“Ironmantle Armory sits on a street of clanging forges; the shopfront is a squat stone building with a wide oak door scored by practicing swords. Inside, racks of weapons hang beside man-sized armor stands; the air smells of oil, hot metal and a faintly sweet resin used for preserving leathers. A shallow forge and anvil occupy the back corner where small repairs are performed while customers browse. Brynjar Ironmantle, a broad-shouldered dwarf with a scar bisecting one eyebrow and an apron still dusted with soot, runs the place. He is precise, brusque, and surprisingly sentimental about old blades — he'll haggle modestly with adventurers but is strict about trade-ins and always refuses to sell items he suspects are cursed. He offers on-site repairs (fast minor fixes for a few silver, larger restorations quoted in silver and gold), keeps a ledger of trusted patrons, and will occasionally buy a worthy weapon for a fair price if the buyer knows how to settle an armorer's debt (or if Brynjar takes a liking to them). He has a soft spot for veteran soldiers and those who bring him detailed stories of a blade's past; he rewards such customers with small discounts or free minor repairs.”