Julia and Robert leaned together, safely hidden in the shadow of a towering iron golem. Robert leaned close to Julia, his lips pressed to her ear as he whispered.
"I have learned something terrible, my darling," Robert said. "It's about the War."
"The War?" Julia asked. "Between our two races - the witchcraftsmen and the witchcraftsmen, cursed to be forever divided by the curse of generations-long hatred? The war that makes out love one that dares not speak its name? That War?"
"Yes, Julia," Robert said. "That was an excellent job providing exposition. But there's something more. Something much worse."
"What, Robert?" Julia asked urgently. "What?"
"You know that your people, the witchcraftsmen, are witches who are also craftsmen," Robert said. "And my people, the witchcraftsmen, are craftsmen who make witches."
"Of course," Julia said. "It's the primary division between our two races."
"Then this is the truth," Robert said: "Something I only learned earlier today. The witchcraftsmen make the witchcraftsmen."
"What?" Julia gasped. Robert hushed her, looking nervously out between the legs of the iron golem; Julia quieted. "But that makes no sense! Why would you make us, only to war with us?"
"But that's exactly why!" Robert said. "We make you for crafting experience - and then we kill you for combat experience! This war is no war at all - only a hollow shell concealing a generations-old atrocity!"
"We have to stop this thing, Robert!" Julia said. "We must! We can stop it - with our love!"
But she'd been too loud. A witchcraftsman, walking nearby, had heard!
"No! Stop!" Robert cried out desperately.
Pew! Zzt! +500 XP! Robert's share of the XP sent him up a level!
"Nice, dude!" the other witchcraftsman said. "'Gratz!"
And who wouldn't be happy with that?