A glimpse in a mine.

[MW]

Deep in the gloaming depths of a mine there works a solitary figure.
Stocky and muscular with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Dripping slow trickles of sweat from a swaying beard. His heavy boots, and dark clothing are covered in powdered rock. Atop his head is a fur trimmed steel storm helmet, much scratched from chips of flying rock and battle.
Only the incesant, rythmic chunk of the pick-axe echoing sullenly in the dark, primordeal silence. Steady breath puffs silent as the earth yields up its treasure, bit by careful sought bit. Each piece carved cunningly from its womb and laid with care in the beaten but stout leather sack sitting slumped against a near-by wall. The steady, far spaced drip of water sparkling through the cavern like a rainbow of sound only to fade as into silence a mere moment later. The scurrying steps of small, hidden creatures ocassionaly sliding along a near-by wall, intermittent in the darkness. Steady still are the hands that work the pick, working in tune with some rythm that only they can percieve. Coaxing from the earth it's treasures, tending each reverantly. Then the glimmer of the flicking flame extinguishes, and silence reigns again in the cavern.