Urist stumbled from the tavern, still clutching a foaming mug of ale, which he drank from as he stole away from the evening revelry. The raucous sounds of laughter and merriment gradually faded to echoes as he walked, the carefully smoothed and engraved stonework of the upper burrows slowly giving way to the raw, rough-hewn caverns of the mines.
Urist may have been drunk, but he moved with purpose: he had a clandestine meeting planned, a private rendezvous far from the prying eyes of others. When he'd first laid eyes on her beauty earlier today, he knew he had to have her to himself, that he couldn't stand to share even the sight of her with another dwarf. And so he'd made his plans with her, plans that would see the two of them some time together, alone and uninterrupted as the rest of the miners celebrated another hard day's work. She awaited him now, in the lowest level of the mines. The mere thought of her beauty brought a smile to Urist's bearded face and a flush to his plump cheeks.
To a human or elf, the dank mines might have been a claustrophobic, foreboding place. To a dwarf like Urist, however, they were almost romantic. Untapped veins of Limonite wove their ways like living thing through the walls of the cavern about him, seeming almost to move and undulate in the flickering firelight. The darkened mouth of each branching passage promised untold riches, mystery delights just waiting for some dwarf to uncover them. The comforting stone walls pressed in on all sides, guarding Urist from his enemies like a zealous mother dwarf standing between her child and a raging carp. It was only here, deep within the heart of the mountain, that his kind felt safe, secure. Above stalked hordes of goblins and bands of duplicitous elves; below, forgotten beasts and cave-spiders. But in these mines, tonight, there was just the two of them: just Urist and his love, alone but for one another.
At last, he stumbled down the side passage he'd dug earlier that day, rounding a corner to behold her before him.
She was like a vision torn straight from his wildest fantasies. Her beauty gleamed like a precious gem, though even the most valuable diamond was worthless in comparison to her. She was set into the wall of the cavern, her silvery surface clad only in bare stone, the rock wall hugging her form tightly in it's unyielding embrace. The mere sight of her was enough to weaken Urist's knees, to set his heart pounding furiously in his chest.
Trading his empty flagon for the pickaxe he'd left there earlier, the dwarf approached her almost timidly, struck by her beauty.
"It's me, Urist," he slurred, stars dancing in his eyes. "I've come for you."
Of course, she didn't answer him. Adamantine was blessed with many wondrous properties, but speech was not among them. Still, to Urist, it seemed almost as if he could feel her desire, radiating from her raw surface. She wanted him, wanted to be taken by him. Her desperate need for him was almost palpable to the drunken dwarf.
Urist reached for her, and the dwarf was surprised to see his fingers were trembling. Urist was normally a stoic sort, a calm and confident dwarf—yet looking upon her, even he couldn't help but shiver with anxiety. He wanted everything about this moment to be just as perfect as she was.
His fingertips brushed lightly against her bare ore, and he let out a low, almost inaudible gasp, followed by an involuntary shudder. The dwarf tenderly traced his fingertips across her hard, rocky surface, closing his eyes and feeling her evey contour, her every bump and crevice. The sensation of raw metal beneath his fingers sent a thrill through Urist's stubby body, a forbidden rush of excitement that left him tingling with anticipation. She was so pure, so beautiful, it seemed a shame to even consider defiling her—and yet, Urist knew that he needed to do exactly that, to turn her into something even more beautiful than she was now.
Pulling his fingers from her surface with a sharp intake of breath, Urist gripped the shaft of his pick firmly. He hefted it above his head, and in one smooth motion, plunged it deep into her with a loud grunt of exertion.
He held the pick still for a moment, letting her adjust to its' size, before he pulled it back and slammed the tip into her again. This time it cracked the surface and forced its' way even deeper into her, all but splitting her open. He slowly fell into a rhythm, working his pick in and out of her, forcing it deeper and deeper.