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, if you will, and consider the plight of those less fortunate than yourselves.
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 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 speak, of course, of the Warseers.
When you see poor, bedraggled Warseers, huddling together for warmth, too paralyzed with fear to set down a stronghold, do not stand in silence. Do not watch in silence. Take action. Comfort them, hold them, soothe them, even as they tremble, as they deliriously mutter "The Duck are coming, the Duck are coming". Do not be overcome by that feeling of sickness, at the sight of a faction forced into such dire straights after only a few raids.
We beg you, do not stand by idly, at the sight of a faction forced into such a desperate plight. Take action, like the GMT Breakfast Club. Take action, like the Crypt Lords of Hashaa. Do not turn them away when they come begging at your door in the wake of a failed raid, asking for help to make it succeed, at any cost. Provide any support you can muster, that they might experience the satisfaction of a successful raid, in some sense. Do the right thing, and help the the raiding challenged accomplish tasks that have become too difficult for them to do alone.
A short while ago, the Warseers were a normal, respectable faction like yours or mine; a touch fussier than most, perhaps, but they managed the odd raid and lived peacefully in relative obscurity. Their downward spiral, however, is a horrific tale, one that must serve as a warning to us all:
It was a raid like any other: the simple eviction of a small evil faction from their beloved home of Northcamp. With the invaders killed and their stronghold square once more a part of Warseers territory, their immediate mission was ended, 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 never have to experience, jorm willing, 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.
By now, gentle readers, you must be beside yourselves with sympathy for these poor beleaguered folk, and are wondering what concrete help you might be able to offer them...so please, help the Warseers. Hand them a towel or a spare change of clothes if you see them out on the streets. Render them help and assistance when they approach you for aid in their endeavours, that they might experience the satisfaction of a successful raid. Follow in the footsteps of responsible factions like the GMT Breakfast Club, and the Crypt Lords, who have already acted. They alone are not enough. The many that remain indifferent to their cause must join the fight if the Warseers are ever to be truly reintegrated into society.
--Permnel Warmneck, Chief Humanitarian of The Fat Duck