The eastern mining sector had fallen into its usual afternoon rhythm.
The distant clang of pickaxes, the rumble of ore carts rolling along rusted tracks, and the occasional shout of a foreman calling out orders.
For the workers scattered across the various shafts, it was just another day of hauling rock and praying the tunnels held steady.
—
Inside a small break area carved into the mountainside, three miners sat on overturned crates, their helmets resting beside them as they dug into their packed lunches.
"Stewed rock-lizard again." Grumbled Durn, a stocky dwarf with a copper beard and hands calloused from forty years of swinging a pick. "My wife means well, but I swear she's trying to turn me into one of those things. Third time this week!"
"Better than mine." Replied Merek, a lanky human whose face was smudged with ore dust. "Cold mushroom porridge. Again. I told her I'd rather eat the mushrooms raw than have them congealed into that...that sludge."
