“The shop is called The Tempered Oath. It occupies a converted guardhouse built into a city wall, with the old arrow slits still visible above the showroom windows. The air inside smells of coal smoke, hot metal, leather, and rosemary oil used to keep rust from the display weapons. Finished arms hang from timber racks beneath painted shields, while half-completed commissions rest on padded hooks marked with customer names and promised dates. A narrow iron footbridge crosses the quenching trough, forcing visitors to walk single file through the busiest part of the forge. Braska Vell is a broad-shouldered, scarred human woman in her late forties with iron-gray hair braided around copper wire. She speaks plainly, distrusts anyone who cannot name the difference between an edge and a point, and offers a discount to customers who help with a practical shop task. Her apprentice, Nilo, is a nervous half-elf who records every sale in meticulous shorthand. Coal, a black mastiff with a white blaze on its chest, sleeps beneath the counter and wakes at the sound of unfamiliar metal being drawn. Braska tests serious buyers by asking what weapon they already use, why it suits them, and what failed the last time they relied on it. She refuses to sell a dangerous weapon to someone who treats it as a costume accessory, but she has a soft spot for traveling adventurers who return with honest battle damage and useful stories.”