Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

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BOOM! The ground leapt under Engvyr Gunnarson's feet and he clutched frantically at the handles of the wheelbarrow to keep his balance. It didn't help; the ground-shock was so severe it tipped over, spilling a load of shattered ore and the boy to the floor of the mine.

A blast of dust-laden air washed up the tunnel and over him, snuffing out the candles that dimly lit the passage. He coughed and slipped the bandana that he wore around his neck over his nose and mouth, but not before he tasted the distinctive tang of blasting powder mixed with the rock-dust. No one should be using blasting powder up here! He thought as he felt along the wall for the nearest sconce. He could hear other dwarves shouting to each other in the darkness as he found the candle and applied his lighter to the wick. The flame illuminated an area a few paces across, the air filled with swirling brown dust. He saw other lights flare along the passage as other miners relit candles and lanterns.

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