Conquest of the Horde

*Well-robed elven men and women float around Silvermoon holding a pile full of pamphlets, handing them over to any who seem interested and smiling politely the whole while. These men and women have the letters 'EEF' magically imprinted on the back of their dominant hand, in a dark red text. The pamphlets they give out are titled 'Elves for an Elven Future' and span a few pages.

The same picture of the elven man holding a woman as seen on the EEF posters is plastered on the final page of the pamphlet.*

ELVES FOR AN ELVEN FUTURE

"While it is common knowledge that our race is a noble and elegant one- one only needs to look at the wonders of Silvermoon to acknowledge this- we are also a hardy race. In a relatively short time period following wars against orcs and the bastard prince Arthas, our race was whittled down like wheat before a scythe. Most estimations of our population point towards the low thousands, with even the most optimistic opinion struggling to envision ten thousand.

So it is we few thousand that represent a long-lived and powerful race, and with war declared on the Horde, one would be a fool to assume the number won't continue declining. We made the rebuilding of Silvermoon a top priority, and it is as grand as ever; why, then, is the rebuilding of our race something so casually ignored?

The objective of this pamphlet is not to be hateful and blind to the reasons of the elves who've decided to forsake their duty; such are accusations that befit only the most zealous of elves, who hold no pride in their race and are lost in their mixed-race lust. What this pamphlet hopes to achieve is recognition that the plight of our race, while not immediate, is very real. It would be real even if every male elf in Azeroth was paired off with a female mate. As it is though, there are elves who have, for reasons that they perhaps can explain better then I, decided to pair off with races that are not only below their noble stature, but incompatible for creating pure elven children.

To those that raise their swords of ignorance high and twist and warp the concept of freedom to be your shield, those that parrot the argument stating we should do what makes us happy, as individuals... There are far more ways to find happiness then in a relationship with a gnome, forever forced to spend time together only in shanty goblin towns and looked on as a traitor from both the perspectives of the Alliance and Horde military leaders. The question of procreating is not one of happiness, but of necessity. If actions are not taken to raise the birth rate of our race and, to a lesser extent, reignite the old flair of patriotism and pride that seems to have dulled over the years (not without reason), then we will be just another race lost in the pages of history soon enough. And so to those who argue for their own happiness, I ask you, does this fleeting happiness, in a relationship that is full of risks and may not even last, in a relationship where you will almost certainly out-live your partner and be left with nothing afterwards, come before the good of your noble race? If the answer is yes, then the only word I can offer you is 'selfish'.

To those that have somehow satisfied themselves with a lesser race, I implore you not to besmear our pure blood, for there is little of it left. In this time of war and uncertainty, one could argue that it would be cruel to raise a child in such a grim world. This might be true, but the alternative is extinction.

If you have any questions, our pamphlet-bearer will be more then happy to answer. Direct complaints and queries to them, rather then resorting to petty vandalism that is not befitting of our race."

- Sunshine


(Do some of these pamphlets somehow find their way out of silvermoon and to other towns? That's up to the player base! If you want to write including a pamphlet bearers response to a question, they are likely to use the information and quotes provided in the pamphlet as much as possible.)

A pamphlet seems to have made its way to Hearthglen, then cast aside. A certain white long coated council member picks it up and reads it on her way out of the city.

She is cynical and sardonic in her reading.

She is wary of the future these papers hint at.

(02-28-2012, 08:46 PM)mimloopen Wrote: [ -> ]ELVES FOR AN ELVEN FUTURE

"While it is common knowledge that our race is a noble and elegant one- one only needs to look at the wonders of Silvermoon to acknowledge this- we are also a hardy race. In a relatively short time period following wars against orcs and the bastard prince Arthas, our race was whittled down like wheat before a scythe. Most estimations of our population point towards the low thousands, with even the most optimistic opinion struggling to envision ten thousand.

"Oh, they finally speak of numbers. Guess they learned. I wonder who counted. 'Wheat before a scythe'. Cute poetry."

Quote:So it is we few thousand that represent a long-lived and powerful race, and with war declared on the Horde, one would be a fool to assume the number won't continue declining. We made the rebuilding of Silvermoon a top priority, and it is as grand as ever; why, then, is the rebuilding of our race something so casually ignored?

"...Ask the magisters that. You'd think if this was so important, there'd be a law of some kind."

Quote:The objective of this pamphlet is not to be hateful and blind to the reasons of the elves who've decided to forsake their duty; such are accusations that befit only the most zealous of elves, who hold no pride in their race and are lost in their mixed-race lust.

"Not anymore, anyway. Didn't work before, did it?"

Quote:What this pamphlet hopes to achieve is recognition that the plight of our race, while not immediate, is very real.

"Sure seemed immediate before..."

Quote:It would be real even if every male elf in Azeroth was paired off with a female mate. As it is though, there are elves who have, for reasons that they perhaps can explain better then I, decided to pair off with races that are not only below their noble stature, but incompatible for creating pure elven children.

"...Sorry humans are a better lay? Ugh, speaking like Singe."

Quote:To those that raise their swords of ignorance high and twist and warp the concept of freedom to be your shield, those that parrot the argument stating we should do what makes us happy, as individuals... There are far more ways to find happiness then in a relationship with a gnome, forever forced to spend time together only in shanty goblin towns and looked on as a traitor from both the perspectives of the Alliance and Horde military leaders.

"Mmh, and is nobility the shield you twist? Purity the sword you warp? Traitor--mmh. Depends. Shanty Goblin towns? Dalaran and Hearthglen both have fine lodging. Always building a home out in the wilds, too. Wonder where Hrod and Jami live..."

Quote:The question of procreating is not one of happiness, but of necessity. If actions are not taken to raise the birth rate of our race and, to a lesser extent, reignite the old flair of patriotism and pride that seems to have dulled over the years (not without reason),

"Pride and patriotism are such ephemeral, relative things. It is never enough in the 'other', is it?"

Quote:then we will be just another race lost in the pages of history soon enough. And so to those who argue for their own happiness, I ask you, does this fleeting happiness, in a relationship that is full of risks and may not even last, in a relationship where you will almost certainly out-live your partner and be left with nothing afterwards, come before the good of your noble race? If the answer is yes, then the only word I can offer you is 'selfish'.

"These people think every elf not with an elf is a love-drunk fool. Zariel and I knew the risks, we knew about lifespans. We knew the potential for ending, and when it came, it was peaceful and understanding. Morons."

Quote:To those that have somehow satisfied themselves with a lesser race, I implore you not to besmear our pure blood, for there is little of it left. In this time of war and uncertainty, one could argue that it would be cruel to raise a child in such a grim world. This might be true, but the alternative is extinction.

"Then provide the condoms, hm? Purity. They forget they are impure kaldorei."

Quote:If you have any questions, our pamphlet-bearer will be more then happy to answer. Direct complaints and queries to them, rather then resorting to petty vandalism that is not befitting of our race."

- Sunshine

"...Sunshine. Fake name. Hiding. Why hiding? There is more to this, there will be more. Violence is on the horizon."

As the white long coated woman strides out of Hearthglen the pamphlet erupts in golden flame.

If they look at Zariel, Tress, or Aenyris the wrong way...

Leron Silverfang continued his walk through Silvermoon on his way to find a mage to take him back to Quel'danas. He was already in a foul mood from all of the posters that had plagued his vision. He was clearly not a happy man, yet one of these wonderous pamphlets graced his hands. He looked it over. Pokerface engage.

The more he looked into the pamphlet the more enraged it seemed to make the hulk of an elf. He snorted, ripping up the pamphlet, "Simply idiotic and barbaric!" he said, not caring if the elves handing out the pamphlets were mere inches from him, "Yes, saying that those who go outside our own race may be acceptable, but chastising those of us who have the decency to stay within our own race? So what if they are the same gender?!" he threw the bits of the pamphlet back to the elf that had handed it to him, "What of you? Where is your pride? Your patriotism? How can our kind prosper if we are not happy? Did we prosper when our race was slaughtered by Arthas? No! But what about when our Sunwell was restored? With that we got our hope! Hope that our race will be restored along with it! Do you even know the statistics of those few that stray away from our kind? I highly doubt you do!"

Leron snorted, dusting his hand off on his shirt "Forcing your views down on others does not help promote the pride of our people! No! It simply makes our kind resent others within our race. Resentment leads to downfall! Forcing these ideals on our people is not wise! Tell whoever keeps organizing these damned..... Things! That they best reconsider forcing such things down on others! And before you accuse me of being such a traitor, you should know that I fathered a son who is going to help repopulate! And i don't give a damn if you call me a traitor for marrying a man of our own race, because fel damnit, I love him and that is what my father told me to do! Marry out of love! You hate mongers have much to learn!" Leron waved his hand dramatically above his head before taking a quick, and somehow disrespectful bow and making his departure.

"And good day to you too, hate mongers!"

As Leron walked off he let out a sigh, disregarding any sort of retort the poor elves may have had. He grinned slightly, feeling relieved "Now to get home to Salor and be a traitor if that's what it's called now. Hm... if love is enough to brand me a traitor, then so be it. Throw me out of my home. I don't care. As long as I have my dearest... Hrmph. They better not so much as think about touching him..."

In a cramped dark room, lit by a single candle and rented from the Booty Bay inn, Ensuena sat slumped on a crude wooden chair facing a pile of papers, twirling a quill through her fingers as she stared at a piece of parchment partially written over. With a somewhat frustrated expression the elf mouthed words to herself and made to lower the quill to the parchment, before jerking her hand back again with a barely audible grunt, as if trying to find the last elusive piece of a puzzle. Our race was whittled down like... like... bah. Her head shifted instinctively to the side, but she stopped herself. He would have the perfect answer, of course, but Ensuena refused to give him the satisfaction of besting her until absolutely necessary.

Like a knife through butter... No, overdone... She ran a hand idly through her hair, to make sure it was still in the same, perfect form as when she last checked four minutes ago. Poetic writing was never her thing, fel, writing at all was something she usually left to her parents or 'friends'. After another minute of staring blankly at the parchment, as if willing for it to write itself, Ensuena sighed and adopted a resigned expression as she wheeled around to face the elf behind her. Clad in simple robes and shoes, nothing more, the elfs face was impassive as he looked upon Ensuena. He reeked of fel, that great lure that to Ensuena was more pleasant then the nicest perfume. It was quite hard, then, to try and keep up her resigned, you-are-my-last-resort expression when buffeted by such an aroma.

The elf stared at her for a second or two before speaking in a deep, smooth voice, "Wheat before a scythe." Despite his complete pokerface and lack of body language hints, Ensuena was certain that the man was privately gloating, and she let out a small 'hmph' before turning back to her parchment and filling it in. With that dastardly line complete, the rest of the words seemed to flow more easily.

It wasn't long until Ensuena had reached the final line of the pamphlet, working steadily and taking breaks often to drink from a glass of water- because someone didn't think wine was the best thing to drink during such a task!- or idly play with her hair, admiring the way the candle flickered and distorted shadows around the room. All this time she acted and pretended as if she was alone in that dark room. So she jumped a little in surprise as, when about to sign her name at the bottom of the pamphlet, a voice behind her rang, "Use a false name." Ensuena's brow furrowed, and she looked at the parchment. A false name? She shrugged to herself, pretending she had some say in it, and after a moment of thinking she scrawled down, "Sunshine". Dropping the quill and letting out a relieved sigh, she slumped further into her chair and announced, "Done! Now I'll just get the mage to multiply them and they'll be set for the next day." She proceeded to slide from her chair and, holding the freshly written document, escape from the cramped room without sparing her accomplice a passing glance.