mystery. While not much for trusting magic, the old Dwarf's assessment of the bracers did not sate his curiosity completely. It was enough for now, though. Other things took priority. 

Speaking of priorities, his actions for the past day and a half seemed to lack true direction. A little chaotic, even for him. In the next day or two, an army of the dead will be attacking the city. This army is led by the second most frightening thing he had ever personally encountered, to his recollection. 

The first most frightening entity he had ever witnessed was his longtime friend Magda, a bawd with a leg of polished ironwood from the knee down, prone to bouts of rage so overtaking that churches let out early and grown men had to avert their eyes in terror, lest the wrath and crazy consume them. Maybe he should go home and find her, let her stare down the eyeless sockets of Rotty and make him feel fear inspired by a pissed-off one-legged prostitute at a bad time in her feminine cycle. 

But his thoughts digressed. He had begun to explore this city for the purposes of amassing supplies and learning more about his new enemy. He had learned some, hints from flashes of vision and a little more from a shamefully intimidated priest. Now, little better off than when he entered the city, he stood in the middle of merchants furiously hawking wares to frightened and fleeing cityfolk at rapidly increasing prices. This was not where he needed to be, at least not the most. Still, he was here. Perhaps fate put him where he was needed. 

Perhaps he'd lay a fist into the face of the snarky merchant he was about to guard for and help out Rocksteady with his heavy lifting for free. Could go either way. He seemed like the type he'd drink with after a fight was through. 

Enough of this center street philosophy - he was here, this is what he was doing, and unless the situation altered, this was his action until he spoke with the Grandmaster the following day. Keystone turned his attention back to the merchant, and fell into line for guard work. "Five minutes instead of thirty, Harfen. I'll try to only frighten the ones with sticky fingers."