Lexicon

The die are consistent.
There's no escaping the onslaught of chance.
Three ones over two days despite my prayers.
You're a fair-weather follower and you know it.
Regret transgressions in the wake of a forsaking.
Is this catching up to me now? Did I let this happen?
Draw the runes, chant the catechisms -
consult the books that others transcribe behind masks of silence
and inaccessible locations.
What power a rune from a maker that means nothing?
There's no escaping the onslaught of chance.
Prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.
They withhold their council and watch you.
What do they want? I drew what I thought was right.
Power-mad that you are, you grasped at shadows.
Sought to bond the unbondable.
Now you suffer for what you have brought forth.
An impeccable engine, I have to try.
The die are consistent.
There's no escaping the onslaught of chance.
But draw things to a close any way.
If I survive this, I will be better.