Firestone Steel

The air is thinner up here, for sure, but has less smoke with it. The fields of Montrian wheat are far off, but the sky is more blue than grey, in this distant place. But work has to be done. A thinner dwarf hops down from his stand, above a tall cliffside, upon a makeshift wooden platform: a throne on which to gaze upon the pride of his ancestors. He moves further into the inner sanctum of his own tomb, a mine outside of Montria. The entryway is a well made stone carving, Flame Warden engraved upon the entrance."This mine has stood for almost five hundred years!" says a mine elder, laughing at the concern of a visitor, a fancily dressed human. "I've watched a hundred dwarves mine this place at once, i dont think they'll mind you takin' a look around" he says, pounding on a nearby wall. A nearby cart is hauled up the stone walkway to the surface by a lowly worker. The elder grabs a hunk of ore off of the cart. "This. This is the good stuff: what those hundred lads were lookin' for". He hands it to the human, who pulls back in pain at the first touch of his skin. The dwarf picks it up, and after a quick and thorough examination, places it back on the metal cart, to be taken to the forges of Montria's Craftsman's Quarters. The human hands the elder a hefty sack of coins, and heads out with the cart. "And tell those Anavarian lads to get us some more guards" Says the elder, as the human and cart head off. "Those bastards oughta help us get it out of the ground somehow, if they keep wantin more." he says, as he goes back to mantaining the largest mine in all of Montria.