Location: Delta, Deep, Sinis

    Picking up a lump of iron ore, it rolls it between its hands the same way a potter would a ball of clay.  It holds the ball between its hands and blows on it, as one would do to warm their hands.  The lump of ore begins to glow a dull red, to a warm orange, to a bright yellow, eventually to a near-white.  Smiling, Sol walks over to the anvil and brings its fist down atop the radiant lump, flattening it a little, and chunks of scaling fall off.  As a baker would knead a ball of dough, it proceeds to slap, pound, and strike the slowly-forming ingot, pausing once to pick it up and re-heat it back to the white-hot as it had cooled down to orange.  Once the ingot has been hammered into the familiar rectangular shape, it sets it aside to pick up something else, and only just now notices its guests.
    "Oh!  My apologies," it smiles, an interesting effect on a being that appears to be made of coalesced, opaque flame, "I did not realize that I had customers.  Welcome to Sol Forge.  I am Sol, its proprietor.  How may I help you today?"
    Sol is a strange creature, to be certain.  Its voice is breathy but clear, and the consonants sound unusually harsh, like the crackling of a fire.  It appears to be humanoid, of no apparent gender or age, and of average height and build.  There is no sense of hair or other features, and though it glows the same warm yellow-orange that the sun does, one's eyes do not hurt when looking at it.  It has a face, yes, but the eyes and mouth put one in mind of sunspots; dark patches upon a bright surface, that move and change in a manner that clearly does not do so with muscle movement.  It is wearing boots of some sort, though one gets the impression that it is to protect the floor from the summon, and not the other way around.  This is reinforced when it puts on a pair of heavy gloves that go nearly all the way up to its "elbows."  It bows in the direction of its guest and awaits a reply.