Amidst the glow of arcane forges, a dwarven mage stands, radiating power unlike any of his kin. His fiery red beard, braided with runed iron rings, flows like a river of embers, framing a face etched with wisdom and battle-hardened resolve. His deep-set eyes burn with arcane light—one a molten gold, the other shimmering with eldritch blue, proof of the magic coursing through his veins. Unlike the steel-plated warriors of his kin, his robes are woven from enchanted basalt-thread, dark as obsidian yet pulsing with faint golden veins, as if the mountain’s heart beats within the fabric. Over his shoulders, a mantle of charred dragonhide drapes like a stormcloud, its scorched edges still humming with latent energy. Runes of ancient power glow across his gauntlets, carved into the very stone of his homeland, crackling with untamed magic. In one hand, he grips a warstaff forged of blackened steel and rune-etched granite, the top crowned with a floating crystal—a shard of the Deep Core, swirling with imprisoned lightning. The ground beneath him trembles, sigils igniting in a circle of molten fire as he calls forth the primal forces of earth and flame. The air thickens with power, a blend of dwarven grit and arcane mastery, a contradiction made whole—earthbound, yet unstoppable, a mage of the mountain’s wrath and wisdom