Walking through the desolate streets of the fortress, Roland clearly perceived a silent yet sharp antagonism.
Several ordinary Dwarves, their skin still rosy-hued, were chatting around a small Forging Furnace. But when two of their slow-moving, gray-skinned brethren passed by with their heads lowered, the chatter and laughter abruptly ceased.
A young Dwarf instinctively tightened his grip on the handle of the War Axe at his waist, his eyes showing unconcealed vigilance and even a faint trace of...
Disgust.
"Stay away from the Forging Furnace, you 'Stone Fools'!"
An old Dwarf with his beard braided into a thick plait hissed in a low voice. Though not loud, the rejection in his tone was as sharp as a blade.
"Don't bring your bad luck near the 'Fire Source'!"
The two Gray-skinned Dwarves showed no reaction, not even pausing in their steps. They simply skirted the leaping flames, as if the light and heat caused them physical discomfort.
