The forge wasn't too vast, but nor was it anywhere near as small in scope as one would think of a smithy on the surface. It looked as large as a great hall, only made of natural stone carved meticulously to create a utilitarian structure, made for efficiency and purpose. Geradin scowled at the team who sought to steal anything, as he had recognized the architecture at once, and he spoke up to Alice. "Aye, tis a Dwarven Forge. Ironskin work it looks like. Only...something is off..." 

Beren enjoyed the heat, hands on his hips and closing his eyes as the warm air billowing off the liquid magma enveloped him. He had often enjoyed forges when he had grown up among the Dwarves, giving him the heat of the sun even underground. The caramel skinned warrior monk was fine with cold, but warmth he quite enjoyed. He only opened his eyes when Geradin warned the group of something not being quite right with the chamber. 

Argon seemed to enjoy the heat as much as Beren, crouching low near the magma, closer than any dared. He flicked out his tongue, blinking lazily as he enjoyed the feeling. Calanon strode into the room, cloth-wrapped arm covering the Elf's lower mouth as he did so, scrutinizing the room with a suspicious eye. "Dorcha..." Calanon breathed, and his hands reached for his shield and sword. Most would know this as the alternative word for Dark Elf. 

If the group looked closer, they would see the anvils and work benches were covered in slimmer swords and indigo armor and chainmail, with chaotic spider motifs upon them in the typical Dark Elven fashion. The Dwarf tapestries had been torn down, and the wooden doors across the lava had been ripped open and hacked to bits by slender bladed strikes. But so far, no Dark Elf was in sight. Beren and Geradin bristled, and Calanon seemed far less calm than he ever had in the group's midst.   
[@Banana][@The Fated Fallen][@BCTheEntity][@Fetzen]