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superstitious miners even dismissed it as stuff just made up to spook young kids, never believing in them. They couldn't have been more wrong.
    As with all true Hidden, dwarves have a permanent magical aura about them that hides their real identity from Regulars. It comes with the territory and isn't optional. Dwarves have interacted with miners and those exploring the world beneath our feet ever since man first thought, "Hey, there's bound to be something cool underground, wonder if we can ruin our planet by digging it up and burning it. There's got to be some interesting side-effects, too."
    Dwarves aren't interested in coal or oil, though, they care, almost to the exclusion of all else, and that includes their own kind, even family, about gold. It's a passion, it's an obsession, and it's their god.
    So the best way they found to come up into the world of man was to mingle. You know that grumpy dude with a thick beard, too much hair, face like a worn pair of good leather shoes that have seen better days, and hands that look like they could crush rock? That will be your dwarf.
    They've got it easy in regards to the way they are presented to Regulars. They maintain most of the rugged look, just become normal height, lose the leather gear and the hammers too heavy for a human to lift, and dress like other miners, lost amid the throng. Quiet, obtuse, never interacting much with anyone as they mostly can't stand to deal with people they see as downright amateurs, and as for those of us that have no interest in mining or exploring what the underground has to offer, well, they pretty much hold us in utter contempt.
    My musings on dwarves and mining in general were replaced with anticipation as I pulled up at the car park for the closed mine and followed the path that led to a stack of ancient metal machinery looking like a rusting preying mantis, all angles and out of place in the still-scarred landscape. This was one of many minor—and I mean very minor—tourist attractions, where you could wander around and get a glimpse into the life of the miner.
    It was a grim business, and the signs by the various pieces of machinery and equipment told in no uncertain terms of the dangers involved in such enterprises in the early days, it remaining a hazardous occupation right up until becoming defunct.
    We were the only ones there, as a sunny day in Wales doesn't often lead to people thinking wandering around looking at coal and slag heaps is a fun way to spend the morning—we save that for when it rains, as it's all about atmosphere.
    Peering into a black pit, I heard a deep rumble from below. My body tingled in a way it hadn't for five years, and magic shunted my senses into overdrive as my eyes snapped to black and I almost lost consciousness with the ferocity of the magical vortex that slammed into my system like a troll charging for free chalk. I was elevated, alive like I'd forgotten was possible.
    "Um, Mithnite, you might want to step back a little," I said casually as he strained to hear what was going on down in the depths.
    "Why, what is it?"
    "Something that eats trainee wizards for breakfast," I said as I bent at the knee and got ready to spray the dark arts around like a flamethrower.
    "Oh, right." He took a step back, and then a few more, as out from the maw of the ravaged land came an almighty howl of otherworldly warning and I sidestepped just as a ferocious wind of white death erupted out and up, eddying and swirling around me.
    Blinding, searing magic of an elemental nature battered my clothes, tearing my jacket open, my tie flapping like a noose above my head as it coalesced into the screaming face of a tortured ghost, impotent with rage that it expunged on the first hint of a magical presence.
    Feeling almost weightless with the magic that surged through my tattoos—realigned to perfection thanks to a giant's gift—the magic engorged the ink that already stood proud of my skin, rubbing against my suit, making me feel