Either by reputation, scale, or appearance, no northerner mistakes the Blackhmmer Dwarves’ Foundry in Aia for any common forge. While humble blacksmiths toil away fleeting daylight hours by banging out horseshoes and nails, or bending metal strips into simple hinges and common tools, the dwarves of Aia’s Blackhammer Ironworks ply a far more sacred and carefully-guarded dwarven craft, producing some of the finest weapons, armor and shields to be found among the Twelve Kingdoms of Men.
Beyond the gated perimeter of thick stone pillars and sharpened iron fences which surround this ramshackle compound, dozens of disproportionate and unfinished iron sculptures of varying shapes and sizes tirelessly guard a large, muddy workyard, patiently rusting between canvas-covered heaps of worked metal. Squads of crudely-welded reinforcements—sharp and wiry—grin down from the tops of most structures. Bearing jagged iron claws, their large, eyeless heads hang heavy with the rust which bleeds into the gutters at the middle of the surrounding city streets.
Housing several of Aia’s oldest buildings, the prestigious Blackhammer Ironworks has grown and spread over hundreds of years, and now dominates a full city block in Aia’s Craftsman’s District. Several small shacks and living quarters are scattered throughout the compound’s garages and workshops. A dense and chaotic halo of rust-stained buildings, shelves, carts, crates, boxes, barrels, bins, and precariously stacked piles of unrecognizable clutter obstructs any clear view of the Ironworks’ central structure—an old and imposing stone warehouse with a large, soot-stained chimney, all clearly constructed for function more than form.
Under the shifting colors and dark curtain of Azjurika’s long winter mornings, dozens of mismatched lanterns glow throughout the workyard, casting light on narrow walkways and twisting paths, and throwing shadows which dance and sway across the snow-covered rooftops and on the walls of neighboring buildings. Sharp peals of hammers and plate pierce the darkness and echo through nearby streets, ringing out from various structures. Dogs snarl and bark at passersby, regularly interrupting constant clamour. On rare occasions, somewhere deep within, shouts, cheers, or boisterous outbursts of dwarven laughter breaks the Ironwork’s most familiar audible glamour.