Reborn Lustrated by Heathen Blood
As we forged across the wasteland
Towards a preordained altercation with the crimson horde
Those cultists of the sun
Surely I had discerned those among my retinue
Who embellished our sacred histories
As they were told and told again
Such discrepancies I paid no heed
Even as their lies eclipsed the truth
Such ardor is inescapable, I surmised
When one commands a legion
Built on want and fervor
The righteous indignation of those who, until now
Were forced to live in fear

I held to this foolish notion
Till that most fateful day I realized it was too late:
Distressing news had reached my ears
That chilled me to the bone, tempering my desire
To lead this multitude, as I perceived what they’d become
For my followers, to whom I’d preached of wisdom had
In their zealotry laid waste to a settlement
I went to see with my disbelieving eyes finding
To my horror, a tableau of cruelty
Bodies flayed and burned, hung like macabre trophies
Decapitated and torn limb from limb
“What sin could justify such barbarity,”
I asked my devotees
Eyes aflame, they replied:

“We bearers of virtue
Do we not stand above
These ignorant cowards
Who reject your teachings?
Shall we not cleanse the wastes
Of their impurities
That this land may be reborn
Lustrated by heathen blood?!”