From Sunwing, To Silvermoon

Lord Magyk Sunwing looked down from the ruby-coloured windows of Lor'themar Theron's office, high in the palace of the Sin'dorei. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he sighed as his eyes once again rested on the gathering crowd in the Court below. Theron was seated behind the large desk, scrawling what he planned to say to the mob gathering outside. Rommath was scouring the bookcases lining the walls for anything of interest to him, whilst Brightwing was tearing a piece of parchment into small pieces, rolling them into balls and flicking them across the room, aiming for a large ornamental vase in the corner, so far missing only two.

Magyk turned his back to the window and regarded the leadership of Silvermoon, one inept Magister, a young but nevertheless excellent Farstrider, and a Regent who would rather be hunting in the forests of Eversong. He strode around the desk and read Theron's words over his shoulder, sighing again.
“Should I take care of it, my lord? You need only say the word and I will step outside and quell the hearts of your subjects...” Magyk's voice was smooth, laced with magic. Theron stopped writing and threw his quill down, reading his own words out loud in a whisper, before screwing the parchment into a sphere and casually tossing it aside, landing it perfectly in the vase, unnoticed by anyone but Halduron, who's eyebrow raised as he smirked.
“If you think you can, Sunwing, I thank you.” Theron bowed his head to Magyk, who spun on his heel, and in a flurry of scarlet silk, transported himself to the balcony overlooking the Court of the Sun. Angry shouts reached his ears, and he held up his hand for silence, which thankfully, was granted bar a few Blood Knights near the back of the crowd.

Magyk coughed quietly before speaking, his voice low and calm. “You are citizens of Quel'thalas. Its noble soil runs through your veins. It's long history is your own history. But this kingdom does not exist to support you or to feed you. It is not a fruit to be picked off the ground or a tree whose shade will protect you unconditionally. This land of ours demands your sweat, it demands your labour, and it demands your sacrifice. We are entering an epoch, full of opportunities, but full of peril too. Silvermoon needs you to fight with every breath and work with every heartbeat. It will make demands of you, and you will obey them because you are citizens of the Horde. You will never defy it's wishes and you will never question it's intent. You will give every ounce of strength and you will offer your very lives if it asks for them. And even then, you will never cease to be, because as long as the Sunwell lives, then so will you live too!” Many of the elves gathered below began to applaud, much to their own surprise as anyone else. It had become somewhat common knowledge that when the Lord Sunwing opened his mouth to deliver a speech, the general populace would inevitably find themselves supporting his ideals. But for some unknown reason, the Thalassian public would be content, and do nothing to interrupt or depose Magyk.

Magyk spun around again, appearing with little more than a whisper in Theron's study again, where the trio of luminaries now stood at the windows, watching the crowd disperse below. Brightwing turned and clapped, as opposed to Rommath, who merely folded his arms and scowled at his nemesis, whilst Theron silently thanked Magyk by nodding wearily before returning to his seat behind the desk.

Nice. Why is there a mob outside, may I ask ?

The elven population, as well as many other races, are still very uneasy about what happened to Orgrimmar and Stormwind, and as such want to know what their leaders are doing about it. And Magyk knows that even his speechcraft can't keep the people content for long, he, along with Theron, Brightwing and Rommath, are taking steps to ensure the safety of their people.