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The Day the Land of Smithing Shook

The Day the Land of Smithing Shook

In the Dwarf nation of Ironforge, nestled deep in the rugged mountains, there was a symbol so prominent it could be recognized from afar. A massive anvil.

An actual anvil, the kind used for smithing.

There was a mountain that stood taller than the rest in the range, and atop its summit sat the anvil. Towering at the peak, it was absurdly large. Its flat surface faced the sky, both ends tapered to sharp points, and its base narrowed in the middle. By any measure, it was unmistakably an anvil. The size was practically pointless unless it was meant for a giant larger than a mountain, but as a landmark symbolizing the nation of smithing, Ironforge, it couldn’t have been more fitting.

“Damn it. If that thing falls, it’ll be a disaster!”

Hikaru jumped off the Dwarf city’s trolley and took off running.

The anvil had already started