Iron & Ember Forge sits at the south end of the market, smoke coiling from its chimney like a lazy warning. The interior is warm and dim; racks of unfinished blades hang alongside coils of leather straps and racks of nails. Sparks fly in measured showers when Brom works, and the air smells of hot iron, linseed, and beeswax. A battered plaque over the anvil reads: "We mend what fate rends." Brom Ironhand stands four feet tall but fills the room with presence. His soot-streaked beard has two beads shaped like tiny hammers, and a rim of silver scars runs along his forearms. He speaks in a low, gravelly voice and enjoys telling quick, practical tales rather than philosophy. He offers mounting and basic repair services for a modest fee (5 sp to repair a weapon edge, 1 gp to re-rivet a shield, prices negotiable), will haggle a little for bulk purchases, and often trades repair work for hunted pelts or rare ore. Quirks: hums an old dwarven hammer-thrum before striking, refuses to sell masterwork tempering oil to those he deems reckless, and insists customers remove gauntlets before haggling so he can judge calluses.