It Takes All Kinds
The stories of WAR are full of substance and contain rich details that make role-playing easy. The special effort that has gone into the writing of quests and the journal within WAR is just one of many things that make this game truly special and enjoyable, particularly for role-players and anyone who loves to get into their character!
It takes all Kinds
Gran always wagged a stern finger in the air and told me, "Brunhilda, it takes all kinds." Her wisdom has seen me through this world.
It wasn't but yesterday that Goldtooth, with the combed 15 braid-beard down to his belt, sent me down into this mine to sift up gold dust. "Gold dust," he said, "The stuff of life. Get yerself down in me family's mineshaft and gather up me wondrous yellow dust from those Greenskins that's stolen it, and I'll give ya a fair share." And I thought, "A fine deal; chop Greenies, get paid."
I found more than gold dust and Goblins, though, I found miner Dwarfs lying slaughtered or half-eaten, piled in nooks, some lucky few delirious and injured. Worse yet, are the ones tied up to beams, alive yet tortured to near death. Working a knot with my teeth to loosen it, I help another down, rubbing his wrists to restore feeling and mobility. I don't know how long he's been tied to that beam, and there isn't time to find out with so many more in the tunnels below.
"The way behind is clear," I tell him while kneeling to work the bruised and blackened flesh of his ankles. "I've urgent business below with your kin that's suffering as you have. You'll have to make your own way out," I say, looking into his eyes.
With a shallow wheeze he tells me, "Aye girl, I'll crawl me way up if I must." Looking at these ankles, I realize he's right. He'll be lucky to keep his feet. I ask him, "If you see any of yer brothers that have fallen by the wayside, help em to the top will you?" Smiling, with a stalwart strength found only in our kind, he places his hand over his breast and tells me "Won't none be left behind where I pass." I give him a drink of water from my canteen, and see the grimace through his beard as he crawls his way up the tunnel. Already more than 2 dozen I've freed, how many more lie below? I gather up my axe, my courage, and peer down into the darkness of the shaft. Down there, waiting for me, are more Dwarfs holding onto life with all their might, and next to them, the cruelest kind of creature ever known.
It takes all kinds, alright. If Goldtooth hadn't sent me down here for his precious dust, without mention of all those who'd worked for him tied up and being tortured, and I in my own greed hoping to get paid by such a kind as he, these Dwarfs would have known the fading of their last glimmer of hope.
When I get back to the surface, 15 Braid-beard and I are going to have a good long talk, Dwarf fashion.
◄ Beta Journals