Elves for an Elven Future

[ThePharaoh]

Dragonhawks glide through Eversong rising and falling with the tide of the wind. The grass leans to the side in waves as the invisible force rushes over its surface. The air and itself twists, bending like a heat mirage before a cloaked elf appears from another place on the world. He looks around and walks through the trees threading in an out of the foliage. With the leaves blocking the sun, only a little light was sprinkled on the shadows. The cloaked figure walked into the city with his large sleeves by his side hiding his hands. He removed his hood only for a curious Blood Knight. He smiled politely, no one would recognize him. His attention caught by the poster. After reading. He extended his hand as the white cloth slid down his arm exposing fingertips he grabbed the quill provided and dipped it in the vial of ink beside it.

- Jidaeo Novalight

- Cerice Amari Novalight

- Alteryia Novalight

- Vega Tialis Novalight

- Railyn Novalight

- Zariel Amaru Novalight

The list continues, more Novalights but then names of other elves. One after another the single cloaked figure continue's writing more names. Until he is approached. "Hey! You can't do that! This is serious, don't put up fake names!" The approaching elf stated, his arms crossed while his nose flared. The silk fabrick of the cloaked figure's hood writhed as he turned his head. "I am but a messenger. These names are real and they promote this, or those who they represent promotes this. I am but a messenger sent to sign these to show support."

[Delta]

Snagged from a brisk stride, a woman pauses to investigate the finely-inked sketch.
The connoisseur cocks her head as she comes to the lettering printed below.
Half-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose are adjusted, and a pair of dim, emerald eyes peek over them.
Nothing is written, said, or done, and she continues on her way.

[Ural]

Brohn walks by a beautiful poster and stops in his tracks. He turns and looks only for a second before reaching a gauntlet up the the pair of elves. His eyes grow dim for a moment as his mind fades back to the past. After a dozen seconds pass, his eyes flare up once again with runic power. A thin layer of frost escapes his hand to overtake the romantic pair. As the Dwarf moves on the poster molds off the wall and eventually into nothingness.

[Loxmardin]

"... Oh, no..."

Some would call that sort of reaction strange. Throwing his arms up dramatically and slamming his hands against his face, bemoaning the message being spread across Silvermoon and elsewhere, 'Mack' was everything but enthusiastic about the movement. At least, so it seemed.

After taking a few moments to wail and complain publicly in a, to most bystanders, nonsensical manner... the elven man ceased his public display as soon as the small crowd scattered once they grew tired of his antics, arms dropping limply to his sides as he spared himself a moment of silent contemplation.

... When my wife finds out about this...

He gulps.

... glances quickly around the area...

... and rips this one poster down, swiftly removing himself from the area and dedicating himself to the utter destruction of said poster for the rest of the day. If only to delay the inevitable and buy himself time to stock up on adrenaline shots.

[Caravan]

It wasn't the poster but the crowd of people around the poster that caught her attention. People! People she could talk to! The worg pup trotted over to the circle and she skipped behind him.

"Hi! Hello! Good morning, What's going on?"

The nearest elf's gaze swept over her unshod feet, dust-covered dress and the tangle of flowers in her hair with disdain. In a tight, prim voice he responded with an explanation of the petition and a rather long-winded rant on the degredation of morality and breeding.

Her ears drooped and she wrung her hands as he continued to speak. She thought of her brother and his special someone. She thought on how she definitely would not have a child. The worg pup barked once and licked her foot and she grinned. Ruka is my baby, so Ruka is the new face of the Sin'dorei?

When he was done, with quite a few elves nodding their support of his diatribe, she took the pen and wrote, under a gracefully written Elihanara Seregon:

Even the blossom does not think the Summer will last forever.

The man sneered at the words, "What? How dare you! You've neither written a name nor supported the cause! Who do you think you are?"

She smiled brightly as she handed him the pen, ink somehow staining the fingers of her left hand, "Oh! I'm Xanthe! Xanthe Novalight! It is a delight to meet you!"

----

Caravan Fairwinds, the Most Interesting Gnome in the World, patted her tummy thoughtfully as she read the petition in Booty Bay. From where she stood, she could see two elven couples, an elf with a dwarf, an elf with a human, and an elf with a orc. She took a long sip from her beat-up flask and grinned, "Mayhaps it's gon' be huntin' season mighty soon. 'Bout time! Them's everywhere now."

[Etmosril]

The banners throughout Silvermoon seem to have changed overnight.


They now depict a variety of elves; male and female. Some are visibly paired-off, but gender plays no part, nor does physical beauty. And they all look pretty happy to be there.


Citizens of Silvermoon, at home or abroad! Our race has risen like a phoenix from the ashes and you know it. So many of us remain, that it would only seem logical that we not place population numbers over our own happiness. AND YET..

Extremists, who suggest that all and any elves who don't procreate are useless. Elves so fanatical that they would think nothing of accosting you on the street, or committing crimes of hate against those who oppose them. Even disgusting sights such as zealots claiming that the childless and traitors are one and the same.

Is this what our proud, noble race has come to?! Returning to the black-and-white ways of our time without the Sunwell?

Make a stand against such alarmists. Do what you will, and stay true to the spirit and law of the Sin'dorei.

Selama ashal'anore.


All signatures have been left untouched.


Somewhere in Dalaran, a red-headed mage cackles to herself and finishes drinking her tea.

[mimloopen]

Marching through the streets of Silvermoon with a few stern-faced elves by her side, the blonde-haired elf in white and gold-trimmed robes travels with a haughty step and a grumpy expression. Collecting the signatures of the posters on small bits of parchment beforehand, the elves would split up and begin tackling the infestation of defiled posters.

Informing any officials that might happen upon them in the process, and informing them of this violation, the elves and the blonde woman would proceed to tear up the magified posters and apply new copies of the previous posters in their place, rewriting signatures and the little messages that people had left, although the woman was careful to leave out any messages against the idea.

The process would take a few hours and at the end of it all the crew would sit in the Silvermoon inn and laugh to each other over a bottle of wine, while discussing whether they should pay the shanty goblin towns a visit to see if their posters had met a similar fate.

[Judgernaut]

*Tharnul strolls around Silvermoon like a boss. Having some time from his magistrate work he stops to read the poster. He snorts after reading it and walks away with a scuff*

"Sin'dorei mingling with lesser races.. Humpugh!!"

*Tharnul walks away but his signature appears on the post by itself.*
~Its not about what you want, its what you owe to your heritage~
~Magistrate Tharnul Arinae, Chairman of Union of Cognition~

[Sol]

Beside the poster overlooking the Court of the Sun is an expensive piece of parchment bearing a passage of Thalassian text, impeccably neat and written by hand (evidently in some kind of hurry). It is stamped with a sigil of a pair of heraldic serpents coiling around one another - the banner seal of the noble house of Seregon.

There are those among us who claim that the authors of this petition are alarmists. There are those among us who are so wretchedly hedonistic that they believe fickle, temporary happiness has more weight than our survival as a race. There are those among us who believe that 'so many of us remain' and that we have already 'risen again'.

And those among us who subscribe to these beliefs are wrong. The phoenix that is Quel'thalas has not yet spread its wings as widely as it needs to. It has not yet completed its ascension. Many a year it will be before we are truly 'risen again', and the reason for this is the sheer magnitude of our loss.

Our forests were set ablaze and our cities were sacked twenty-three years ago. Many of our brave Farstriders, Spellbreakers and Magisters perished in battle against the vile greenskin, to say nothing of civilian casualties. Of those elves who survived, a full nine in ten surviving were slain when the Scourge came. That is the commonly agreed figure. A significant portion of the survivors hence chose to betray the bloodline and persist in ignorance and denial of our great loss, to prostitute themselves to the treacherous sons and daughters of Arathor and become traitors thus themselves. Still more would succumb to the throes of addiction entirely and become Wretched. Roughly half of those who stayed loyal to our people followed the Prince to the Outland. Among them, the overwhelming majority fell in fighting or to the extremes of that harsh world, or were lost irretrievably to the Fel.

It is a generous estimate that there are only a couple thousand Children of the Blood currently alive, and many more lives will be on the line in the coming reclamation of the so-called Ghostlands, and in whatever other threats we might face. Were we furry and four-legged, I've no doubt a druid from D.E.H.T.A would proclaim us an endangered species.

Our people are still perilously close to dying out, and the only salve fit for mending these wounds is new life to replenish our losses. Our woes have not all come to an end with the reignition of the Sunwell. To suggest that they have - as the mysterious vandal of these posters does - is to delude yourself, and to cover our glorious capital with posters proclaiming as much is to seek to delude the wider populace. To pollute and forsake the bloodlines when their purity and continuity are of such paramount importance is to spit on the sacrifices we have made and on the graves of our dead.

The issue is not in what manner of beast one prefers to lie with, what impure mongrels you seek to produce. The issue is the very survival of our noble race. Should the mysterious, magical vandal wish to continue this debate, I invite you to do so in person.

May the Sun shine eternal over Quel'thalas,

--Ciaphas Seregon
Blood Knight

((Good job, you made my character write an IC ragepost. xD))

[CappnRob]

The previous day, in Ratchet...

A dwarf of about five and a half feet walks through the markets, window shopping the various merchant stands for common goods. He strokes his beard as he overlooks the selections, when a poster catches his eye. He steps over and pulls it off for a closer look.

"... well, isn't this cute?", he says with a sardonic frown as he reads over the propaganda. "Elves with dwarfs? ... do those even exist besides...", he trails off for a moment. "Probably... no. Definitely not."

He snorts and crinkles up the poster, balling it up and tossing it aside.

"Guess this is what happens. Can't wait for the day every able elf in Silvermoon comes after my ass. Ah, screw it. We're happy. That's what matters. Fear ain't gonna get its crummy hands on our lives again..."

With that, he cricked his neck and resumed his window shopping in the Ratchet bazaar.


Today, in Silvermoon...

An aged, tall elf sat in the Court of the Sun, looking at the extravagant fountain in silent meditation. He eyed the posters all around the city streets, both the "originals" and the "vandalized" ones that the blonde woman's posse have yet to tear down. He rose to his feet with a grim frown and stepped over to them, taking a sample of each to read.

"Elves and dwarfs... I hope those two are alright", he sighed as he held the original poster in his hand, reading it over. "Elves and humans... is nothing new to our people. And many times, they're unsuccessful anyway...", he pauses again as the next part catches his eyes. "... orcs... and... elves? Now I'm certain this poster is just exaggerating."

He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes as he once again questioned why he was ever came to this blasted city anymore. He resumed his reading.

"Despite the terribly ignorant stance these posters take... they sadly do make a point. I hate it when strawmen make a point", he says with a scowl. "Our people are on the brink, yet we continue to indulge in whatever decadent desires that strikes our fancy for the time... Hrmph. Though this is hardly a matter of crossracial relationships, and more of a matter of our short attention spans and indulgent culture that just absorbs itself selfishly in whatever entertains it for that week...", he grumbles, somehow managing to frown even harder. He tosses the poster aside as he takes a gander at a surviving copy of the vandalized posters.

"... how typically naive and completely opposite of our strawman xenophobe who blames issues of our culture on other races. Risen like a phoenix? I can only dream of the day that truly happens!", he yells out to noone in particular with a sneer. "We're still in the darkest chapter of our lives since the Scourge! Daresay moreso! At least when we were recovering from the Scourge, we put aside our indulgences and came together to survive... now that we've rebuilt half of a city and the Horde to latch ourselves onto, most of us have just gone back to old habits. This isn't even mentioning all the NEW, disgusting habits we've picked up in the meantime... fel addiction, warlockery, Blood Knights...", he trails off with a grumble, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. He then resumes reading.

"Our race has not been proud nor noble for over a decade. We are still black and white, we just hide it behind a masquerade of joviality and self absorption... that is the TRUE spirit of the Sin'Dorei. Do whatever you want, and think nothing of anyone else! I can admire an attempt to put down the extremism the other poster warrants... but I wish someone who was wiser about our problems did so. Ugh.... I've far outlived my tolerance for this foolishness.", he grumps before crumbling up both posters and tossing them aside.

"I need to take a walk", he sighs aloud, and then does exactly that.

[Etmosril]

The fixed posters in Silvermoon have changed by the next day.

The statements made on it range from absurd - claiming that the Siege of Silvermoon was caused by interracial pairings with humans, "studies" show that elves with interracial relationships are stupider and shorter-lived, and that the Shattered Sun Offensive formed solely to foster sexual relations between Blood Elves and Draenei - to horrifyingly intolerant and offensive towards anyone who even stands within the presence of another race. Even those who favor Blood Elves procreating with their own kind would probably think it's going too far.

Needless to say, the posters do not give a good impression of the cause, or of the (presumable) zealot who wrote it.

All signatures have been left untouched.


A very keen and lucky observer might notice that a single blonde Sin'dorei woman is present in at least two places within the city.

[mimloopen]

( Im sorry but I dont think guards would allow a mage to come up to the posters and blatantly switch them to something else a second time, since they've been warned the first time and its quite more serious then simple graffiti. Unless your mage somehow possesses the power to cast the spell to change them all without being noticed.

Furthermore id prefer you actually wait a days time for RP's sake if you can find something that would make this possible. )

[flammos200]

(You have no idea, mim...)

Post:

Spoiler:

Serynzheri Estate; Silvermoon.

A cool, windy breeze wafts by the training grounds and a silver-haired elf with searing cyan eyes, and odd patterns running on her skin of the same color, holds a thin, long and ever so slightly curved sword in her hand upon which more blue runes blare angrily, behind herself, its tip touching the swaying blades of grass.

In front of the Death Knight, in the air, hangs one of the original posters. "So, why're we using those as target practice?" a voice to the side asks.

The Death Knight moves in a blur, and in an eye-blink the sword sits on her shoulder, the woman's arm letting out a sickening crackle. "It's their fault for pasting the posters on every available surface. They simply shouldn't have decided the wall of the Serynzheri estate was a good place to put posters. Especially while the guards were watching. Defamation of private property is still illegal." the Death Knight answers and raises her head.

A silver-haired elven girl, garbed in green, sitting on the side of the training field shrugs. "Have you read what they say?" she asks, and the poster in front of the Death Knight splits down the middle, the male and female elves depicted on it being torn apart by no less than four cuts.

"Heteronormativity propaganda. Breeders feeding off the disaster of the Siege and the pretext of re-population in order to mate more." there's a distinct edge in the Death Knight's voice. "Anyone using grief to coax people into mating is someone I hope to meet on the chopping block." she growls quietly.

"Do you know why all of the blades of grass on the sparring grounds are exactly the same length? It's a subtle reminder. That all of us are the same, regardless of who or what we are. I never liked it much. Truth stings, huh?"

__________________

Murder Row; Silvermoon.

Meanwhile, a red-headed and short-haired, simply-clothed woman who looked ever so slightly tired walked with a darker-haired and slightly shorter elven girl. The redhead was reading what seemed to be a scientific paper which was in her hands. The title read as "The Effects of Fel on Personality and Se-"

"Lina?" the shorter girl tapped the reading one's shoulder. Hearing her name called, Lina looked up. "Look at that." the brunette said and pointed to one of the magicked posters.

Lina peered at it for a moment, then chuckled and shook her head. "Well, what can I say? If it's in a scientific paper, it's true. It has to be. And we have the evidence right there." she grinned.

"Even people like me know better. Or perhaps it is because I am me, that I know better. A true Child of Blood. We bow to no rules, to no laws, our knee is unbent before any sort of norm. We simply see a wall in front of us and crush it. By the Blood of the Fallen."

__________________

Shattrath City; Scryers' Tier - Target Practice Range.

An angry-looking, scarred Battlemage, clad in the usual gear in which Scryers of that particular profession tossed fiery projectiles and frost-bolts alternatively at a target shielded behind a number of mana shields and wards. Unsurprisingly, the head of the target had one of the original posters nailed to it. Slowly, the paper was whittled away as the spells penetrated the arcane defenses.

"Flareth... What'cha' doing?" a voice chimed from the elf's side. Flareth blinked and peered at the source. A similarly-dressed elven female was peering back. "Target practice, Hal." Flareth answered.

The other shook her head and snapped her fingers. Behind the wards, the poster burst into flame. Flareth sighed. "That's not how you do it. Practicing spell penetration, Haladria..."

Haladria smirked. "I know. I just read one..." she gestured to a nearby bench where a small stack of the papers lay wrapped in red ribbon.

Flareth peered over and shook her head. "That kind of thing is quite dangerous around here. Outland doesn't come under Azeroth's jurisdiction. Whatever norms people follow out there don't apply here. This is a free world. Oh, and if you're wondering where I got them, a friend teleported some to me. In thanks that I once wrapped Jarod in red ribbons and sent him to her. I think she liked the present."

Haladria chuckled and shook her head. "It's the thought that matters."

"Far from Azeroth, in the heart of the Twisting Nether, problems like that don't reach us. We're a conglomerate. All of us, trying our best to survive, and fight the good fight against the Legion. Problems like race or gender belong with the people back on the old world. Here, we try focusing on the crux of the matter: Love. Because it's our last shining light in the darkness of the Universe..."

[mimloopen]

(For the sake of RP treat this post as taking into effect in a couple of hours, as I'll actually be away for most of the day and therefore unable to post it at that time

Also grats to 700 posts flammos)

The posters have been changed again! How frustrating! Waking up from her rather comfortable stay at the inn, the blonde elf's morning was quickly ruined... again. After a little rant on immaturity and audacity to her companions, who seemed to only be half-listening, she rubbed her chin and thought out a new plan.

Some guards and citizens had approached her about the sticking of posters to the property of others; clearly she had been overzealous and was left now with nothing but chagrin as the posters were removed. After a long moment of consideration, however, she fostered up a new plan. The vandalism of the posters, ranging from petty to complete transformation, as well as the mixed signatures on each poster presented an obvious solution to the elf. In hindsight, it's what should have been done along, but then the elf wasn't perhaps the most disciplined of planners.

Garbed in a bright red dress and flanked by a tall elf male and a significantly shorter woman, Ensuena set to work at removing the posters again. However, this time she didn't replace them with her own. No, she smiled at her own craftiness (while her accomplices rolled their eyes a little as what should have happened in the first place was finally being applied) as she wrote down all the signatures on any non-destroyed poster that she could, making sure to exclude any blatantly false names. After that, a total of three posters were set up; one at each of the Silvermoon inns, and one on a building near the entrance to the city. Recieving a fair share of silver coins, the short elf who accompanied the blonde woman cast wards on these posters, to try and defend from not only transmutation, but any attempts to destroy the poster magically or otherwise make it illegible. Not much could be done about the more petty graffiti, or at least the elf was unable to muster any ideas. In the goblin towns, the horde of posters remained, mostly abandoned after being plastered upon every third house, private property or otherwise. The poster where Ciaphis had made his message was left untouched, as the elf thought that this might strengthen the cause if a noble house was seen to support the motion. Wether this would end for better or for worse, time would tell.

The signatures were transferred to each of the three posters. As they worked on warding and reapplying them, the elf shot paranoid glances at any passer-byers, eyes squinting to see a flicker of betrayal in ones hand movement, or the whispered incantation that might unravel the ward even as it was being placed. The ward itself was of moderate strength but the elven mage had no intention of keeping it up for more then a couple of days. After the work was done, a testy and somewhat foul-mouthed blond elf spent her time alone in the inn, coddling a bottle of Dalaran Red and staring with suspicion at any who approached the poster. Many left the poster wordlessly, while some signed it and some shook their head in disappointment or otherwise made a private remark. After an hour or two, she wasn't fussed anymore; a bottle of wine and some music was all she needed for now, mages be damned.

[McKnighter]

A tall, healthy-sized woman sat in her lonely office, small reading glasses drooped down on her nose as she peered over the copy of the posters that have circled throughout Azeroth. Even in Hearthglen, she still gets junk mail. After reading through its content, she merely sighs, tossing it away.

"If they expect me to ruin what's left of my physical appearance, those lustful whores have another thing coming. It's so much easier for a male to support this... However, they don't understand the sacrifice the females have to make in order to successfully form their plan together.

I don't want to sit around, having some leecher sucking on me all day. I have a career(Or what's left of it) to uphold, and I don't have time to afford to devout to such a being.

If they were serious about re-populating, those damned arcansits would figure out how to clone Sin'dorei, or find a new method to produce children. I'm not giving up my life for this."

Only then did the woman frown. She was speaking to herself, yet again. Noria lets out a soft exhale, rubbing her eyes together for a brief moment. After the respite, she returns to her solitary paper work, muttering softly about how she'll find another way she was going to cock-block Mastian from that insufferable elf. Maybe that'll make her feel better.