A Torn Roll of Parchment, Found Outside a Sewer Grate

[The fragment seems to have been splattered in an unknown but foul substance, which partially obscures the text, already written in a barely legible cramped, rambling scrawl. The "ink" it is penned in has a strange, thick, almost flaky texture. Combined with the splattered substance, the scent is enough to make you gag.]

-and we gather in the places they dare not look, for they have great fear of where the Ancient Darkness may dwell. Our Lady weeps bitter, blooded tears, for it is they that are truly corrupt, shielding their eyes when confronted by the core, primal Truths that boil beneath the surface of their misguided, contrived attempts at "civility".

By denying their base nature, [illegible]

-striving toward their notions of perfection, purity, and civil society they stray ever further from Her Truth; where there is power in embracing what they have been conditioned in their ignorance to revile [sentence lost under muck]

They fear the dark, the unknown, the loss of their safe and comfortable existence in their pretty lives. Cowards, who [illegible]

-and snap like a twig when confronted with Her Truth and Her Mercy. Even just breaking those mortals of False Lives pleases our Prince, as this strips away part of their Corruption, and allows an existence nearer to the ideal, instinct dependant life forms we are, under the layers of filth that is Social Constructions and Etiquette.

[Paragraph lost under muck]

And to those refused, rejected, reviled by the False Ones, we welcome you in our ranks in your commitment to Her Truth. You see beyond the desperate layers of "Properness" that form the patchy and fragile states of their "Civilization" [illegible]

-our Lady seeks to habour us, as she loves us - especially for our so called Imperfections!

The higher your commitment to Her Truth; casting aside every broadly Socially Acceptable attribute imprinted on us from birth, the greater chance you have of earning her favor.

There are few who [covered in muck] such a feat requires the sacrifice of physical and mental faculties that contribute to our ability to be "civil".

[illegible] said and done, Prince Namira; our Lady of Decay, simply empowers us to live in the truest, most primal manner as the lowly mortals we are, and seeks to draw us close under her robe where scores of undead creatures breathe noisome vapours and unseen, clammy things skitter and swarm, sniffing out flesh and blood.