Quenching Castle, the forging room.
Master Gulu had finished today's forging work and was sitting on the large iron anvil in the forging room, resting.
He liked this spot; he had been sitting here since he was very young.
Back then, a Black Iron Dwarf with strong arms would forge weapons in front of him, the pounding sounds had become the safest sound in his memories.
He was an orphan; there were many orphans like him during the constant migrations of the Black Iron Dwarves.
Typically, orphans like him who had lost their parents were doomed to die on the migration routes, possibly killed by Demons or devoured by Molten Lizards.
He was lucky because he met a Black Iron Dwarf with strong arms who took him back to Quenching Castle.
From then on, he sat every day on this large anvil, watching the dwarf uncle forge.
