Vortex

On a distant planet.

Baldor Ironhammer stood resolute, his posture unwavering, his presence composed, unshaken.

Yet, his opponent exuded an oppressive aura, a weight that pressed upon the very air.

A smirk, laced with contempt, curled upon the lips of the Eclipsian known as Ebonis.

"A dwarf? Of all the lesser races gathered here, I am to face you?"

His voice dripped with condescension, each word spoken as though addressing something utterly beneath him.

But Baldor did not dignify his words with a response.

Unlike most in his world, the exhilaration of battle held no allure for him.

He was a dwarf, after all.

His passion lay not in the clash of steel but in the art of smithing and crafting.

Nothing else mattered.

At this moment, there was no fire in his gaze, no insatiable hunger to test his limits in combat.

His only desire was to bring his hammer down upon an anvil.