“We don’t let many of your kind down here.” The Dwarf said, as if to imply that he should be on his best behavior.
Swelteringly hot air rushed past them, up into the vents in the cavern ceiling: somewhere far above them that air must warm the great Dwarven halls. Below them: a river of glowing orange.
“We filter metals directly out of the magma. Easier than mining,” the Dwarf continued, “and inexhaustible: all the ore in the world will come through here, eventually.”
“Seems like cheating,” I observed.
“Ha!” he laughed. “Cheating who? Who else’s metal could it be?”