Confessions, Vol. 1, Father Lorgan
[The most recent entry in this journal bears particularly heavy quill-marks and crossed-through revisions.] I pen this from the temple cellar - the only place I feel close to the Ilmater's will anymore. I pass my gaze between the crests that hide my sin apparent, and I wonder: Who are they to pass any judgement? They bark that those who arrive on our doorstep - bloodied, beaten, fleeing from heretical hordes - are dirty, unwelcome, to be shunned. That it is a crime to house them, to bring them into the city proper - but if my back must be broken so others may step to the light, so be it.