Tattered Pages

Hiding....huddled in the darkness
Tattered pages and ancient words my only escape.
Passages to construct armour for the beleivers,
They speak of old things:
Righteousness, Revenge, Punishment and the comforts of faith

Yet i find not comfort here
Wallowing in filth and decay, a self imposed exile.
Unable to reconcile with the laws of a people, and the demands of the
Gods.

The Spectre is real as are my sins;
I am to be punished
My chest heaves and i am taken by fear
Sinew and tendon twitch and constrict
And my faith abandons me....

I knew of Righteousness,
Of the wars claimed in its name, and the men that threw their lives away
to gain it's title
Belief in these tattered pages soothed the sinister doubt in my mind.

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Sarapin, in the year 440 AF.