Bursts into applause at the conclusion of the recital, becoming more animated by the moment

Finally we hear some some sense!
Would it be untoward
To put a motion now forward?
That speakers should not speak unless
Rhyme and meter colours their address
And thus all speeches spoken hence?

The strange woman pulls a moth out of her ear, examines and eats it

Awfully sorry, don't know what came over me. Now, where were we? Cheese?

She grins

Ah my friends, you misunderstand.
I was suggesting we summon Akatosh.

(Drenim smiles and lights his pipe.)

I doubt that is possible, unless we deliberately hasten the end of the world so that we can ask his aspect Alduin just before he forces us into his infinite maw.

The wild-looking woman with red hair frowns. She thought for a moment there she might have been useful.

A dagon is one thing, a dragon is another. I don't know about you fine ladies and gentle-men, but I have no wish fratanise directly with drakes. Isn't that what they used to do in Skyrim, before they all became zombies? Frightful...

Some of us would not mind the end of this world, or so I am told.
Myself, I have grown rather fond of this mortal coil. It holds such.. possibilities.
No doubt we also have those among us who would say it is worth a risk to gain insight, and of course the pursuit of knowledge is an admirable one.
Still, I wonder. Surely among ourselves we must know of a way to intice an aspect or avatar to appear..

"Serjo Drenim, we have never excluded anyone who would like to learn. To learn how to learn, is another matter entirely. Often the hardest for those who hold to heart inflexible ideals. The Parliament would surely be honoured to associate with a fellow such as yourself."

"Ahh, yes, muthera Loranna. I see. I beleive you are wrong, very wrong there. There is a deep disparity in experience and balance here. You see, we cause as much havoc on the Daedra as they do on us. I know, and have spent years trying to assist my friend, Dregas Volar, to recover from a single mistake at the hands of one lone, travelling mortal. How long his suffering was, his punsihment, entirely arbitrary, but measured against the whims of eternity, entirely just! How stretched, and multiple in sensation was his torture. And what deep shame his underlings were subject to, for centuries anon to US, seconds! For one mistake.. One misstep... Yes, mortals have seconds to know and react to their actions... Mortals have seconds to forget their mistakes, while all Others live them with forever, through that unending pattern, become them. They become everything they do, whilst we forget..." He hold up his flask of Shein, and looks at it, "Forget almost immediately... No, my Nordic muthsera, you have no understanding of the plight of the Daedra... Now, I condone nothong here, but as a scholar, everything must be put in it's place, even if we must shove the dusty tomes off the shelves to make space. The Daedra have a place in this, they've upheld it since the beginning, they've only been silenced by the cacophony that is the mass of a frightened continent of armed Men."

"Yes! Summon the Dragon. Let's see where that brings us. Mayhaps summon the Prince of Ambition too. Maybe they could have a chat over some shein and help us get to the bottom of what actually happened between them."

How can one summon Akatosh? It would be easier to reinstate the Mananauts and travel straight to his planet/body/realm.

(XARLYS frowns.)

Ah, the magicks of conjuration. Forgive my wariness; I've witnessed too many exorcisms in my day. The wiles of evocation are very ... tempting, especially for Dibella's children. I can explain it briefly.

(The priestess taps her quill once. Twice.)

We channel the ethereal rays from Her Divine Tesseracts, but the UVL light is unfiltered; the essence reeks of the Wine-Lord's pheroharmonics. We teach the proper adarithms throughout the archdiocese, but ... implementing even one equation, like the Foreplier Transform, takes years of practice.

(She spends a few seconds drawing a doodle. She passes it to her lefthand neighbor. The councilmate flusters.)

Few artists-lovers can channel Her Passion for long, lest he or she channels His Debauchery. Not without an expert. Not without body oils and emulsions.

(XARLYS notices a raised brow.)

Anything bearing a Sanguine purification factor of fifty-plus ... if you must find such lotions. In any case, I do trust the skills of my fellow councilmates. I simply remind and warn that inviting the Lords of Waters and Planets is no mere trifle, even with our assembled talents.

Only a few years into this new age and we already have a contender for the Understatement of the Era. I doubt anybody but the Psijiics could manifest Akatosh. He was always the most seperated from the mortal realm. He is such an abstract entity compared to the rest of the Et'Ada.

"Summoning Dagon is the better choice. Don't risk our lifes in pursuit of knowledge." Theya says, her face showing little to no emotion.

"Good Telvanni wizard, we are mortals. Daedra live on. They suffer and forget. We die."

OOC: Would the Graybears allow one of us to speak to Paarthurnax? If not, there might be a http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Atlas_of_Dragons. The Nord who knows Thu'um could shout his name. Just an idea.

(edited to add details)

*Tralen speaks after sitting and showing impatience for some time*

"All this talk of summoning is foolhardy, I for one have no interest in talking too the defeated Mehrunes and listen too him dodge around his defeat with lies!"

"I hold no special love for Akatosh either, and too try too speak too a dragon if one even remains is thinking like Sheo himself!"

"Alas I am but an old warrior who battled the Daedra hordes all throughout High Rock and merely wish some clarity and retribution on those whelps in red clothes that cower in fear of me even now, but please indulge me is there a way to talk to the Time Dragon or not?"

"Ebonarm does not need too contact me because I see him everytime I enter the battlefield, so I know little of these things."

Yggrid retakes her seat, quite satisfied with herself.

Olodiil, though, appears to be suffering with a massive headache. "Presbyters, I must...request that we cease this line of inquiry. The Divines are not minstrel-folk who arrive at every beck, call, hew, and cry. Such that if we must call on someone, call to the Chantry, as brokering in Toshic matters is their very station upon Mundus. Unless, of course, our...illustrious Thalmor delegate has anything to add."

This is a dangerous line of inquiry. Remember Hogithum Hall, friends. There is one among us who could tell you the dangers of summoning Daedra for witness.

(OOC: Sufjan is a fairly well-built Dunmer, aged 150 roundabouts and still going strong. His ceremonial garb is ornate, but not completely impractical, of a bonemold cuirass, greaves, and boots, each handworked with inlaid ebony filigree. His gauntlets, also bonemold, are covered in Daedric letters, spelling out Old Ehlnofex incantations in the manner that Dunmer are so fond of. The glove's palms have been blackened in fire, the Daedric letters 'G' and 'P' shining out in white chitin laid over the surface. Over this is a robe of red and a cloak of gold, each obviously well-made, but with just enough wear to make it clear that they had suffered distress.)

Serjo, you misunderstand me. I love Vehk. I was born knowing how to sing, yet it was Vehk who taught me the words of the song. He was, and is, a friend to all who look upward, and even those he murders call him the sweetest of slayers. Yet mark his end. Two of the Tribunal ended in misery and madness, and Vehk at the last was so, so lonely, that at last he fled the love of those who could not understand him. The Lie's fall was foreknown the moment it was uttered, and Vvardenfell at the end will be as Vvardenfell at the beginning - clad in ash. I say these things not to wound or reproach you but so that you may understand me. Vehk made a way where there was no way. But even he was first to say his way was neither last nor best.

Your reproach against us is heard and understood. Martin - in truth, whenever I left his side for more than a moment, I found I struggled to recall more of him than his voice. He was humble - from a Nord, that is no compliment - and a sad end to all his ancestor's greatness. Perhaps he was not wicked enough to make an Emperor. Yet, as one wounded by wickedness, I cannot chide him for that failing.

Because Martin was, we are here now. Yet we are - all of us in this gathering, men and mer alike - more happening than happened to. Let the Thalmor rage, he cannot escape his agency. Let the world wither, we shall not.

Now - about summoning witnesses. It used to be in these halls that to even speak such a name was to quiver in fear of Who might answer. I suspect that today, your summons would attract only imposters. Yet even an imposter might wreak great havoc here. And I believe that not even the Daedra understand what happened on that day.

OOC: To follow the trend, I'll post a description of my character too. Theya is a Breton of average height in her late 30s. She has long blonde (rather dark gold) hair and wears it down, also got a small scar on her neck. She wears a grey mage's robe and a beatiful gold bracelet on her left hand/wrist. This is extra infomation, but she's a healer skilled with Mysticism magic and with the sword as well.

"This is quite troublesome. Dagon wouldn't be of much help. For the good of all, think twice, and be careful." she says kindly. she then turns around, and becomes more or less nostalgic.

"Allerleirauh, my lady, your words are kind."

Thoughts run through her head.

"Vivec was a greatest teacher to the people of Morrowind, and look, to foreigners, too. He and the two other were what the Dunmer needed. Mind you, we still need them. Yet we must go on without them and when time comes, Vivec shall return and lead his people again. Come to think of it, he never left. It is our duty, as mortals, to turn away from the Daedra. To defy them and become more than what the dead gods, those Aedra are. This are the best things about being mortal, and I take pride in that. "

"What does the Thalmor wizard know about summoning Akatosh? By chance, do you know something about it?"

"Murthsera, Allerleirauh, thank you for your sensitivity. Your words strike prominent chords with all who hear them. Apologies for the charge in my own words, however." The Telvanni tips his drink toward the Nord.

"As to the Daedra, I was with not a small number of them when the actual Event happened, trapped as I was in that pocket realm. Yes, they had no idea whatsoever as to what had transpired... Of course, that thier Lord's great undertaking had failed, but the Hows and the Whys, held no relief for them at all. It's a curious and compelling sight... Have you ever seen a Dremora whose trust and loyalty has been utterly unfulfilled? And faith in Dagon himself, suddenly crumbled. I suspect the repurcussions in that Realm would be very interesting indeed, afterwards. Unfortunately, I will not ever know them. I am not returning unless I have the Crescent Blade."

"I, personally, would not enjoy the summoning process. I am so bored by them now."

"To think that we count among our number folk who are bored by the summoning of summoning gods or princes," the Nordic lass marveled. "But I will admit that, for the Dremora at least, I know only what I learned dealing with them during the Crisis."

"Now, if this were the Saints, Seducers, or Twilights ..." she muttered, almost under her breath, before adding more loudly "I do hear your points, Serjo. 'Tis food for thought. I'll echo me fellows here in saying we should avoid calling for such witnesses this day. We make storms enough on our own, methinks."

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

What would a Thalmor wizard know about summoning the great Dragon? I am his mouth! I am his most dedicated arch-bishop!

Besides, the king does not respond to the cry of rebels. The king does not make sense before such Lorkhanites and Mortals. The scales of his insanity can not be grasped in conversation, only in music. You wish to hear his roar? You'd have to be rid of such Man-worshipers as the illustrious Yygrid here.

The wild-looking, red haired woman in the habit of a Priestess of Kyne cackles and scratches her neck, leaning deeply to speak

I think adding a Daedroth or two to our party is a marvellous idea! I think I have a telespore somewhere on me flown from the correct filament-exchange for one of Mehrune's favourites. That is if anyone knows the sort-code for the Deadlands? I'm terribly sorry but it's been such a long time since I was in touch, the war and all. If we do, should call one of the fatter Valkynaz, on account of not wanting to be eaten ourselves. I seem to recall the Kathvinakos clan carried off a particularly good bounty of babies from Empire Actual. Bellies are probably bursting. They'll be nice and sociable.

"Anhaedra, if I recall, an indentured servant and peon to the Temple in Morrowind, was a particulary inert Dremora if I recall. But who knows where he is now... Though I wonder if the pacts that bound him to service still enforce themselves to this day."

"Ye be making sense enough now in the presence of Talos's archbishop, Mouth-Of-The-Dragon," the Nordic lass pointed out, her long golden tresses swishing as she turned to face the Thalmor dead on. "Surely ye can find a way to make sense of scaled music for the 'mortal' ear. Come now, we have spoken of the deeds of the last Septim, and not asked ye to leave the room lest ye profane his memory. Measure your Aka against our tales without this nonsense of man-worshipers muddying the music up."

===


OOC: I am playing a Nordic woman who claims to represent the Bishop of Barmaids. I'm a bit over six feet tall, with long golden tresses reaching down to my ankles, worn free like a golden mantle, and my blue eyes are usually crinkled with mirth above my full, smiling lips. I'm dressed like a bar maid - albeit in old-fashioned Cyrodiilic style - and bear a large tray of drinks and finger foods, balanced casually on one hand.

Loranna

If looks could kill, or rather if Yggrid knew the art of it, then surely Qorowen would perish then and there. "You forget yourself, Goldgnome. I am here by my right, while your presence is suffered only by goodwill of our brothers, whom have forgotten their spearsways of old. So keep your dragon's roar, though I do not believe for second that Old Hairy-Elf could do much more than purr. Belharzslav! Brother-Sister Bishops! My Swordpriests were there that day with Urielsun and The Champion at Oneth in Cyro'city. True martyrs-in-arms. But say the word and the Sons of Talos will make all haste for Chorrol."

Yes. How can we disrupt his speech? Does being near us pathetic men who ought to have grovelled as slaves for eternity corrupt his words? Does he only speak what you believe him to speak?

"Swordpriests, y'Augustness?"

"The Blades."

The Telvanni almost coughs up as he drinks his Shein.

"Of course! Kill them. The best theory always wins that way."

He then laughs.