War Crimes

Only on Sunday night, I was contemplating what life would be like for a sensitive Orc.

Born into a much maligned race, he would face nothing but prejudice and, in all likelihood, an early death at the hands of a Man of Gondor. All attempts to better himself (get a decent education, a paper round and a degree in the fine arts) would be for nought.

 

So it was with pleasure, and timely amusement, that I found myself playing Small World, last night - and the opportunity to choose the "Peaceloving Trolls" as my active race.

A chance to demonstrate my belief that we can all break from the Chains of Expectation and put on our Hoodies of Freewill.

 

(I was going to say "we are what we eat" but, in this instance, a troll could be a dwarf, a hobbit, or a small pony dependent on who stumbles into his pot first).

 

I was proud to take up the Troll cause and demonstrate that there was more to this ancient race than simply banging people over the head with a club.

Unfortunately, Grima was having none of it. He harried my cultured civilisation, across the mountain passes, destroying their Stone Lairs and driving them into the valleys.

Where was the humanity? (actually, he was using Hoards of Kobolds, so I should say "where was the koboldness?")

 

There is no space for liberalism when you are seeking lebensraum.

Of course, the Berserk Skeletons who arose from the ashes of the declining Troll empire, wasted no time in cutting a swathe through the pesky kobolds; their leader is now awaiting trial, in a small cell, in the Hague (along with his second in command, as they have to go everywhere in twos).

 

There's a lesson in there somewhere.

Oh, yeah, Small World is a great game and a metaphor for life.

Or, maybe, just a great game.

 

[I forgot to take a picture of the carnage. Now I have nothing to show to the UN monitors when they arrive next week. Still, I picked up the Troll image from ubuntuforums.org - it may not be strictly relevant but I found it amusing]