Forges like the Bullrush were never not busy. Perhaps one would think that after a big event like the hunt for Scarred prior, business would have slowed down for such a business, yet that wasn’t ever the case.
There was always a need for such a place. Weapons to be made, armor to be repaired. New plans for schematics, ideas borne out of materials found out in the reaches of the Frontiers that would send the mind spinning with their potential use in the forge.
Such as, say, a decently sized hunk of metallic horn cut off from a truck sized wyrm.
Today though, it wasn’t Dómhall’s forge Soren ended up in. While it was far from the most formal case, the office lounge was better served for the current situation, opposed to his last visit. True to the man’s Vulcan sensibilities, the office was utilitarian in form. A desk large and sturdy enough to seat a man the size of Dómhall, and simple furniture that followed suit.