On the outskirts of town there was a small stone workshop on top of a small hill. A single light shone in the back window, showing that it had some inhabitant when it otherwise looks deserted. The snow fell gracefully, the wind blew cool. You approach the workshop and see it has no outstanding sign, no bedazzling banner. It has a small plaque above the door. A plaque with a mortar and pestle, the namesake of the place. You enter, and whether you knock or not, the door swings open with a creak. T