Gentle folk of the Nexus,
I invite, nay, I ask, I plead a moment of your time. Whilst you sit secure in your warm and comfortable stronghold, basking in the glow of your forge, take a moment, and consider the plight of those less fortunate than youselves.
Those lacking the support of loving factionmates to welcome them home after a hard day of hunting. Those that hide, alone, afraid, in the dark of a gloomy, desolate warehouse, terrified, hoping against hope that the scratching at the door is simply the wind and not a LONE FACTIONLESS REVENANT WHO JUST WANDERED IN, IN THE MIDDE OF A RAID HAHA WTF. Ahem. Those that stand, alone, against the night, against the twisted monstrosities of the demonkin, and the winged freakishness of the Angelic horde. Those overtaken, overcome, by the excesses of our modern, savage society, those that have fallen by the wayside. Those that stand
I speak, of course, of the Warseers.