“The Ember Anvil and Elbat Forge is carved into the low slope of a blackened basalt outcrop. Soot-dark windows glow amber by evening; the scent of hot metal and pine resin hangs in the doorway. Racks of half-finished blades and a small bank of warm Elbat ingots sit beside a singing forge. The owner hums a half-remembered smith's chant as he works, and stray sparks flicker into the air as if reluctant to fall. The shop keeps a small locked chest of test-forged strokes: if a potential customer proves trustworthy, Bromm offers inexpensive sharpening or minor enchantments for a favor or two rather than coin. The register is full of scratched runes that count signature orders rather than coins, and a small stone basin in the corner filled with crushed Elbat dust is used to temper particularly delicate wares.”