This day finds me tired and at wits end. My eyes fail me. My limbs wear
heavy. Those around me have felt the the reverberation from the constant
war that has become my life. I have harmed many and have been harmed the
same. I feel much resentment for the path I have traveled, my blood lust
clouds my judgment and thusly it must be seen away. For those who don't
understand, I seek peace, let me live my life.
Any who seek my help will find their cries fall on deaf ears, my hands
are now those of a Concoctionist.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Variach, in the year 211 MA.