Solam himself was not particularly prejudiced against black people. Although in Faerûn's human societies, blacks had always been synonymous with savagery and stupidity, and most of them lived among humans as slaves.
But it was rather hard to accept that his own son had inexplicably turned into a black guy. What was more, Solam was an orc, and Black Orcs were also looked down upon in orc society. So whenever Solam looked at his son, he always had the illusion that some bastard had cuckolded him. Especially after the guy forged himself a suit of pure green armor, that illusion became even stronger.
Vulkan had skin as black as charcoal. Though it seemed to have a faint sheen, it felt rough as sand when touched and was incredibly tough. What made Solam ache even more was that Vulkan had a cold, bald head.
Even more like a black guy.
Overall, Vulkan was a huge, muscular black man standing three meters tall. If one ignored his blood-red eyes and the flames constantly erupting from his shoulder blades, he was simply an exceptionally tall human.
He liked music. Could you imagine such a burly man following the elves among Solam's mortal followers around to learn musical instruments? He also liked forging, and Solam's dwarf followers were his best teachers. He even liked cooking.
In short, he was the very image of a warm, dependable man. He was unbelievably gentle.
But anyone who thought Vulkan was a good person because of that was too naive, too simple. No matter how good his temperament was, he was still a demon!
Only in battle would Vulkan completely discard that good-guy facade. His fighting style was incomparably wild and bloody. Whenever he stepped onto the battlefield carrying his warhammer—Doomsday Volcano—and his shield—Vulkan's Shield—he became every enemy's