"Next was my son: a burly man, broad but not tall, smiling as he hammered the glowing steel on the anvil before him. Dressed in the leather apron of a smith, his arms and face were darkly tanned in contrast to the short curls of hair of a red to match the forge's fire.

Deanor insisted that nothing short of this would do; it had to be in his forge and, typically, once he was in there he had to do something -- I've forgotten what it was in the end. I think he forgot I was there; the back has a scorch mark or two from errant sparks."
-- Brand's Diary Discovered, Entry 312:
"Meditating on my Portrait Gallery"

Deanor is a smith and a seeker after knowledge, and the only Amberite to _arrive_ for Fiveyears' Night already injured. Cheery and bluff in general, he's still capable of moments of gentleness and tenderness. He got a thin cut in one arm from Corwin's goblins, but that was all.

His interests focus around the forge, and he's hoping to make a masterwork someday ... possibly something like a Patternblade, or possibly something more unique. Regrettably, Dworkin hasn't been around much to help out ...

Shavings of True Stone