Cultist's notes - part 2

The road to purification leads through wailing.

Who will mourn beggars? They are boils on the world's backside. Who will weep for the rich, puffed fat on blood they have sucked from the poor, depraved by coin they have hoarded?

The pain of my wounds is unbearable. Thick pus pours from my scabs when I scratch them. May it thus be so: I shall inflict pain for the pain given me, and take life for the life taken from me. My lords smile at the sound of throaty howls, so I shall level rich with poor - they will all scream alike.