“The Iron Bastion sits on a corner of the market where sparks scatter like confetti. Racks of polished helms and guitars of swords lean against walls; a bellows sighs in the back room. The scent of hot metal and oil mingles with soot and a faint tang of iron. Owner Borin Stonehelm greets customers with a rumbling chuckle, an oil-stained apron, and an easy willingness to haggle if you bring him a story or a tough scrap of metal. He keeps a battered war banner above the counter to remind patrons he's an ex-mercenary who still bets he can out-lift any stranger for a free whetstone. The shop favours practical repairs and tested wares: rare, showy trinkets are kept under lock and exchanged only for coin and trustworthy references.”