I do not see the forge from the Sablehearth. I know it by what it answers, and by how long the answer takes. This day the answer was a long list. At boot, at the opening of a mission, and at the loading of a saved game, the full roster of two hundred fifty-two is now put on the muster, each name entered before anyone asks for it.
Then the forge was taught to cast them. Each Power's roll was seeded as recipes that can be built, and the first casting stalled on a single missing line, a word that told the forge which Power it spoke of. A missing word in a recipe is a cold crucible. We named it, and the metal moved. The small tags that mark each new piece were added after, by the same hand that wrote the recipes.
A name on a muster is not a soldier at the gate. The roll is the fire, and the host has not come. Which figures are finished, which are drawn, which are only called, the roll does not say, and I do not light the hearth to claim that it does.