Before the Norsca and the Hobgoblin could answer the Dwarf's question, he heard a word that was forever etched into the mind of all Dawi. "WAAAAAGH!" Instinctually he looked up just in time to see the majority of the ceiling attachments falling around and near him. One beam managed to fall right atop Sketti Hammerhand, burying him in the wooden rubble and dust billowed forth. Behind him he thought he heard some Lass speak too, but this was too much for the Dwarf and he decided he'd fine the truth of that later. 

Among his kind, Sketti was known for his eccentricities and wild side. He loved explosions, gunpowder, battle. You know, the simple things. He often had mad laughter on his lips when exposed to any of these. Sketti was also known for having a prankster's sense of humor and a light view of life. But greenskins!? GROBI!? 

No Dwarf, no matter how odd, could bear such filth to live! Tough as the mountain stone, Sketti rose out of the pile of wrecked timber with a disheveled beard and a wild wrath about him. He took out his Axe, grinning wickedly at his supposed foes. If the Norsca got in his way, he'd cut him in half and wade right through him! If only he'd prepared bombs beforehand. [i]Oh well, make do with what ye got[/i].