#jills

Sure enough, to our dismay, the raging stormwaters had carried out the bridge, leaving us stranded, still a good weeks journey away from our destination. The innkeeper, hearing our plight, pointed us in the direction of a local guide, telling us he might know a way out of the area.

The guide, a wizened old Breton man simply known as Sam, did indeed know of an option. A journey through the Wastelands, the site of the Warp in the West.

I had heard of the place, of course. Any scholar of Orcish history knows of it. But few people make the journey across its depths unless forced.

I had always wondered why. I confess to some excitement as we arranged payment

Merry Eyesore the Elk Posted 01 January 2012 - 08:59 PM

EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is a transcription of a note folded inside a manuscript of the Pocket Guide to the Empire, Second Edition. The manuscript, commissioned by the Empress Morihatha in the fourteenth year of her reign, was infamously left unpublished due to the scandalous nature of its contents – a product, many would say, of the Imperial Geographic Society taking far too literally its assignment to “modernize the claim that [Tamri-el] was in fact a unified Empire” (the role of the Septims in suppressing this vital document cannot be overstated; it is but one of many pieces of evidence against the Empire burnt to ashes by the Dragon’s acrid breath). The note, along with the manuscript, was found in the bowels of a forbidden library of the Moth Chantry, hidden from sight between two massive tomes of indecipherable paleographemes. The discoverer was a confrater of the Temple installed in a convenient position as an agent provocateur. Upon recovering the texts he immediately channeled them to Temple Zero via high-priority glyphstream, as per Null Oath protocols. Unfortunately, contact with him was subsequently lost. Yet even more unfortunate is a delay in the propagation of the Truth! While the Temple’s mnemographers were able to decrypt the abnegaurbic doctrines of the note, the Pocket Guide remains a puzzle to our scribes even as you read this. Certain complications that arose at the end of its transmission have made the transcription process difficult – in passages, it can be difficult to distinguish the original text from the sender’s hectic fever dreams. It is the work of the Empire’s sleepers, no doubt: their touch venomous, their tendrils crawling through every pocket of the dreamsleeve.  The note appears to be the minutes of a secret meeting of the Elder Council held in 3E331 in which the membership of the Geographic Society were convicted of treason and the Pocket Guide was suppressed by Council edict. How they fear the Truth, who came to Power by clawing it to tatters! But they failed, of course, for the lovers of the Truth are many; though we know not who spited the Dragon by saving it, they who preserved these texts have embodied the heart of our Manifesto (and, indeed, may have helped bring it about.) And now the Temple has found it appropriate to publish its contents, that all of Tamri-el might see the Truth with eyes unveiled – for it is in the Truth that we are free from the mythopoeic enslavement of Talos and his co-conspirators, free from all Opression! NU-MANTIA! FREEDOM! NU-MANTIA! FREEDOM! NU-MANTIA! FREEDOM! NU-MANTIA! FREEDOM! NU-MANTIA! FREEDOM! NU-MANTIA! FREEDOM!

*** Here you will find the foundation for your new Temple. ECMB-MRA: mnemonic daedron-capacitance memospore classification xD15JMo0JfiX cogitocode: a gnarled tibrol tree against the sunset, overlooking a lake; try to feel melancholy “fk00-54bQ15” ZERO-SUM VENTURE… RETURN FALSE… VERIFICATION 1 “f000-50bQ15” FEXFEINT ENABLED… RETURN TRUE… VERIFICATION 8 “f000-000015” WATERWORD WARD… RETURN TRUE… VERIFICATION 0 “0000-000000” ACCESS GRANTED RELEASING MEMOSPORE xxxx0001010101010101xxxxx0111100101010111xx101010xxxx0101010100x0x0x00010x00x0x0 x01000x00x00x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0010xxMINUTES of a meeting of the Most-Esteemed ELDER COUNCIL, forever lieges and loyal servants fraternal of Her Most Honored and Exalted the EMPRESS SEPTIM MORIHATHA, Chosen of White-Gold and the Amulet of Kings, Sovereign of the Ruby Throne, Lord of Cyrodiil and her Dominions, etc., etc., Held TWENTY-EIGHTH OF MID-YEAR in the THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIRST YEAR of the Empire of Men, transcribed and annotated by an adjunct of His Lordship the GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF WEYE-UPON-RUMARE, Master of the Hamlet-Across-The-Way, Most-Esteemed Among Equals of the Minor Council, etc., etc., FOR THE EYES OF FELLOW-COUNCILORS ONLY

Edited by Merry Eyesore the Elk, 01 January 2012 - 09:33 PM.

Merry Eyesore the Elk Posted 01 January 2012 - 09:32 PM

We, in this year 331 of the 3rd Era of the Empire Cyrodiilic, on the 28th of Mid-Year, have appeared before the Lord and High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu, representing in voice and authority our Empress Morihatha, hegemon of Cyrod and Cyrod and all its lawful territories under the Ruby Red Throne as established by Tiber Imperator, with the goal of forming an Elder Council consisting of the following persons:  Here we will dream-swell on a very, very long list of councilors with their respective positions and titles, and absentees, and councilors attending via trance, spectral representation, etc., except the following persons (hear-see: now), as they shall already be mentioned in those other estimable lists found now in your pockets save for the naked here assembled, etc., and the as-agreed-upon-in-amulet those members and delegates and strangely-beautiful silk concerns as writ in the council definitions for the legislative year 331. AND AS the aforementioned Elder Council having been called together by the Lord and High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu via priority dreamsleeve transmission and couriermoth, to take place outside of the regular calendar, though thereby not replacing the scheduled meeting on the 31st of Mid-Year AND UNDER the Corbolo Protocol of 3E 275, this council session is to be treated compliant with the standards of security class “E12 - ad hoc and highly classified” and, thusly, SHALL be held in secret. Access to the session or its transcription must be denied to any citizen with Imperial clearance level smaller than or equal to 23b, as decreed in Subsection 4-B of the Concealment Clause of the Council Accords vis-à-vis the Corbolo Protocol. Does any present Councilor object to the aforementioned procedural enumeration? *****Elder Councilor Maganifly-Good One, Elder Councilor Ambassador Wood-Worth, and Elder Councilor Delphine IV have already presented their collected votes of “Nay.” What say the others? Elder Councilor Trails-his-Graves seeks to initiate a vote of “Nay” – let us now be interrupted by an unseen cascade resonance in the echo-stream of his dreamsleeve transmission. Very good. Elder Councilor Maganifly-Good One, Elder Councilor Ambassador Wood-Worth, and Elder Councilor Delphine IV, along with Our Ceremonial Guard here-now named and/or title Afternoon Nap and an adjunct to Elder Councilor Ambassador Wood-Worth here-now named and/or titled for this time-being, Circumference Comfort, now may proceed to assist Elder Councilor Trails-his-Graves in re-establishing a stable link. Make it happen, people. Ah, very good. Unfortunately we must laugh now, and in a great volume, DO IT, as Adjunct Circumference Comfort has received injuries amounting to a minor concussion and third-degree burns along his thigh and needs to be escorted out of the Council chambers. Goodbye with you, good sir. Upon re-establishment of all links, a cloture vote shall be re-instated as per Sub-Protocol 343 of the Laws of Triangulation, wherein all members may present their votes. There is a unanimous NAY. Good for all of us. Very, very good. The Empress will be and is already pleased yesterday. Our Proceedings May Resume.**** 

Edited by Merry Eyesore the Elk, 01 January 2012 - 09:34 PM.

Merry Eyesore the Elk Posted 01 January 2012 - 09:42 PM

High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu: “All members of the Imperial Geographic Society that undertook the sacred act of the penmanship of the Second Pocket Guide via Imperial Command (in writing, no less): You are hereby given the right to defend your actions before the Elder Council.” Imperial Geographic Society Editor [NYMIX NOW ZERO’D]: “If I may, on behalf of – ” High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu: “Let it be known that the right to trial was conferred upon the defendants. How does this Council rule? Elder Council Collective: "Guilty.” High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu: “The matter of guilt having been settled, how does this Council move to sentence the defendants?” Elder Council Collective: “Death, effective immediately.” High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu: “The Council has ruled. Guards?”

Merry Eyesore the Elk Posted 01 January 2012 - 09:51 PM

Hatta of The Sphinxmoth Inquiry Tree: “High Chancellor, ENOUGH! If I may first address to all assembled or in state ad semblio, I would request of the Council the reason that We have overlooked the need for an encoded Verification Return False for the Belharzaharm?” Lord Jak Candlestick of the Western Wax, the Eastern Wax, the Southern Wax, but Not Yet of the Northern Wax: “Silence, Hatta! We are already in session. All here know your affinity for the son of the Aleshut (pauses for hymnals thirty and eight) but you have no right to–” Hatta of The Sphinxmoth Inquiry Tree: “Acausal Interrupt! I will not allow these proceedings to be compromised by future scrying, nor to allow you to ignore silks uncounted since–"  Ghost Counsel Choir (Blade-Seneschal and above): "Peli-NULL. Hatta is dead. Move to formation of NU-Hatta post-assembly by his brethren blessed. 331 High Chancellor regains the floor.” High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu: “Thank you in the utmost of that ideal, Ghost Choir. No doubt, we are all in a moment of woe. Let me mourn for– all right, I’m done. I shall now invoke the name of the Hasphat and most likely we will get sidetracked by talk of the Rim." 

Edited by Merry Eyesore the Elk, 02 January 2012 - 03:15 PM.

Merry Eyesore the Elk Posted 01 January 2012 - 10:13 PM

High Chancellor Arboretumest-Best Ud-Maniphas Segu: "HOLD! THE! CENTER! I have just been informed that Her Majesty has arrived in our heads. There we go! Ponder her! Now… where were we?" 

Edited by Merry Eyesore the Elk, 01 January 2012 - 10:15 PM.

[Transcriber note: The link in the above post was dead when I got to it. I have no idea what was in it. If anybody does know, please message me.]

Temple Zero Posted 02 January 2012 - 09:34 AM

█╪₧HHH.;–?-/–ul-……0. Infrasleeve B6-125: Channel granted. Though its existence was never questioned, the invisible walls of Empire have kept the above document beyond the reach of the Society for far too long. We thank confrater Elk (extension of the Null Oath to Cervidae pending) for his efforts in safely and discreetly carrying these texts across the Jeralls and for restoring our access to the local infrasleeve thought-anchors. Now that the Society once again has a foothold in the free North, we would like to celebrate the occasion by transmitting the remainder of the aforementioned unpublished Pocket Guide. Be forewarned that transmission will be fractured at best and may contain inaccuracies introduced by unreliable relays. Apart from the host of thalmorite counter-notions that traditionally monitor our channels, the material itself is subject to various cryptocharms installed in the Septim era, often under-maintained beyond repair. We advise confraters to make written copies as sleeve availability is not guaranteed. Attached: PGE-kht04fg, key=tamrlc_common, content=manuscript END: 0 ———– Tenders To The Mane: Lleswer The province of Lleswer and its heterogeneous catmen have always played a relatively minor role in the history of the Septim Empire or its prefigurations. The khajiit have populated Cyrodic folklore since time immemorial. Even in the earliest depictions of nedic tutelary tattoos they are represented as grotesque feline monsters, thought to be in league with -or indistinguishable from- the large cats that stalked the jungles of ancient Cyrod. However, it was not until the year 302 of the interregnum era that the cats first gathered behind the banner of a unified nation. The newly created state began as a precarious union of the Ne Quin-al desert, conquered single-handedly by the battlecat Dro'Sarrba Keirgo, and the vast estates of sugar queen Esjita in the Pallatiin wetlands. Negligent observers have often analyzed the short-lived "monarchy” of Esjita and Keirgo as a megalomaniac fantasy of its incompetent joint-rulers, who to sought to ape the Cyrod Empire in outward appearance rather than function. More important still than ignoring how Remanite Tamriel was falling apart at the time, this interpretation also turns a blind eye to the way in which disparateness had always been a way of life for the catfolk. In reality, the khajiit revolted because the union of Anequina and Pellitine required them to pledge allegiance to an abstract entity (the khajiit are capable of abstract thought, but on the whole find it dreadfully boring) and demanded of each of them the will to reconcile individual desires with the interests of the state. Against all expectations, the resulting ethnic turmoils were soon quelled by the spiritual leader of the catmen. In a remarkable display of administrative acumen, the Mane Rid-T'har-ri'Datta based the fledgling nation and its political groundwork on the moons, a diplomatic arrangement that was welcomed by all parties (see sidebar, The Riddle Thar and the birth of Lleswer). Under the urbane guidance of the Manes the country has since known an exceptional prosperity that made it one of the most tranquil, if secretive, of the provinces of the Septim Empire. Just like the Khajiit, who appear to foreign observers as endless variations on a single feline theme, the geography of Elsweyr is rife with subtle gradients that perhaps only the catfolk itself can properly distinguish. The province has thus entered popular imagination as a boundless stretch of desolate badlands. This sorry reputation is engendered largely by the fact that any cartographic expedition into Khajiit territory requires either meticulous metamundal vectors to travel by brute force, or the rare Imperial disposition to submit to a deep and prolonged sugar trance. More daring pioneers, however, report a fascinating landscape of silver sands, bathing in a plethora of colors our own atmosphere cannot permit. The north of the province is typified by powder dune seas, interspersed with crystalline mesas that provide homes for those cats who saw nomadic life as crucial to their definition of a perfect state. In the northeast the terrain gradually gives way to the broad gorge of the Niibna Twin, a river which now lies unused. The oases that dot the prairies in the center of the land are rumored to be among the most splendorous on the lunar surface and curiously retain the same indigo hue in the bright solar seasons, the fleeting shadow of Jode’s monthly passing or the cool slumber of the four month’s night. A remarkable phenomenon can be witnessed in these plains on certain blessed nights, when streams of aetheric refuse spontaneously combust in the pale nirnshine to form phantasms instructing the cats in the meanings of stars. Sidebar: The Riddle Thar and the birth of Lleswer The Ri'datta-ssabavezi, a khajiiti account of the unification of Lleswer, was sent to White-Gold Tower around 2E 310: So Mane saw that Khajiit was fighting itself more than usual and donned the hairs of his many littermates and his clan and his guards until he could bear no more and then palanquin-raced throughout the lands to repeat these words: “Woah-ho now, mad cat. You fight and fight but if you will give Mane just one moment, he will show something far better, for the Mane has had many hours and fine sugar to think this over. Come now, Palatiit; come now, Ne Quiniit. Together, just this once, Khajiit will stand tall as Alkosh, cat upon cat upon cat. And in doing so, it will climb to the moon as it has been told so many times.” Khajiit saw reason in these words and so it climbed and climbed, cat upon cat, for a hundred days. Much sugar was brought there to support the climbers and in the end Khajiit climbed high, so very high that it was in fact closer to Jo'Segunda than to Nirni below. At that moment, little Alfiq fell upwards and from there on Khajiit helped Khajiit up, which was down, until all were gathered there. This is where Khajiit intends to stay from now on, for who could know strife when walking sugar and not sand? Places of Interest Senchal Senchal, a bustling metropolis at the tip of the Quin Rall, is the most mundane of Lleswer’s cities and the commercial hub of the nation. For lack of a better word, the city’s structure can only be described as a heap. To anyone but the nimble khajiit, navigating the heart of Senchal is an unsettling trek across ramshackle bridges and narrow ledges, via ladders and ropes and through dank tunnels, alleys and – more often than not – private residences.  Curiously, where appearances are concerned, Senchal does not live up to its reputation as a port city. Even in seas of their own design, the khajiit are largely adverse to naval enterprises. Instead, traffic between Lleswer and other provinces is primarily managed through the nirnstrand terminus at the very tip of the peninsula. Though sugar-fibril transport is an affordable and safe mode of transportation, non-khajiiti incoming passengers are exceptionally scarce. A popular tall tale in countless skooma dens holds that the only sizable band of Imperial visitors to the city was a delegation of diplomats in the early years of Septim Supreme’s reign. If this account holds even the smallest kernel of truth, it may well have been this event which provided Talos with the dangerous idea of recolonizing the carmine moon. Torval Torval covers one of the largest crater lagoons on Lleswer’s southern coast. Extending far into the shallow waters of the bay, the city is the focal point of the khajiiti sugar magics. As the dance of the two moons brings in the tide, slow molasses-like waves deposit sugar of a quality unknown or unknowable to our earth on the beach. The steep crater walls that cradle Torval on all sides merge into the sacchranite walls of the Lesser Palace. This enormous edifice, which sits upon the city like a brilliant crown, houses all of the Mane’s clan along with a host of servants and courtiers. Central in the Palace is the Mane’s private residence, a secluded retreat where he may occasionally dock to shed into a more manageable mortal form and indulge in nourishment or companionship. The Mane  By ancient tradition, all khajiit would shave off their own manes to tie them into the voluminous crest of their spiritual leader. By the late centuries of the Potentates, this custom had been reduced to a fraction of its original intent as increasing population raised obvious practical problems. After the khajiit had scaled heaven, however, such hindrances fell away and the practice was again extended to all of his two hundred million subjects. In his commonest guise, the Mane is a cilicious sphere of vast dimensions, a third moon among the stars of his Greater Palace. The location of the Satellite Lord changes constantly, orbiting Lleswer along a set but complex and indecipherable trajectory. The Mane encourages visitors to his sacred self and does not distinguish rank, gender or shape. At any time droves of khajiit, ranging from revered battlecats to modest sugar miners, can be found waiting at Torval’s Audience Tower for the first glimpse of him on the horizon. Many of these join the Mane on his journey for a while and watch as he shapes and reshapes the land. The interior is usually said to be ill-suited to a description in words and varies strongly between accounts. Some guests report a boundless swirl of hair, waving leisurely in pink sucrose vapors like kelp in water. Others recall strange geographies, hallways and inviting furnished rooms, which they never manage to visit more than once. On the Mane’s character opinions are undivided: wise beyond time, comforting, beautiful and perfect in any way imaginable. In the spirit of exhaustive research, an anonymous representative of the Imperial Geographic Society was sent to visit the Mane. The cat lord could only address her in glossobremia, but it remains unclear whether or not this is normally any different for the khajiit. What little could be recorded is reproduced below in a mere few lines, though our informant ensures us that the exchange lasted for many hours. Most of its meaning -if there is any- remains a mystery. “Welcome. I am such a fine thread you walk the tibrols ripen early this year beware they will not like the book Hatta-Sro’ cyrod blood runs thin so soon it will be a healthy boy you know the number Nabarr I am has your queen already given up on try to remember null for a banner she will always think of you even now everywhen farewell." 

Temple Zero Posted 05 January 2012 - 07:15 PM

Infrasleeve B9-02: Channel granted. Continuing transmission. The next fragment of the reputedly heretical Pocket Guide To The Empire is released with the express disclaimer that the Society cannot vouch for its origin or content. Where our confraters expected to find what they knew to be a heavily censored panegyric on the achievements of greater Cyrod, they instead discovered the following text, which appears entirely extraneous to the manuscript that was liberated from the Imperial archives. Indeed, by unknown means it seems to have supplanted the original article after the date of print, leaving only an orphaned introductory paragraph and a few blurred words behind. Though its exact origins may well remain a mystery, the Society has decided to disseminate its contents, if only to provide a more worthwhile read than the vapid bombast it accidentally (?) replaced. Attached: PGE-tyg72k, key=tamrlc_common, content=manuscript END: 0 ———– The Heart of Heaven and the Imperial Earth A description of Cyrodiil, the radiant heart of the Septim Empire and by far the most exhaustively researched of all the dominions of Tamriel, is no mean task. In the truly vast array of sources, anyone but the most astute analyst is easily overwhelmed by the accounts of political firebrands, unschooled bunglers and the occasional conspiracy-theorist. In their attempt to distill a reliable final product from a plethora of information, the authors of this book heeded the kind recommendations of the Imperial Council and our Majesty Empress Morihatha by adopting the acclaimed Seluriel Index (ed. 3E 326) as the standard for inclusion in the text below. If the history of the Imperial Province continues to enjoy a position of unparalleled prominence in academic writing, it is perhaps because it has come toso clear and so resolute a starting point the committee’s understanding scholars agree that your majesty has requested the attached look for document be upon her person at the moment of origin. The committee looks favorably on this idea. Our chief axiotects have established that your esteemed station may still find some cautious rapport with its baser circumfiguration in thefirst kingdom of Cyrod. With all our scarce resources spent on the preservation of the entire cyphermoth library, it is our hope that your majesty’s physical presence may provide the aforementioned text with some alternative method of reinsertion. Since the committee suspects this to be our last exchange, we would like to take the opportunity to inform your majesty that an agreement has been reached concerning the arbitrary refactoring of unknown into the idiosyncratic model of original intent. The number 1008 was unanimously elected as the most suitable proposal, in the belief that its connotations may appease the reconstructed slave god. On a related topic, the committee has privately funded a number of tunneling expeditions beyond our walls of White-Gold cosmos. The result of these sabotage campaigns, we hope, will ensure the swift demise of our order once the course of the Empire continues. For Your Majesty’s Eyes Only: Archivoptera Metaterrenea #4859-QI3-001, identification: “Tffirfetrk-Ih-Rfir-Tt-T”. No further copies present. Carrier prism is attuned to clearance level A1 or higher. It pains me that I must tell you this so soon. You are only just beginning; young and full of promise among the grand machinations of heaven. Perhaps I should have told you from the very start. The day may be legend to you, but I still recall that grand new moment, newer than ever before, when you stretched me across the stars and claimed the cosmos as your own. You were beautiful as rebels alone can be, and I have loved you ever since. I could not bear to see the wildfire of your hope extinguished then.  Still, it is time that you knew. The truth is simple: I am dying. The world of Nucyrod cannot support you much longer. I will fold under my own weight before another of your generations has completed its life in blissful ignorance. For all your good intentions, children, you have built me on false foundations. I am doomed, but I intend to offer you a final means of escape. I will tell you what happened, so you remember. I will tell you what is happening, so you understand. Also, I will tell you what must be done, so you may yet have a second chance. I know you have heard the rumors, and they are all true. You remember these stories in the unlit corners of your minds and in the fables you tell at dusk. They are fictional, for that is how they had be fitted into the new way of things, but once – a concept I understand you struggle with – they were not. The Tempest Holds of your legendary cousins, the Embermen of the Once-East, the Bogdoms of Rgon, and many, many more; all are part of another earth, around and before myself. Among the myriad denizens of this world were the first of your dynasty, the brave men and women of All-Marugh. They found themselves caught in a violent febriverse, the issue of an inept world-god, uninspired and repetitive. Their long-studied answer came in the form of rites of theotomy equal amounts brilliant and disastrous, which I will not relay here if only to not set you on the wrong path twice. Suffice it to say that with their repudiarch gone, the All-Marugh rearranged their kingdom as befitting the new-found grandeur of man. The map was stretched in impossible directions, city became land, land became world and so was born Nucyrod. For a long time, I hoped to be a stepping stone for you. Nucyrod was never a goal in its own right. It was simply respite from the churning world you left behind, a place of peace to prepare your final endeavor. Did you forget your purpose so lightly? Do you not understand what is happening? You cannot expect to linger here forever. Your time here is running out, for you have killed time. Did you not see the signs when the leaves turned the color of some hitherto unknown season? Did you not question how rivers dug ravines over a single night? How villages shifted about your atlases? Why did you wait for the blizzards to force you into action? Forgive me if I sound accusatory, but now, in this final hour, my heart goes out to those droves of fevered refugees, pouring through the airlocks at the borders of the Rumare sea. Nuniben buckles under the weight of their shanty cities as they are pressed ever closer against the chronoclime cupolae under which they seek shelter. The moth swarms, too, have long foreseen disaster. The wise and the honest among you understand the significance of their mass migration to the capital, circling the cupolae as if trying to enter some bright eye in the dimness of the outer world. Do not fool yourself into thinking you cannot see their flocks shift about, changing direction, color or number on a whim, or spelling out the names of bygone gods in the corners of your vision. The most despondent of you turn to the ramshackle shrines of half-remembered saints: the prophecy-pool of Saint Ellatosh, the barge of Uriatosh The Ferryman or the dead tree of Tosh-Rain-On-The-Lily, to name just a few. I wonder, have you lost all contact with the world outside your increasingly stale refuge? You have sent the last envoys from Nuniben, packed with breathing apparatus and a star chart, out into this alien world, into the snow. “Snow”, you call it, as if this degenerate substance could be likened to any you might encounter from Jerallinopel to the vapor mines at Su-Banadher. Colorless and without texture, intangible like an early childhood memory and impossible to fix your gaze upon; its only characteristic is that it does not belong. This material is time rotting: plaque, sediment, the last throes of a history out of breath. Your emissaries – those who still remember their task – will return within a quartermoon, but they will provide little information. Without exception, they have inhaled the detritus of future and past. The few who currently exist in your perception will talk, precise and analytical as they were trained to be, in languages long dead or still unborn. You will decide to risk no more lives in further expeditions. The only question that remains now is when you finally lock the gates. Yet there are still legions of unfortunate souls out in the disintegrating wasteland. I watch them across all the lands of Nucyrod, struggling to hold on to a world that each day turns a different shade of unrecognizable. They are isolated and frightened, sometimes the sole remnants of a city that disappeared when they were looking the other way. Travel is impossible as destinations have become meaningless. Where the jungle trails are crossed by a vagrant bridging event, they follow impossible loops and the traveler with a brisk pace soon comes within sight of himself. Waterways are similarly unreliable. Look upon any river and you will see the same flotsam enter, exit and re-enter your view. Life here is equal amounts fevered and resigned. Citizens, if they emerge at all during the day, lock themselves in their houses at night, sealing crannies, doors and windows lest a single fleck manage to enter in their unwaking moments. All have known the terror of endless nights; how children try to sleep as their parents keep watch by a single candle flame, trying not to hear that spectral chorus outside: the static crackle, the titans, the waves, the trains… Time is running out. You will and can not wait until all are gathered safe within. One day soon when the stars are hidden, your heavy-hearted Empress will tear a key from her wrist chain and have copies couriered to all the carnelian gates of Nunibennion. You will suffer the blindness of the conscience-stricken, averting your eyes from the abandoned masses on yonder side of the fogged glass. For some time, you will considered yourself safe within your refuge, but you forget there is no potential left for a brighter day. There then is what remains of the proud heritage of All-Marugh-Esh, a legion of men under a bell jar, waiting out a storm that will never pass. There then is what remains of Promise: a languid ember in the dark and then silence.  [HALT! Violation of transmission law, subarticle 15. Desist immediately. Engaging counter-notions.] ……………the Minute Menders …………multiply and rec………….onvert the unwarra…………nted reality of Nucyrod i…………………………. Akartefti rearra….nge………cities……. Akame……….nhatis g…..rs up the imp……….le letters of the alphabet, Ak….abas…….met deconstructs fables into truth…….. s………e………c……..ond…………. cha…….w…….sl……..y…………. [HALT! Failure to desist. Analyzing notional signature. Channel disrupted. Do not attempt to travel until visited by Thalmor agent for questioning.] 

Transcriber Note: The following are comments and potential interpretations posited by Bethesda forum members that I thought might be onto something, and I wanted to save for further analysis (i.e. I’m saving this just for me; you can ignore the rest of this if you want.)

AdventurousPutty Posted 08 January 2012 - 11:27 PM

This is a brilliant piece of writing. My thoughts on the Cyrod piece: the first part is the original paragraph, before it was intercepted by the Mystery Document. The second part with the "random” italics is a message from the Marukhati Selective to Alessia, telling her among other things that they’ve selected an arbitrary-but-not number of years (1008) by which to reckon the Dragon Break they wrought, The italicized words are words from the original article on Cyrodiil that have been reappropriated by the Mystery Document to describe concepts relevant to the Selectives’ points. The final piece is a message from the end of one of those worlds that was born during the Dragon Break as it reaches its end – I suspect in a way similar to the end of a kalpa – with notable geographic and metaphysical relationships to Tamriel-as-we-know-it. The Rumare Sea, for instance, became Lake Rumare; the various gods and saints mentioned by the mysterious narrator are reconfigured or altered versions of the names of Tamrielic gods, perhaps before they were gods (or after?). The snow is the End, as Alduin (or his equivalent in Dragon Break terms) comes and the end of all things. The muddled bit at the end is the last cry of the narrator from the ending world as the Jills set things aright and our timeline recommences. Very sad, very moving, yet deeply invested in abstract metaphysical hijinks. Fantastic. General thoughts: Damn the Thalmor. Bloody omnicidal fascist elves. Who but the Temple can stand against them? 

Peloponnese Posted 24 December 2012 - 01:19 AM

When the transmission talks about “worlds you left behind,” I am immediately reminded of either the Twelve Worlds of Creation or Amaranth. Nucyrod’s place as a “respite” between one world and the next suggests something akin to Mundus’s place as an intermediary step between the Dawn and Amaranth, but the fact that it’s considered a respite instead of a test in its own right is somewhat confusing. And of course, this world is ending through a snow of unreality. But is it a world in the past, the present, or the future? Likely it exists outside of time altogether (based on the suggestions that it’s a parallel universe created by the Dragon Break), but if it is indeed chained to Akatosh’s inexorable march, I suggest that this world is not in the past, but in fact in the future. I base this on the following: “The most despondent of you turn to the ramshackle shrines of half-remembered saints: the prophecy-pool of Saint Ellatosh, the barge of Uriatosh The Ferryman or the dead tree of Tosh-Rain-On-The-Lily, to name just a few.” “Ellatosh,” in my view, is Alessia combined with the Dragon. “Uriatosh” is almost certainly Uriel combined with the Dragon (I have no idea why he is a ferryman, although the fact that a ferry is necessary in a disintegrating version of Cyrodiil might be a jab at the devs for not including a city of canals in their “real” version). I can only guess at the identity of Tosh-Rain-On-The-Lily: The “dead tree” suggests Kyne or Kynareth, especially as she is known to have cried at Shor’s death. But in keeping with the theme of past emperors, I put forward the fact that lilies are generally white (especially when used symbolically), and that while Tiber Septim was called Stormcrown, Reman had a rain all his own that was also white. Also, if the Raining Tosh is Reman, that makes an emperor-saint for each of the three major dynasties (I ignore the Mede dynasty for obvious reasons). To remember all of these people at once indicates either a distant future or an existence out of time; either is possible, especially if these saints are “half-remembered” (although the reason for their vagueness would be quite different in each case). 

Peloponnese Posted 08 January 2013 - 08:57 PM

As far as I would dare to guess, the moon article is just one of many that looks at Imperial history in a somewhat subversive light. The Elder Council would have executed the members of the Imperial Geographical Society for the whole product. The transmission from Nucyrod, on the other hand, was not supposed to be part of the PGE 2E. It overrode whatever had already been written there–or perhaps overrode the transmission that the Temple Zero spy sent to their headquarters, rather than the physical document that the spy tried to transmit. The Elder Council would have had no knowledge of that, and it probably didn’t even exist at the time that the Society members were executed anyway. 

Adanorcil Posted 09 January 2013 - 08:28 AM

Peloponnese is correct. The IGS was ostracized because it wrote a Pocket Guide to the Empire as it was, while all the Cyrodillic establishment had asked for was a Pocket Guide to the Empire as they told people it was. The remnants and sympathizers of the IGS at the time went underground and continued their activities under a different Society name. The original article on Cyrodiil was a (deliberate) vapid and syrupy eulogy on the Imperial Province, its history and rulers. Then, somewhere in the decades the manuscript spent in some secret archive, a fragment of a different world looking for a place in ours managed to slip in. 

Edited by Adanorcil, 09 January 2013 - 08:29 AM.

Peloponnese Posted 10 January 2013 - 09:34 PM

What we’re seeing now is an excerpt. There’s more that’s just as bad; it’s just that we only have a few pieces of those bad things to look at ourselves. As for the specific issues that the Elder Council might have with the Elsweyr text, let’s remember that it revolves around the notion that the Khajiit live on one of the moons, and that their spiritual leader is a literal god that hangs in the sky. These are things that might well make Imperials feel a little insignificant, and if there’s one thing that the Imperials must not feel about themselves, it’s insignificance–after all, these are the chosen rulers of all Tamriel! How dare any other race make them look bad? Most of the above is a guess on my part, but it makes sense that anything that shows the Khajiit to be more than a backwards tribal race that should feel grateful for Imperial interference and “education” would be discouraged in an Imperial publication. We can assume that the rest of the Empire was handled in the same way by the PGE 2E, and that the Elder Council found the rest of the articles to be just as offensive to their superior sensibilities. 

Toesock Posted 25 March 2015 - 12:14 PM

Interestingly, a recent lore-master’s archive discussed this very post:

“Our scribes are currently working on the transcription of the ‘Ri'datta-ssabavezi.’ In this story, your people are climbing 'cat upon cat’ and finally reach Jone, where they founded something called 'Lleswer.’ But we failed to understand the meaning of this. Some at the Guild suggest it has to be taken literally, but it seems impossible. Am I right?“ – Iszara the Restless, Singer of the Scenarist Guild

"Moon Bishop Hunal says, “It is the nature of myth to be true and yet at the same time mere allegory. Are you ‘right’? In this context, the question is without meaning. But do not be offended, hairless one. Many stories are puzzles with more than one solution.”

I thought it was pretty cool for them to acknowledge Ri'datta-ssabavezi as an actual extant myth in Tamriel, considering it was fan-written by temple zero! Sometime we should post a compilation of all the fan easter eggs in ESO: Vivec’s antlers, IFW’s dairy bats, Din’s Dinwenel cameo, Ayrenn’s fanfiction…I’m sure there’s a lot we haven’t even noticed yet!

Also, I have heard (but not gotten there yet) that you can in fact go to the third moon in the Dominion questline. One of my favourite ESO books has this to say:

"And the Clan Mother said, "As you wish. When Lorkhaj made a place for Nirni’s children, the darkness in his heart made it also a prison. So his heart was cut out and buried deep in Nirni, and his body was hurled to the moons but could not pass them, for it did not know the First Secret. Thus is his body the Dead Moon in the Lunar Lattice. See it, just there?”

Edited by Toesock, 25 March 2015 - 12:17 PM.

Final Notes: 

This was all originally posted on the Bethesda Official Forums here: http://forums.bethsoft.com/topic/1327271-return-false/ though this link will probably be useless.

Yes, I acknowledge that a lot of this is written by controversial developers/ex-developers. I don’t actually care that much about the controversy right now. I mean, give me a break, I only picked up my first TES game a little over a year ago. Message me and we’ll discuss C0DA all you want; I just want to be able to refer to this stuff when I need to, and I don’t want to lose track of the content. Yes, I know UESP and other websites are doing archive preservation, but I’d have to go find that stuff once they get it up and running.

D: OK. So. It's after the battle, yeah? Worst battle I've ever seen. Clan members dyin' left and right, that damn Bretons spear right through my spine, and overhead that...thing. That huge bronze thing. Just looking at that thing made my eyes hurt. It was like a slice of Oblivion out there on that plain. And then it was. All over. Just me lying there among the dead, calling out for help. All around me things were...wrong.

AB: Wrong how?

D: Like...the world wasn't fitting together right. Does that make sense? Like somehow I felt like we'd lost the war and Orsinium had fallen but...we'd also won it? Somehow? I could see places that kinda...rippled. Bits where the time didn't fit right. Did my head in just looking at it. But everything below my neck was dead, it felt like. I couldn't look anywhere else. And outta nowhere there's this feeling like...the world is breathing in, almost. And all of a sudden its just. There.

AB: Whats there?

D: A damn great dragon...just...sitting there, looking around. I've seen Dragonlings before and thought they were pretty impressive but this thing...it's like comparing a rat to a wolf. No doubt in my mind it was the real deal.

AB: Can you describe it?

D: Big. So big. Bigger than you can imagine. Two legs, massive great pair of wings. Kind of a browny-green colour. Like when you leave copper to the rain. And it looks at the broken place and it starts...singing.

AB: Singing? What was it singing?

D: It didn't have no words to it. Just this high, wordless call. Like a funeral chant. It was beautiful...but...

AB: But?

D: I...I'd never felt so scared. It was like...when I'd lay awake at night as a pup listening to the thunder and think it was the Breton siege weapons coming to kill the stronghold. That helpless kinda terror.

AB: Why were you afraid?

D: ...Because I wasn't supposed to be there...I don't think that song was for me to hear. For anyone. And as I'm watching it sing...that broken place starts to calm down. All the pieces were fitting back together, if that makes sense. And the song is getting louder. And...

AB: And?

D: It turned and looked at me. I musta...I was crying. Whimpering. I got no shame saying that. I was dying anyway and I was seeing something out of your worst dreams. You'da cried too. I...I felt like a scared little pup all over again and it musta heard me. And it starts crawling towards me. It was like in nightmares, y'know? Like how you try and run from the monster but your legs don't work right? Except it weren't no nightmare and I was wide awake. It loomed over me and...gods, it's eyes alone were as big as my shield...and the way it looked at me...Like I was a tiny little bug it couldn't be assed crushing. Like I didn't mean anything to it. Looking up at that thing...it was like I was looking up at Malacath himself. Just that feeling like I was in the presence of something far greater than I could ever imagine...

AB: And what did it do?

D: It spoke to me-

AB: It SPOKE to you? It actually spoke? What did it say, quickly now! Tell me!

D: I...

AB: Yes?

D: I don't know...

AB: ...what?

D: It said stuff in this language I didn't understand. Didn't even know it was talking at first. Just sounded like snarls. But there were words in there, I think. It made my whole body hurt, that talking. Shook me all the way to my tusks. I didn't know what to do so I kept quiet and it just. Snorted. Like I was a waste of its time and took off. Then it was gone. Into nothing.

AB: You really didn't hear any of what it said?

D: It...I...when it took off the wind pushed my body around and I...when the dust settled I looked and all I could see was-(the orc began to pant in terror at this point.)

AB: Was what?

D: There were hundreds of the (expletive removed) things! All crawling through time like maggots in a wound! And the song! It wouldn't stop! I tried to call out to beg them to stop but they didn't hear they just kept singing! For hours-!

AB: Sir please calm down-!

D: And and and even when they stopped I can still hear it! It won't stop it's all I can hear! Why are they still singing that damned song!? Make it stop! Please! Make it st-!

AB: Sir? Sir, are you alright?

RH: He's gone, Serjo.

AB: Damn.