Answer:
Put into a pit, locked beneath a grate, guarded through the night, yet it still goes out.
I have a title and many pages I am a genteel of genteel descent I am a killer veteran of war I am a slave to my lord Pledged to his service.
It's in your hand though you can not feel it. Only you and time can reveal it.
We hurt without moving. We poison without touching. We bear the truth and the lies. We are not to be judged by our size.What are we?
What relies on columns but isn't a house, and asks for help but can't speak itself?
I go in hard come out soft. Blow me hard and I’ll make a pop.