Before we begin: This story, which is a sort of 1.1.3 draft, has been in the writing stage for roughly a month or so. It was started largely as an attempt to get the brain in gear once more, and gestated into something of its own, as you will see from the text. Whilst the woman represented by its primary heroine has given me permission to post this story for public view, this is in my mind on a trial basis.
Any commentary or feedback from the reading public is welcomed, but not necessarily adhered to. I hope you enjoy this piece.
The Ursine village’s primary school consisted of ten buildings, several of which were divided into classrooms. Together, Kronisk and Corrigwen walked toward the door leading into one such classroom. In one hand, Kronisk was carrying papers from the education department. These papers had been handed to him by the representative on the Bear Council who made all of the decisions concerning education on all levels. Kronisk had already shown the papers to the school’s headmaster.
Knocking on the door of one classroom, Kronisk turned to Corrigwen and reminded her in the Kali-Yuga version of Dwarvish that the children in the room would be very curious about her. They would also be very well-behaved and polite, so she need not worry. Then the door opened, and a huge bear appeared in the doorway. Corrigwen recognised this bear immediately. This was Gilmick, the younger of Kronisk‘s two sons.
“I have the papers from the minister,” Kronisk said to Gilmick softly. “I understand you have a problem with one of the children showing signs of intercepting the thoughts of others.”
“Come on in,” Gilmick said with a smile. “We had just finished one lesson about maths.”
Corrigwen followed Kronisk into the room. She imagined that the children paid Gilmick a lot of respect and attention. Looking at them behind the desks they sat around, the biggest cub in the room was perhaps three feet tall, with a weight of two or three hundred pounds. Gilmick was somewhere slightly above eight feet tall, and weighed as much as thirteen hundred pounds. Although teachers on Kali-Yuga were taught extensively that aggression and intimidation was no way to teach, this did give Gilmick some advantages in terms of teaching technique.
“Class, we have a visitor,” Gilmick said to the children as he slowly plodded into the room, walking on his hinds. “I am sure some of you have already heard of the High Council of Spirit-Wielders that makes decisions for the good of those of us with special abilities. This odd-looking gentleman you see now is Kronisk, the head of the police that enforces their laws.”
At the back of the room, near one group of the sixteen children in the room, was Minílwen. Minílwen, Kronisk had told Corrigwen earlier, worked as a teacher’s aide. It was a part of her studies. One of the things Minílwen was studying to be was a specialist in children with unusual cognitive configurations. And when a person training in this profession reached a certain level, their training changed a little to include, from time to time, working with fully-trained teachers in a classroom environment with the kinds of children one would eventually be working with full-time.
Whilst the other children regarded Kronisk with a lot of apprehension, two children in the room greeted him with great enthusiasm. Corrigwen had met them before, in a less formal setting. Frost, the elder and more lightly-coloured of the two, enthusiastically ran to the front of the room and sat on a small couch seat-like fluctuation in the floor. Rose, the younger and darker-furred of the two, walked slowly, but waved and cooed in a happy fashion as she sat down near Frost. Minílwen moved her chair from one side of the room and placed it to sit near the forming group of children.
Sitting on a small, low chair in front of the children, Kronisk greeted them in Dwarvish whilst Corrigwen took one of the seats that Gilmick brought and sat upon it.
“Good morning, children,” said Kronisk. “I have been told that this class went on a visit to the Halfling village several days ago.”
General silence from the children. A couple, girls who appeared to be from the smaller varieties, looked up at Minílwen, who smiled reassuringly at them. Others simply fidgeted, made non-committal sounds, and waited for someone, anyone, to move this conversation. Then one of the girls looking up at Minílwen turned to Kronisk and spoke.
“Not nice, the Halflings,” this girl, a cub about as long from nose to tail as Kronisk‘s forearm, said.
“No? What makes you say that, Emma?” Kronisk asked the cub. Corrigwen suspected that Kronisk already knew a large part of the answer, but was asking for the benefit of the other adults in the room.
“When we walk to beach road, I heard voice in head of Halfling,” Emma elaborated. “I see pictures in head. Pictures of bears being skinned, heads cut off, stuffed, put on walls.”
Kronisk quietened Emma, telling her that he understood what she had seen in the mind of one Halfling. He then asked her where in Bârikha she was when she received these things into her consciousness. He did not use these words, exactly, but the adults in the room understood this meaning.
“We were near path to beach,” said Emma. “The stores and buildings near path.”
“I know exactly where she means,” Gilmick said to Kronisk.
“Then that is that matter of business settled for now,” Kronisk said to the children. “I have brought someone I would also like you to meet. Next to me is a friend of mine, a lady by the name of Corrigwen.”
In the Kali-Yuga iteration of Dwarvish, Corrigwen said hello to the children whilst gently waving a hand. The children responded in a bright, cheerful sound of the Ursine speech whilst waving a paw back at her. Prior to this moment, Kronisk had coached Corrigwen a little in how to talk to the children as a group. But the children noticed how hesitant she felt anyway.
“You a funny looking Dwarf lady,” one of the larger, white-furred cubs in the back of the formation said.
Corrigwen saw her opportunity here.
“Ah am pretty sure that when other cubs see ye for the first time during the months it does not snow here, ye look very funny to them, too,” Corrigwen said a firm but friendly manner.
The other cubs giggled a little. The cub she was directly addressing did not, but smiled and understood. The cub in front of this one, a shorter, slightly rollier-built cub with prominent black markings in its fur, giggled the hardest.
“Now, all of ye been taught in class before about how different kinds of bear grew in different parts of the world, and look different to one another,” Corrigwen told the cubs. “The same thing happens with Humanoids. There be Humanoids from places far to the South of here that grow and thrive without ever seein’ snow, or ice for that matter.”
This was a novel idea to the children in front of Corrigwen. Although only two were of the kind that Kronisk described as “Polar”, all of them had grown to this age in the bear village. That meant that every year, around the same time, for as long as they had lived, they had seen snow. In some instances, a lot of it. Although snowfalls varied, sometimes dramatically, from year to year, all of these children had seen seven or eight Winters. The lightest snowfall recorded in that time had been three years ago, with a peak cover of six inches. The heaviest had seen a peak four feet deep, necessitating the carving of paths through the village.
Corrigwen had also been told that the belief that bears liked to hibernate or sleep through the Winter was a myth. Although bears did sometimes engage in sleeps lasting up to a month or two, this was as much to do with healing, healthcare, and child rearing as it was to do with the simple need to cope with the drop in temperature. More so, in fact. Several of the bear species, including the ones with peculiar assortments of white and black colouring, even migrated South to Akhasei for the coldest two months of the year.
“But if they never see snow, how they adapt to cold?” Another cub, one that the projected voice of Kronisk told Corrigwen was named Anwel, asked.
“Well, that be exactly the point, Anwel,” Corrigwen said with a smile. “The Humanoids from this part of the world… they all be so light and pale because they get so little of the sun’s energy. They adapt to the cold because they see so much of it. The kind I be a part of, we nae adapt to the cold, because we never see so much of it. Just between us, this place be freezing fer me.”
Of course, as Kronisk had coached her to do, she was being slightly economical with the truth. Corrigwen‘s immediate family lived in the snow. But enough of her ancestors had grown in arid terrain that it showed in how she and her family had darkened compared to the Dwarrow these children were used to.
At this point, Kronisk turned his head a little. The children had seen the slice marks, gouges, and pits in his face before. They had assumed these terrible things were from battle.
“Lord Kronisk‘s ancestors be from a place not unlike this land,” Corrigwen continued. “But long before he be born, his grandkin and their families crossed oceans and moved to a place where most of the land never see snow. In fact, there are parts of that place that get so hot that even Humans cannae be above the surface during parts of the year. Most of that place be so hot that the peoples of this land would need to change their immediate environment to live long-term.”
Corrigwen paused for a moment. Taking a glass of water that Gilmick held out for her and drinking it, she watched the looks on the faces of the cubs. The more storytelling-oriented ones, those that exceeded every hallmark expected of them in language skills whilst being deficient in other subjects, grasped what she was telling them more or less immediately. Frost was amongst this group, and the look on his face said “yes, and then what…?”. Others who excelled in such subjects as math or gross motor whilst being behind in language, took slightly less than half a minute. When the last showed the outward signs of being up to speed, Corrigwen continued.
“My ancestors be like the Dwarrow ye see around the Northern and mountain realms of this land,” said Corrigwen. “But they lived in realms more like those that Kronisk’s moved to, and for more generations than his. So many more that they changed over time. Their skin darkening was the most obvious change.”
“And that is why you look darker than the Dwarfs we know?” One of the cubs offered.
Corrigwen had to stifle a giggle, and was only mostly successful. The way this cub said the word, coming out as Dwafs, was very funny to her.
“Yes, that is why I look darker than the Dwarrow ye are used to,” Corrigwen replied with a gentle smile. It was an overly simple explanation, but until these cubs grew older and had learned more, it would suffice. “It is exactly the same reason the Polar bears look so white that they can disappear in snow, or why the Kodiak bears are so black with brown whispers. All of them bred for centuries in conditions where the first of their kind found it an advantage to have those features, and continued to have children that they passed those features on to.”
“So… our papas and mamas gave us the fur colours we have?” A cub with yellow-brown fur asked.
“Aye, just like me ma and da gave me the skin colour I possess now,” Corrigwen confirmed. “Nearly everything that be part of our physical form, we get from our parents, one of their parents, or perhaps even one of their parents’ parents. Even some things about us that are not part of our physical form, like how our voices sound when they come out of our mouths, are based on someone who was a past member of our family.”
“So that mean Lord Kronisk‘s papa have deep and boomy voice?” The cub named Anwel asked.
Corrigwen could see both Minílwen and Gilmick shudder and nervously fidget at the mention of Kronisk‘s father. But a child that has grown up in this strangely contradictory, both warlike and oddly idyllic, world would have scant idea that their parents might hate their grandparents, and for good reason. Kronisk said nothing, but the look in his eyes told Corrigwen all she needed to know. He was going to stay back and bite his tongue so that Corrigwen could answer the question and educate the child whilst preserving their healthier view of the world around them.
“Ah really dun know,” Corrigwen said in a bright, cheerful tone. “Ah have never met Kronisk‘s da. As ah hear it, nobody living around these parts wants to, either. That be one of the many things that makes Kronisk what he be. But the wonderful thing is that ye be children, with many years of life and learning ahead of ye. Nobody around here knows quite how long ago Kronisk was a child, but it been a very long time ago now.”
Corrigwen lowered her voice to a semi-whisper as she learned further toward the children. She knew full well that Kronisk could hear every word, but this allowed her to kid the children otherwise.
“Ah think the child that he was thousands of years ago still follows him around like a pet, though,” Corrigwen said.
As the children giggled, Kronisk shifted into a slightly different position. As he began to speak, the children shifted their attention to him in a microsecond. They knew that in spite of whatever else he might be, especially to the elder schoolchildren, he almost never spoke unless he had something important to say.
“Sometimes, we come across people who hate or despise us for a fundamental part of what we are, something we cannot help any more than the colour of our furs or skins,” Kronisk said calmly. “It seems we still have some of those in Bârikha. None of you need to concern yourselves with that anymore. Gilmick, myself, and other Mages will investigate it and see what needs to be done. All that you need to do as children is remember that when people hate others for something they were born with, it usually means those people are weak. I do not mean weak as in their bodies. But in their minds. Never forget that.”
“We won’t,” the cubs said in unison as Kronisk began to stand up.
As Minílwen began to herd the cubs back to their desks and set them some work to keep them occupied, Gilmick followed Kronisk and Corrigwen to the classroom door. There, Corrigwen listened as Kronisk told Gilmick his plans concerning this hidden display of racism in the Halfling village and how that would be handled, as well as the next few days. The investigation, he told Gilmick, would be in the hands of Ruby and Linula until such time as they determined his aid was required. Four days from now, he would cross the Wunderwerck once more and visit Azeroth once again. He did not say it aloud, but Corrigwen understood from the manner in which Kronisk‘s voice shifted as he said this that he considered the trip an important one.
In another three days, he told Gilmick, he would perform at the small market festival that the Ursine village had every two weeks. In spite of all of the wandering back and forth between two worlds, Kronisk always had an uncanny idea of the day and time wherever he was. At least, when he was on worlds that he had repeatedly visited before, and worked out an approximate logistic of time upon. Much to Corrigwen‘s amazement, Kronisk had informed her some weeks ago that every world, even those in exactly the same distance from their sun as Azeroth, had its own peculiar orbit. They also possessed their own speed of revolution, although living, sustainable worlds had to come within stricter parameters in that respect.
When asked when he would next return, Kronisk told Gilmick that come hell or high water (a peculiar expression that nobody on Kali-Yuga other than Kronisk, Minílwen, and their sons used or understood), he would return on the tenth day after his next crossing of the Wunderwerck. Two weeks from this very moment, in other words, Corrigwen noted to herself.
After Gilmick stated that he had best return to the children, Kronisk told him that they would speak more over dinner. Then, with Corrigwen excitedly following beside (and very slightly behind) him, he left the school grounds, taking the longer route that led almost directly toward the Ursine village’s commercial district.
“Ye usually do not return to my world so soon after coming to this one,” said Corrigwen. “Would something be out of order?”
“No, but as this is at least the fifth time you have met what remains of my family, I think it only fair that you introduce me to yours,” Kronisk said.
“Oh my,” Corrigwen said contemplatively before letting out a slight giggle. “Ye understand that my family are very different from yours. Much more eccentric and… grumbly.”
At first, as Kronisk led her toward the tavern that she remembered dining with Kronisk and his family at a number of visits ago, Corrigwen simply listened to him giggle. In Azerothian Dwarvish, he told her that even if her family resembled the Bundy clan, it would still be preferable to his memories of the family he grew up in.
Minutes later, seated in the tavern, with Kronisk‘s data tablet displaying a televisual series to her, Corrigwen could not believe what she was seeing. This teleplay, she soon learned, was a record of trials and tribulations in the lives of the family that Kronisk had called Bundy. Corrigwen watched as the family’s patriarch, a balding, physically declining, but still fairly angular Human, exchanged insults of varying levels of subtlety with his family, his neighbours, and pretty much anyone else he crossed paths with. Subtlety was a relative term, too. In one scene that Kronisk kept separately from the episode he showed Corrigwen, a woman that Corrigwen conceded looked rather slovenly and out of shape, informed the Human protagonist that she wanted to be in the best spot on the beach they were on to work on getting an even tan.
Corrigwen thought of many things that she would have told this woman whose abdomen appeared wider than Kronisk‘s huge shoulders. The Human protagonist went further than all of them, and told this woman that she was asking an awful lot of the sun.
But the interaction between the family members themselves, a family of four and a pet dog, proved the most horrifying in terms of harmful interaction. As Kronisk explained his mother had summarised it many years ago, all this family seemed to ever do in terms of interaction was put shit on one another. Even when they came to one another’s aid as a matter of family honour, which happened with some frequency.
When the episode proper came to an end, Corrigwen took a look at the elaborate timepiece on Kronisk‘s arm. Having been adjusted to Kali-Yuga time, it was showing the time to be slightly past the twelfth hour of the day. A waitress, a Dwarf with bright blonde hair and a confident, powerful expression, solicited their order. When said order was decided upon and complete, the waitress left them for about twenty minutes before bringing them the requested meals. In Kali-Yuga’s dialect of Dwarvish, Kronisk thanked her in a voice laden with faint tinges of the Arterclius accentation, and placed a small but substantial amount of coins in the pocket of the apron the Dwarf wore.
The Dwarf, whom Corrigwen could not believe was a day over thirty years of age, thanked both Kronisk and Corrigwen enthusiastically before returning to the counter and performing other duties. With a small amount of chatter, both before commencing and between bites, Kronisk and Corrigwen began to dine.
Corrigwen wondered to herself about what lay ahead in the coming days.
After joining Kronisk‘s sons and their families for dinner, he and Corrigwen had joined the elder parts thereof in a viewing of a lengthier, more high-spec teleplay. Baladu and Gilmick helped Banathel and Darasel put the children to bed. Corrigwen remained with the sows’ parents, discussing her limited role in the very secretive organisation Kronisk kept, in a way that told them nothing but satisfied their curiosity. After a few minutes of asking the Ursidae seated near her about what they do around the village, Kronisk returned with his sons and their ladyfriends around him.
The elder sows, Banathel‘s and Darasel‘s mothers, rose from their seats and brought plates of snackfood out of the kitchen. These, they set upon the table in the middle of the room. Taking seats again, they waited as Kronisk started the playback device set into the wall, and images began to appear on the screen above it.
Together, the group watched one of Kronisk‘s teleplays, one he found on one of his visits to Terra and found very much to his liking. It was about a group of people, slightly less than a full regiment of soldiers from one of Kali-Yuga’s armies, travelling across space to an unknown world. The first few scenes established that the journey, performed in a large construction of metals, plastics, and likely more besides, was stated by the film to have taken more than two years. If she remembered the approximate calculations that Kronisk had told her correctly, at most this meant that the astronauts in question had only gone a certain distance out of Terra’s solar system.
This knowledge, needless to say, made Corrigwen very thankful that in a meeting with Saurrodien, she had been granted the power to open her own doorway into the Wunderwerck and cross the space between here and Azeroth in a matter of minutes, hours at most.
What made the film interesting to Corrigwen was the settings and what happened upon them. The story began on what was apparently Terra, and followed as two scientists found the last in a chain of clues that told them the position of a place where they could find what they believed to be the engineers of the Humans that, as Kronisk‘s account had it, would have finished bleeding Terra dry by the time the film was set in. One elderly businessman had apparently financed the construction and launch of the space vessel.
Corrigwen, having gotten to know Kronisk very well, and through him a small sliver of what life on Terra must have been like, was unsurprised when the astronauts made the discovery that turned the entire story into a new direction. At one moment, the crew discovered hundreds, maybe thousands, of containers filled with a black, honey-like liquid. As an experiment, one of the characters, explicitly stated at one point to be an android (a concept Kronisk had also patiently explained for Corrigwen), put a microscopic drop of this liquid into the water one of the scientists drank.
Soon after, it became clear what the alien creatures that the crew’s leaders were so keen to meet really thought of Humanity. The scientist who had unknowingly ingested the liquid, a tiny amount of it, began to get sick.
Sick was not the right word for it, Corrigwen told herself shortly before this scientist’s demise. Even Dwarrow and Elves, both on Azeroth and Kali-Yuga, got sick from time to time. Every infectious disease that could afflict Humans could also afflict the other Humanoid races, even if Dwarrow and especially Elves were a lot better at resisting and eliminating these things. But in the days of her life, Corrigwen could not honestly remember meeting any Humanoid on Azeroth who looked as ill as this scientist. It was almost as if every part of the man was melting.
After this man’s pleas to be put out of his misery were heeded, however, the film went into a dramatic change of tone and ideas that Corrigwen found difficult to reconcile with the rest of the film. Although the woman scientist who was the main heroine of the film successfully left the planet, the manner in which she did so drew comment from all of the Ursidae in the room, including the sows, that this part of the film was like the writers’ ten year old child had taken over the keyboard. Kronisk‘s main response to these statements was that he did warn them all this would be the case.
Corrigwen did not mind. Both parts of the teleplay entertained her, if for different reasons, and the opportunity to spend some time simply enjoying a teleplay with Kronisk was always pleasing to her.
As the Ursidae talked further amongst themselves about the teleplay, however, one thing became evident to Corrigwen. They had once lived on Terra. The incredible destruction of Terra that Kronisk had told Corrigwen he had wrought at one point could not have happened too long ago.
“The weekend markets and festival,” Kronisk said to the two eldest boars in the room. “Have the performance sets been finalised as yet?”
“The performing artists have been finalised with one exception,” said the smaller of the two elder boars. Informally, Kronisk referred to this one as Little Daddy Bear. “Linula asked that she be fitted into whatever spot we can get for her. Given how well her recordings sell amongst all realms other than Bârikha, I told her we would be happy to have her headline on one day. But she also asked that she perform with parts of the council band. She was specific about asking for you.”
“I will be there,” Kronisk said flatly as he began to press parts of his tablet screen. Seconds later, a message was on its way to Linula and the rest of the band.
“We have divided the two days in terms of audience,” the larger of the elders informed Kronisk. This larger boar, resembling an older, more grizzled form of Gilmick, was known informally as Big Daddy Bear. “The first day’s music will be performed during the closing hours of the afternoon. About 1500 hours to 1700, with a little time allowed for going over. This is the one for the children and their immediate families. It is also the one that Linula has been approved to perform in.”
“She must have changed set lists since last I spoke with her,” Kronisk remarked dryly.
All three of the male grandparents in the room chuckled together.
Sitting in the rear sections of the audience with Little Daddy Bear, Big Daddy Bear, and their two… well, Corrigwen instinctively used the word wives. Occasionally, it slipped out of these two boars’ mouths, too. But that was just another sign of their Terran heritage. The word had absolutely no meaning at all to the rest of the populace on Kali-Yuga. So Corrigwen found herself adjusting her thought process again. She remembered that when Kronisk introduced her to anyone other than Saurrodien, his sons, or their respective families, he always referred to her as his “beloved”. This word had a great deal more meaning to denizens of Kali-Yuga. In a conversation she had with several Dwarvish women during a relaxing time in a sauna, they told her that none of the peoples of Kali-Yuga, not even the Orcs, used it unless it was in reference to someone they had been involved romantically for a long time, and believed they would continue to do so for a long time.
Sitting with the two pairs of Ursine grandparents, Corrigwen watched the children in the front area of the audience with some interest. During the previous two bands, the latter of which had thanked everybody for coming and departed the stage a few minutes ago, the children had been dancing together in their own funny ways. Children of all kinds, including Ursine, had playfully bobbed and danced about. Although they had split off into groups by age, they had not divided by race.
“The preschoolers have one day every week where they are taught about how to react to the Humanoid children,” Big Daddy Bear told Corrigwen as members of the Mage council band performed sound-checking. Although she had to concentrate to properly hear Big Daddy Bear whilst Kronisk and Linula played games of seeing who could make the most speaker-testing sounds, the subject fascinated her.
“There are only a small amount of children from the Humanoid peoples in the village,” Big Daddy Bear continued. “Each preschool class grows slightly in size from year to year, but this year the Humanoid children of each preschool are only equal to one of the four class groups we have in the same preschool. So we sit them down with a few of the teachers, and we teach them about how physical size differences mean they need to take care about playing in mixed groups. It works very well, we find.”
As Big Daddy Bear finished speaking, Corrigwen noticed that the sound-checking had finished, and the band were strapping on or getting behind their instruments. Many members of the band, however, were standing idle in one place, drinking cups of liquid and quietly speaking to one another. Only Kronisk, the Elf called Dúnêion, a Human by the name of Kríshom, and Sarin Bloodmirth, actually began to play. As they did so, they were quickly joined, in a manner feigning that she was late and in a hurry, by Linula.
The first song that Linula voiced in concert with the band was a very sweet and harmonious one. It was probably well above the understanding of the children in the audience, even the elder ones who were of slightly greater age than Rose and Summer (who were in the dancing area with their brothers, Erik and Frost). The adults in the audience understood it, but found the language in which it was expressed interesting rather than offputting.
In this song, Linula affected a whinier, more childlike voice than she normally used. It had a vaguely nasal sound. Opening with a query as to whether she was “too young for you, babe”, she continued to sing along such lines. When she did repeat herself, as she did a little more frequently than was often liked around Kali-Yuga, she used a very distinct and arresting harmonised sound, singing “it’s naughty to be here”.
Other songs followed, and more members of the band returned to their instruments in order to perform them. As the sky began to turn that shade of purple that indicated the last phase of the transition to night, they performed a strange, oddly-rhythmed song in which Linula sang a number of things about various vehicles the “you” of the audience could have, before singing that she wanted to be their sledgehammer. This was very well-received among the Dwarvish children, who among the group of comparable age to Summer and Rose, were the only children in the audience who knew what the terrifying and powerful implement called the sledgehammer actually was.
And then, after pretending the set had come to a close, the band returned for one encore. Beckoning to a specific point in the audience, Kronisk waited as Rose strode toward the stage, where he used a careful combination of his powers and his own strength to lift Rose onto the stage. As Himalataiel lifted Rose onto a stand behind the keyboards, she whispered to the bear that it was good to see her here once more. As Himalataiel left the stage toward its rear, she was passed by Minílwen, who held a microphone in her hand as she stood beside Linula. At one side of the stage, a group of Dwarvish men, including Kîm Orccryer, took places according to the exact pitches of their voice.
As Sarin pounded out a tribal-sounding beat that sounded vaguely familiar to Corrigwen, and the guitar twiddled out a harmony, Rose began to play a very simple, looping harmony that reminded Corrigwen of birds singing in concert. After a few bars in which Kronisk joined them with the usual frog-like booming sound from his bass, Minílwen and Linula sang together. Again, the song repeated itself a bit more than was normally liked among the people of the Allied Realms, but the elements were strong enough that no notice was taken. Together, Minílwen and Linula sang about denying the passengers who want to get on. And as they sang out the words “wanna get on”, the male Dwarrow in the chorus at one side sang out in a booming unison, “we wanna get on”.
Corrigwen thought she saw tears well up in Kronisk‘s eyes at one point, as Minílwen and Linula sang about a non-commercial native being tattooed in one’s veins.
THIS SHALL CONTINUE
Well, that is the first part of what I am currently titling Kronisk’s Mirror. More parts will follow.
If you managed to read through all of it, feel free to let me know what you might think. Especially if you happen to know who the people in the story are based upon. The next parts (probably two at this stage, but we will have to wait and see) will be posted in the coming hours and days.