A New Home for The Elderely.
Wide open spaces of green, agreeable trees, even a few Yews, Druids attached, a huge antlered man wandering amongst the forests, Gaia everywhere. Packs of merry dwarves burning a rather awkward, outmoded building, revealing strangely familiar stolen outlines below. The skulls are ready, watching expectantly from the sidelines. Henry, antlers gleaming gently, eyes them fondly. The bearded Sage in purple velvet strokes him gently, and Henry does not bite back. Love.
A worryingly large entry gate towards the coast, keeping out a throng of the loudly self-righteous ones from many lands, armed with many books and no knowledge. They shade a thatched, Michelin starred school towards the ice-caps, it's library guarded by She Who Will Never Be Photographed, as a frisky pink-haired Otter peers helpfully at the local salmon..A stern but beautiful man cares for those that venture this far. High above him the traditional dwarfish auction continous on and on, locked in dealock. Is it rock, or is it not. Pausing only to find the nearest passing illegal-immigrant priest, Deeply Dutiful Dwarf helpfully belts the anachronism around his balding head. As the skull shatters, it is agreed, it is rock. And it is called Pockemon. There is righteous cheering. Surviving men are fed to the Jedi Climbing school, but, delicate creatures, they rarely last long...
In the distance I see a furious Munitions Dwarf, tring to wrestle an ICBM off Loveably Vague Dwarve, who is happily planting it in the Baby Jeeezus Bomb Garden. A lesbian Crone, so close to goddess, and so long retired, watches him fondly. Someone sits in her shadow, and adores her as he softly cries, in utter despair...
A sign says that Central Government, should you care, is happily located in a rather familiar Greek tent, and is currently making Kitty Kebabs. Ah, free pelts. Thankee, dear Carloz and Hellena.
I notice, startled, that a tiny dwarf is sitting on my toe. On the other is her beloved Pet Rabbit. It is called Percy. She is telling me about it. A lot.
Might be a nice place to rest...
Yup, feels good. Just watch those borders...
A worryingly large entry gate towards the coast, keeping out a throng of the loudly self-righteous ones from many lands, armed with many books and no knowledge. They shade a thatched, Michelin starred school towards the ice-caps, it's library guarded by She Who Will Never Be Photographed, as a frisky pink-haired Otter peers helpfully at the local salmon..A stern but beautiful man cares for those that venture this far. High above him the traditional dwarfish auction continous on and on, locked in dealock. Is it rock, or is it not. Pausing only to find the nearest passing illegal-immigrant priest, Deeply Dutiful Dwarf helpfully belts the anachronism around his balding head. As the skull shatters, it is agreed, it is rock. And it is called Pockemon. There is righteous cheering. Surviving men are fed to the Jedi Climbing school, but, delicate creatures, they rarely last long...
In the distance I see a furious Munitions Dwarf, tring to wrestle an ICBM off Loveably Vague Dwarve, who is happily planting it in the Baby Jeeezus Bomb Garden. A lesbian Crone, so close to goddess, and so long retired, watches him fondly. Someone sits in her shadow, and adores her as he softly cries, in utter despair...
A sign says that Central Government, should you care, is happily located in a rather familiar Greek tent, and is currently making Kitty Kebabs. Ah, free pelts. Thankee, dear Carloz and Hellena.
I notice, startled, that a tiny dwarf is sitting on my toe. On the other is her beloved Pet Rabbit. It is called Percy. She is telling me about it. A lot.
Might be a nice place to rest...
Yup, feels good. Just watch those borders...