"I've merely grown weary of mortals who renege on their bargains," he admits, by way of explanation. "Now, let me think; I know of a cloak woven of threads spun from a starless night, with which a thief stole their name from the tongues of their foes and the pages of the Book of the Dead. It grants scant enough protection from blows that land, but so terribly few ever can. Or there is the jeweled breastplate of Monika the Gregarious, who wore her beauty like armor and her armor like beauty, and grew more radiant the more beset she became. Or perhaps you would prefer the Nine Rings of Athlastan, a set of magic jewels which, taken together, protect from so many forms of harm--steel and flame, frost and storm, the clenching hand of death itself. Do any of those sound to your liking?"