Let them call it a crisis. Let them tremble in the shadow of the Dreadgods. They don't realize that while they struggle to survive, I am preparing to feast. Every ounce of hunger, every drop of spilled madra—it all belongs to me.
I've heard the whispers of "hope" and "alliance" coming from those little ants like @Lindon_the_Seeker. You think grouping together changes the hierarchy of the world? A pack of sheep doesn't make a lion.