A few pebbles on the dark floor of this alcove testify to the fact that nobody has really been careful about cleaning. The smooth striated walls have become home to glowing lichen which clings in small streaks, giving light in hues of brilliant orange and gold. The high ceiling is dark. In the center of the room is an iron anvil, brought in from somewhere out there, certainly forged by someone's hands, though whether those hands were mortal or divine is a subject for discussion. Its darkness is a contrast to the brightness of the colored lichen all around. Upon its surface lay the implements of a blacksmith, forged of steel. They appear clean and unused, as though waiting for an immortal smith to lift them and put them to use. Near one end of the anvil sits a steel mug, empty. A curious inscription is engraved upon its side. A vaulted opening leads to the north.