At first, when I started playing in 40d, I didn't understand the hatred.
"They seem nice enough. A little ditzy... but not worthy of genocide..."
But then, I embarked with sparse trees. I needed beds. I needed barrels.
The elves came. They had 5, yes FIVE wood logs for sale. I was livid. I bought the logs, made much needed beds with them, and then started cutting trees.
Then the elf diplomat came. I don't know where that pompous, self-righteous poofter learned diplomacy, but it sure wasn't from any school of ettiquette I have ever heard of; muttering obscenities under his breath, judgemental aspersions on my character, endless character assasinations.... after their stupid caravan tools sold me 5 logs1?
It was like being fed prunes with a tall glass of prunejuice, and a plate of metamucil wafers, and then given 5 sheets of toilet paper. (Individually torn.)
I killed them. I killed them mercilessly. They pleaded for peace from me, and I bluntly told them the war was their fault, then killed the merchant caravan outside, forced the diplomat to crawl through the gore on the way out, and promply killed them some more.
I will not forget!