'Second-in-command' gave Stocke pause; it'd never been stated, not aloud, but sometimes it did seem he and Greed were falling into that kind of dynamic. He didn't answer one way or another, though - instead, as Rosch mentioned money, the shade reached toward his side. Claws struggled with a tight knot at his belt for a few seconds; finally, Stocke let his claws simply slit through it, catching the small leather pouch that fell free. He tossed it in Rosch's direction, towards the un-Gauntleted hand - it'd jingle on impact, heavy. Not an extravagant amount, but no meager sum either.

(He'd just have to pickpocket a few more rich natives to make it up later. They'd hardly miss it.)

"You won't find an armoury," the shade confirmed. "Not unless you're looking for firearms like Eruca's - and even then, they don't use mana as she does. Knives, perhaps..."

Speaking of which - the shade let one knife slip free from where it was strapped to the inside of his boot, this time unknotting it with telekinesis, and kicked it up into his hand. (It flew a bit too straight, too true for such a casual toss with the side of one foot - as if guided.) This he offered to Rosch hilt first instead of throwing. Hardly a substitute for Rosch's usual long reach, but better than nothing. "We'll sharpen your Gauntlet while we're repairing it."

At the rate he was lending out daggers, Stocke added to himself absently, he'd need to start carrying around far more of them. Not that it was a bad idea - never hurt to have an extra knife...

"A few hours. This peninsula's not even a fraction the size of Alistel." Faster if he could carry Rosch, levitating; Stocke gave his friend an oddly eerie look, white eyes glowing speculatively.