[IC] A message to Pandaria

OOC:

People of Pandaria,

I bring you news and stories of our lands, to share with you the wonders of the civilizations of the Alliance and horrors and savagery of the races of the Horde. Read a while, and judge for yourself.

Capital of the Horde is the warren known as Orgrimmar, a piling together of rotting wooden beans and frayed hides, of crude metal hammered into gruesome spikes. The buildings cuddle together to the sides of the gorges Orgrimmar occupies, and at night the very sky above is red with the fires of open forges that churn out engines of war and twisted Orcish blades. Yes indeed, Orgrimmar is not a dwelling of citizens or farmers – it is a warcamp. Indeed, all who are deemed weak and unable to fight are expelled from it. The warren called Orgrimmar lacks grace and beauty, for art and harmony are alien to its Orcish inhabitants who value brute strength and celebrate bloodlust as their highest virtue. Orcish priests called Shamen roll around in the dust of their desert and pretend to listen to the Wind, the Earth, the Sky and the Flames. These shamen worship nothing but dirt and dust left in the wake of the Orcish army! Can people who claim closeness to the Spirits of Nature be as savage as them, exalt twisted metal and worship savagery and war? Whatever these shamen hear from the Spirits, if anything at all, is wasted on the people they claim to lead! Behold there, the ruler of the Horde - Garrosh Hellscream. This monstrous creature is titled Warchief – for that is what he is, a ruler who rose through brute strength and is expected to plunder and conquer. He is a warleader, not an administrator or jurist. His reign will be short and bloody, and bequeath his people no great feats of architecture or the arts, no legal codes or years of prosperity – his legacy will be burning cities and weeping widows and rivers that turn red with blood!

Lo! There stands the human city of Stormwind, capital of the Grand Alliance. It is built at the foot of the mountains, and although the construction blocked the creeks and the streams that flow to the sea, the humans of Stormwind saw wisdom in balance and laid out a network of canals that brings the mountain water to the Great Sea, and that water flows unimpeded as if the city was not even there. Streets of Stormwind are spacious and built with thought and design, gentle breeze blows from the western sea and cooling air rises from the calm canals. Couples hold hands on the arched bridges, merchants drive their wagons across the even cobblestones and people of Stormwind work and toil, and sacrifice willingly and eagerly to build the great Temple of the Holy Light, with its foundations firmly in the ground where our ancestors are buried and the spires scraping the heavens where the souls of the righteous have gone. From this temple, our priests spread the word of Good and Moral life and preach order and harmony that keeps our society functioning. They provide charity and healing. This Stormwind, our beloved Stormwind of lofty spires and white stone, is the city of scholars and merchants and craftsmen. Where the Oricsh Warren has Warchief’s fort at its heart, the Heart of Stormwind is the Temple of Light – Royal Keep where King Varian Wrynn rules the Alliance stands modestly at the edge of the city. King Varian hails from the ancient Wrynn Dynasty which founded the Kingdom and ruled it with justice and wisdom for countless centuries. The Wrynn Kings gave us Law and sound Administration, protected the roads for travelers and merchants and held the frontiers against the invaders, they sponsored the arts and the sciences and even built a whole district of the city devoted solely to Learning.

In the very North of the Eastern Continent there is a land called Lordaeron which death had conquered. Nothing grew there that is not twisted and corrupt. Nothing lived there, unless it was dying. The Walking Dead roamed the land. Horde controlled the western part of the land, known as Tirisfal Glades, for almost a decade. In that decade they did nothing to liberate the land from the clutches of death. Indeed, it has grown worse, as people who live there – people of the horde – revel in the Land’s putrescence and use it to brew devilish concoctions the smell of which turns armies into corpses and makes skin and flesh melt away from the bones. Indeed, the very south of Lordaeron was free of death and yet Horde came there with their brews of death and engines of war, and laid waste to that southern haven called Hillsbrad and now it is more foul and corrupted with death and decay than rest of Lordaeron! But behold the forces of our Holy Light, the Argent Crusade. They took the eastern half of Lordaeron, and in but a few months the Death receded and green grass sprung forth where there was only fungal creep! Wild creatures play and multiply where only recently the shambling, rotting carcasses had wandered!

The Horde is nothing but thieves who take because they can, not because they need. The Western Continent had great sways of ancient forest called Ashenvale, home to the Night Elven people who are part of our Grand Alliance. When the Horde came, they bit into the woods like a rabid hound bites into a bone. And they tore the land, laid waste to the woods and cut down trees that stood for millennia for common lumber! There was no bounds to their ravenous appetite, they raped the land and delighted in its agony, for every tree they used - they cut five more just to watch them rot in the mud. They heard the anguish of the land, and they laughed at it in mad delight!

What is it to steal the tree, compared to assault on the Divine it self. Blood Elves, people of the Horde, captured one of the spirits of the Holy Light known as ‘Naru’ and they bound it in chains of darkest magic and imprisoned it in the bowels of their rotting sorcerous city of Silvermoon. Silvermoon is like an overripe apple, all red and golden and delicious on the outside…but a tiniest squeeze will make the skin explode in a barrage of rot, foulness and worms….for the heart of Silvermoon is made of debauched delight in darkest magic, of coddling demons in one’s lap, of sleeping under sheets woven by the hands of slaves! And so the Blood Elves took the Naru, and drunk its Holiness and twisted the Holy Light to their wicked needs and stole the power of Divine all good men work hard to deserve.

This is all I will share for now, people of Pandaria, for I do not want to wear you out with so many tales at once. But I promise to take my up my pen again.

Glory under the Light!

-Brother Girolamo,
Lector-aspirant of the Tyrrean Order

((Wonderful war propaganda with a very good reason to exist. I love the idea of trying to spread an only slightly biased message to the Pandaria neutrals - it's something my orc has already attempted, to various degrees of success.

Melnerag wrote:The buildings cuddle together to the sides of the gorges Orgrimmar occupies,

Horde can't be too bad! We have cuddles! ))

(( I like how it slanders the horde without taking into account how pandas might feel of certain things. It slanders shamans; pandas have shamans. I bet pandas like shamans. While in contrast, they have NO idea what "The Holy Light" is ))

Miss Sunburn gets a hold of one of the lengthy papers. When she reaches the end, her eyebrows have risen to stand up, it's long tips twitching with worry. "The Tyrrean Order?" She mumbles, "Truth and lies. Why can't these humans just preach without having to smear their own words with lies." Sunburn sighs and neatly folds the paper. The Lady-Troll sitting next to her sais. "Wha' ya sayin'? Ya wus speakin' in ya fal-lal-lal tung' again."

Sunburn offers the troll a weary smile, and replies in perfect orcish. "Nothing, dear. Old habits." The troll nods, not completely satisfied, but goes back to chewing on a leathery patch of dried meat. Scuzy picks up her knitting. I will send word to Shattrath. This slander may not to unapposed...

((Shamans are not slandered, ORC shamans are slandered. Since if they are real shamans...how come they allow all the warmongering? ANd ofc chapter hates shamans, so it does shine through... ))

[i]On Aishling her expedition to find a great spot for training she stumbles across the message. Her common is close to perfect and starts to read. She giggles softly as she reads the note. She laughs as she reads it.

"You know what Brother Girolamo... I'm taking you up on this challenge."

She gestures for the knight that accompanied her.
"Let us head back to the Tavern of the Mists, I have a... reply to send out."