Huh? Your arms are right here. They were just hidden behind your cloak, it’s not like they disappeared.
Anyway, you’re on a time limit here, so you tell the shopkeeper you’d like to get this finished up as soon as possible. You have a few things that might interest her, and should hopefully be enough to pay for the clothes and get you outfitted with some basic supplies.
Right, she says. It’s late, she’s tired, and she wants to get you out of here too. Let’s see what you’ve got.
First up: these lovely dead imp parts! You took everything that looked like it could be kind of useful. You figure maybe someone could use the intestiney-bits to make a pair of socks, or sausages, or-
Okay, no, the shopkeeper interrupts. She’s appreciates the whole “making a good sale” thing, but you’re laying it on kind of thick. Also, if she wanted imp intestines, she’s pretty sure she has an entire storeroom plastered in them.
The green bits, though, they should fetch a decent price with alchemists. How does nine septims sound?
Hey, you shrug, that’s more than any bloody organ dug out of your own body is worth.
Actually, she says, Khajiit hearts retail with alchemists for around fifteen gold.
Wow, that’s… you could’ve comfortably gone your whole life without knowing that.
Next you have this cloak that a ghost was wearing at some point. You aren’t sure what size it is, but you can confirm it is larger than a women’s small, so… yeah, that doesn’t narrow it down at all.
So there’s a naked ghost running around now, the shopkeeper asks.
What? No, he had an extra cloak, I didn’t-
It was a joke, she says. Anyway, ectoplasm is hard to come by, and traveling mages are always looking for a safe source. She’ll give you, say, twelve septims for it.
You were, ah, hoping for a little bit more, actually. That’s enough for some supplies, but just in case your… work today doesn’t pan out like you’re expecting, you were hoping to have a little bit set aside to repay a debt to a friend. Like… thirty-five gold.
Do you have anything else to sell, the shopkeeper asks?
Not unless she’s in the market for a scrap of bread or a tiny pouch of chopped cilantro.
SELL IT. Ideally for magicka potions.
What about that spear Rajirra left behind, you ask.
What about it, the shopkeeper says.
Well, she left it behind. Also, she used it to lock me in a room to die. Doesn’t that basically make it mine?
Rajirra never actually gave it to you, she points out. Also, she left it behind on store premises. If anything, the shopkeeper says, it should be considered her spear.
Yeah, but… when she ran away, she lied to you and said she had given it to me. Given that was the only thing she told anyone on the topic, that would imply I’m the closest thing the spear has to an intended owner. There’s also the whole issue of need: this whole time I’ve been in Cyrodiil, I haven’t once had some proper steel to defend myself with. If at all possible, I’d like to leave this store fully equipped to handle whatever things this dangerous world might throw my-
Alright, alright, the shopkeeper says. You win, the spear is yours.
I’d like to sell this spear and I’m very sorry.
Twenty septims, the shopkeeper grumbles. And you’re lucky you’re getting that much.
Is that everything, the shopkeeper asks? It’s late, and now that she can actually get some rest she’d like to close up.
Wait, you say. I, ah… I have something else.
Just hypothetically, what could I get for this?
Less, now that you’ve broken the clasp, she says.
It’s a drama clasp! You just pull on it real fast and it clicks open. I used to have some outfits that… nevermind.
The amulet is enchanted, you explain.
It tastes more like it’s cursed, she says. I think that’s… silence?
Well, yeah, it’s… you guess it’s kind of cursed too.
The Mages Guild gave it to you back when you first learned you had powers. Destruction magic is apparently driven by strong emotions or something, and any time you felt hurt, or dehumanized, your magic would start to trigger whether you wanted it to or not. The amulet of silence was how you kept it reined in.
You guess those are still the same sort of feelings you draw on when you use your magic, but… you think you’ve gotten better at feeling them on your own terms. I mean, lately you’ve been able to whip up some fire-feelings pretty much whenever you need them. And, you guess more importantly, you’re no longer breaking down in tears over every little joke that reminds you that you’ll… never be something you can see as a person.
It’s weird to admit, but you think you might actually have this under control – at least as much as the amulet did. And, on top of that, you think you need to show yourself you have it under control. If you’re gonna be a real wizard, it’s time you take off the dorky safety-hat and start acting like one.
Safety hat. You mean helmet, she asks?
No, I mean like those little… okay, yeah, I guess those are still called helmets. Huh.
Well, either way, she’s afraid it’s standard policy is to turn down ordinary cursed items – even ones with potential uses. It’s probably for the best, though. It sounds like this is something with sentimental value to you and she wouldn’t want to-
There. Now it’s an empty amulet. People can, like… put in their own birthstone or something, to personalize it.
Fair enough, she says. For a plain bronze amulet with a special clasp, she’ll do, say… fourteen septims?
Perfect. Alright, I’ll need thirty-five in gold. Yesterday you said rope cost about three; I’ll take a bundle of that. This book is… ooh, “Fundamentals of Alchemy”? How much for it?
The shopkeeper says the nightwriting edition should probably cost a preposterous amount extra, but at five years without a buyer she might as well do the standard price. Five septims.
You’ll take it. Also, you really need something to drink.
Well there’s some Cheapest Mead for one septim, or-
Grape juice, you interrupt. And, ah, assuming you still have a coin left after that, a sweetroll.
Here. This is for the trouble.