Gentle folk of the Nexus,
Whilst you sit secure in your warm and comfortable stronghold, basking in the glow of your forge, I invite you to take a moment out to consider those less fortunate than yourselves; those who have no welcoming factionmates awaiting after a hard day out hunting; those who have to hide out alone in desolate warehouses, hoping that that scratching at the door isn't a revenant looking for an easy kill; those who have been overtaken by the excesses of our modern society and have fallen by the wayside.
I am talking, of course, about the Warseers.
How can you watch in silence whilst as we speak, poor bedraggled Warseers are huddling together for warmth, too paralysed by fear to set down a stronghold and murmuring deliriously "The Duck are coming...the Duck are coming..."? How can you stand idly by as after being on the receiving end of just a few raids a faction is forced into such a desperate plight?
A short time ago the Warseers were a normal, respectable faction like yours and mine, a touch fussier than most, but they still managed the odd raid and lived peacefully in relative obscurity. Their downward spiral is a horrific tale which must serve as a warning to us all:
It was a raid like any other, a simple eviction of a smaller evil faction from their beloved home of Northcamp. With the invaders killed and their stronghold square once more a part of their territory, the immediate mission was over and the Warseers returned to the peace and safety of their stronghold. Remarkably, the smaller faction fought back and demanded they be allowed the one square they had set their eyes on. The two fought for a while, seemingly evenly, but beneath the surface the Warseers had taken a terrible mental toll. One day, ravaged by insecurities the likes of which we will hopefully never know, the Warseers took to the streets, renouncing the safeties of home. Too scarred to consider setting down a stronghold for more than ten minutes, they sometimes still return to their old haunts and, on dying, persist in paranoid accusations of vulturing.
So please, help the Warseers. Hand them a towel or a spare change of clothes if you see them out on the streets. Spare them a hand when they come begging at your door in the wake of a failed raid, pleading for any assistance you can muster just so they can have the satisfaction of their raid succeeding, in a manner of speaking. Responsible factions like the GMT Breakfast Club have already acted, but many more who remain indifferent must join the cause if the Warseers are ever to be truly reintegrated into society.