Culpa belongs to Nocturnal, but whether for diplomatic fear of consequence or just Misrule-sphere subtendency, I cannot say, nor even could I dismiss potentiality that the twain could possibly not constitute a dilemma, at all.

What can you say?

At some point in adolescence he brokered a deal with the Prince of The Gathering Vague, ‘ere by night thwarting the most revered specimen of High Mereth chronoptics.

Can the veil be parted?

Far beyond the Mantis’ capabilities. For remedy, I should recommend that Psryhu Naarifin make a point of securing the Imperial Library and staff. There are whispers that the Imps possess aldtextracts capable of carpet-flame aletheiaiac bombardment with resounding din of ultima ratio cleptum.

Yet un-ir-regardless of potential transpirancy to come, the endeavor remains. To task I set Mantis with prism elements reground. The device achieved nearly 94.75102% xarxemetically pure mundex redisclosure with Nu-Mannoid at no more aged then twenty five in mannoid chrononomastics , the nu-cognomnymic “Early Beard” firmly installed.

He is now an accomplished Nightblade and the personal catspaw of Warjanwant The Whitefingered, King of Wayrest, with well over fifteen bones-made amid the most well-paranoid and guarded bodies of the Balaltis gentry and merchant-class. Due to inkference from residual antisamizdat gloamcyphers, I cannot infer directly, but initial scryance over mirror-shard caches seem to suggest that this liege was a Bjoulsae warlord and throne-pretender beneficed in an outbreak of civil strife through judicious use of daggertactics.

Altmoran tall and hirsute, but Mermannoidically thin and wired, with a profile worthy of coinage, Early-Beard proves popular with the facile meretrices of Warjanwant’s court. At this bardo he is perfectly satisfied to fritter his current shellform away like molted chitin, harmlessly plying the wet trade amongst petty hillmongers and rendering the terrene with further bastards, the line of some of whom survive to this day, totally unawares of whence they were came.

But against all our endeavors, out of a omen cloud a crack-lipped courier arrives in Wayrest castle bailey on a skeletal nag, the beast promptly dying underneath him no sooner than it can stumble clear of the portcullis. He has ridden a fortnight, ceaselessly and at full gallop from Colovia baring a halved-blade half-and-hand sword wrapped in silk.

Curiosity erupts in nearly 50.58032% of Dominion chrysalid shells. What does this portend?

A token of oath; A call to arms; A sign of…events defying image: a treachery, of sort, a, erm, treachery of images.

Cuhlecain Zeruth, the Scrivener-King of Fellcarthruyne, claimed himself a rightful scion of Juliek the Re-Man and set his hungry wolfsights on Nibennion White and Gold. He wrote his paratexts of the Law Sacred of Cyrodiil, his Manifesto Risorgimento, on the towershields of his legions, personally, with hawkmoth quills. But yet always first he sent avant-garde his diplomats, to beg of princes submission betoken by tribute of eight pots of good ink, so that he might not scratch cofferbottoms on calligraphed escutcheonry. Compliants, who doffed crowns, were made cherished Oathmen-Palatins and girt with fine Akavirbrands. Refusants, once trounced at field, had their heads taken but allowed full funeral honors furnished with their full regalia, even crowns

These tangents are trying, Varlavavarda.

More pardons, Great Thalmor, but please, this is necessary for apprehending proper provenience of the Nu-Mannoid.

Where was I? Ah yes: At this point in the historical fibersynoptics, all but one of the Colovian Estates have fallen to Cuhlecain. Only Ierallmarch remains, yet now its King, Ehrdensuil Brumaht is in receipt and total heldfast refusal of the Scrivener-King’s ultimatum, declaring ‘I shall save my ink for thy death writ, [censored]-son!’

Thus did he frantically break five good bastardschwerts and dispatch them as urgent militia pings to his sworn alliancers and kin: Warjanwant of Wayrest; Pier Montalion, Lord of Gavaudon; Vlindrelr Horny-Brow, Jarl of Markarth; Atheltrygg Shield-Gummer, Burghmester-Skutilsveinr of Helgen; and Fwytawrgnawddynnion, Wyrdqueen of Bardsleap.

Nu-Mannoid, naturally, followed his sovereign to war after weighing blood risk against boon to his purse. En route, he rode at all times on his lord’s more vulnerable right swordarm side with their ferd of levies and mercenaries and sworn cnihtmen. The force of allied Mermannoids, Altmorans, and Reachians converged on the Silver road near Sk?rvein Creek and feasted on snowblubber and juniper mead. Together they crossed down into Cyrodiil and met King Ehrdensuil and his host at Avalvatch for handclaspings and the brokering of division rates for the spoils when they counter-attacked Fellcarthruyne, the Brumaht swearing unminced with slit-palm then and there that he would not cease struggle against Cuhlecain until death or madness took him.

The combined host of Ierallmarch, Wayrest, Markarth, Gavaudon, Helgen and Bardsleap then marched to Brumaht’s Winter Capital of Ald Sancre Tor. Their eight-hundred-fifty score harried linetroops firmly entranced in the city, the princes garrisoned themselves within the high cliffside fastness of the Brazolline, the northmost tower citadel which legend and the opinion of Brumaht’s engineers held to be impregnable. They made sacrifices to their Daedra and the Wyrdqueen laid down a water glamour to disguise the entrance to their sanctum. They were elated. So secure a citadel could never be breached, from within or without. Surely their victory was assured!

Sarcasm is detected in your sector.

No sleight of mind can escape The Great Thalmor’s grasp.

The initial reconnoiterings, sworn on maralives, estimated the approaching Fellcarthruyni legions at no more than two thousand souls, conscript footmen in thick shirts and shedfixed scythes the majority.

On our end of the proscenium, a wrist thick ganglion bundle of synoptic fibrils snapped and Mantis actually had to be rebooted several times and all of its 10,000 occulary probosciprisms painstakingly replaced, forcing several sleepless days of downtime, to no satisfactory avail. But eventually, one of my subordinate concept-engineers, under close supervision, needlestruck that the malfunction was due to a catastrophic mnemorendering failure. Primary and secondary and tertiary ehlnoshaders failed utterly to akphrasticate 1:SUM the shear manxillary trauma that the Nu-Mannoid and liege suffered when they on the paraqets of Brazolline caught regard of the Fellcarthruyni: five double-strength legions, more than one-hundred-thousand well-armed, well-supplied souls of every unit type. As they marched up from the highlands, their assemblage of inscribed towershields read like a coruscate godsize book of the law.

Leading them was Cuhlecain’s most able general, Agnorith Septim, scion of the Hackdirt yokelbough of gens Septimia, a Bravilian clan of esteemed facial tattooists renowned for their excellent detailwork whereabouts the philtrum zone. Agnorith was still but a young thing, with only eighteen years, but a ferocious fighter and a profound devotee of Kynareth. He had personally led the sacks of Sutch and Kvatch, tearing down the walls – some say – with his teeth, and his renown was such to attract the attention of the old Chevalier, Renald, whom never left his side.

In council, the allies fell to despair. Having transgressed so far, they could not trust the Fellcarthruyni to be merciful, but did not want to risk combat with so many of their kinsman stationed in the city below. Then, just when all have finally resolved to cut their own throats, Nu-Mannoid offers his solution: He will sneak out that very night and assassinate Septim with a knotted rope, if only they pledge him half of all spoils. Warjanwant, so furious at his vassal’s greed and insolence that he is actually nauseous, tears out his sword and –

[RETURN CEASE], Varlavavarda. Strange Rumblings in Nibenaztlan kakofane noisome in even the inmost of Dominion shells. This requires all The Great Thalmor’s cortices trained on Rumereth; This session will have to wait until a later cycle.

No need for that, Your Most Excellencies. I request Thalmori Intervention for myself, and if possible, my staff

DENIED. This sabergame with Volenfell is chimanery – not what it seems and inevitably in flux. The Great Thalmor does not expect nor even care to occupy that sector beyond the current round of intelligible hostilities. If you are removed from the facility now, you may not be able to access the device again, and no cost is any cost at all in varla of THE DEATH OF THE EMPIRE AUTHOR, Varlavavarda.

[SO HEAR NOW DEONTOLOGUES-LIKE-DAWNGLORIES]: You are to seal yourselves within the facility until further notice. Erase all kyneumatic portal operator glyphs and return to your circles, at nirnimetrically progressing magnitude-focii, keeping synoptic spore records accurate to within 1 jillminute of arche (degree of wheel-within-wheel over 10,080 radians). When auspices re-align, The Great Thalmor will deploy the Dawnguard for mundexical extraction of you, your staff, and the Artful Mantis device.

As you command, Great Thalmor. What is the watchword?

GREET THE NEW DAY.

* FEAT autophage {(XARXETENDRIL k14569)};
DRM.SLV.LOG [AUM NAUM NAUM NAUM]

Awwwwwwwww hell naw. Mythic Dawn-Thalmor link?

Wait a minute, wasn't Dawnguard that rumored DLC?

Well, that was certainly an exhaustive exercise in word-mash interpretation.

Also:

What an interesting perversion. Agnorith as Cuhlecain's uber-general. My guess is that, in this story, Hjalti replaces Agnorith at the last minute.

-Mehrunes-Dagon attacks the Tower that is holding reality together.
-Thalmor push to elminate Talos worship while an outline of an Altmeri plot to "ascend" floats around the scholarsphere.

Good to have a confirmation.

Dawnguard....Mother of god

Careful now, we've yet to see the actors take their bow.

Fair enough.

http://emotibot.net/pix/84.jpg

What programming language is that supposed to be? Whatever it is, it looks horrible.