It's hopeless.

I give up any hope or dream I had of us being the power we once were. I
made a plea for help, threatened your entire existence, and you all
ignored me. A handful of misfits and nobodies answered me.

I will let the Consanguine Race die in it's own stagnancy, and let it
mix with the new undead population. Perhaps they'll find unity in it, or
something. Just maybe, but I can only hope.

In shame,
Draiman

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Niuran, in the year 164 MA.