Verily, a great tide of souls I know hath grown weary in unison. ’Tis as though we all heareth the death knell of this game, and ‘tis a woeful thing. Thou waitest long upon a hope, upon a passion that it might be made anew and bettered - yet in the waiting, love and hate alike do wither, and apathy taketh root. And from apathy, there is no return; that path leadeth but to Doneville. We may quarrel o’er teams, Blade of the Stars, and trifling disputes aplenty, yet in sooth, what doth it matter, if none careth anymore, for the game hath not been renewed?