To say Cole had been peeved about his new king's appointment would have been understating things. Oh sure, he'd FELT the mantle- knew that behind it was plenty of experience. Heck, the Ogre's face had plenty to show years of time. But all Cole had seen, behind the titles, was a man who swooped in with a silver tongue and seized the throne- a man who saw his goals as childish, and who had yet to prove himself in Cole's eyes.
Was Mantle supposed to be enough? To be taken as indisputable proof? Not to Cole, no. Richard had his chance to prove himself to the Metalflesh, and he'd chosen to talk his way to a throne; no matter how sound an argument he made, this was the court of WRATH. Cole didn't join Summer for debate and tea- he needed something to channel the anger he felt, and purpose it provided.
A purpose Cole wondered if the Troll could fulfill. What fueled his wrath? Was he truly worthy to be a king, or had he burned out? And if he was king... Would he be willing to prove his worth to Cole, the way the elemental was accustomed? So he'd sent the invitation, and lie waiting at his forge, banging a glowing hammer against material of wyrdstuff.
His Hollow was on the outskirts, much like his home- a small enough space, but it was comfortable. The thorny walls surrounding the open space smoldered from time to time. In the middle was a forge, tools on tables nearby and an anvil aside. A motorcycle was... snoring... in a corner, empty fuel tanks labeled "Long Islands" surrounding it. A scythe was embedded in a stump nearby. Raw materials were piled in a small storage area.
Someone who took the time to look around might notice some things seemed rather... in need of repair. Bent or replaced table legs, dented metal, crushed table ends; someone who didn't know Cole well enough might just assume the furniture was cheaply bought, and not due to a bout of wrath.
So Cole hammered. And waited. The noises ringing around the Hollow. Would Richard Price accept the invitation?