Armament Hill rises tall above the city, its slopes echoing with the relentless clamour of hammer striking metal and the hiss of steam as blades are tempered in glowing forges. A chaotic web of workshops and stalls clings to the hillside, each vying for space amidst a tangle of narrow, winding paths. Soot-stained craftsmen toil under the shade of canvas awnings, their faces hardened by the furnace heat, as they shape bronze and iron into weapons of war — gladius blades, helms, and armour alike. The air is thick with the pungent scents of molten metal, burning coals, and the oiled leather of freshly bound scabbards. Overhead, iron wind chimes jingle softly in the breeze, a metallic chorus to the lively trade below. Even the stones of the hill seem blackened and scorched from centuries of forge fires. If one is seeking any military or metal good, then it is common knowledge that it can be found on Armament Hill, if not always for the fairest of prices.