To give this one the floor so soon is unnerving at best. But Taela will try and articulate her ramblings to the upmost best of her tongue of silver abilities. However, before Khajiit begins to address ET ALL, perchance the Archbishop of Alkosh should be given time to return and begin appropriately? If this one recalls correctly, the Archbishop of Alkosh was gallantly flaunting himself to the Archbishop of Dibella. Someone with haste, please go and check the ARTANEUM ET MUN'DAS for this missing speaker.

Quickly! In all haste! Someone check the lavatories!

Bah, religious mythobabble. Trying to keep the Guild of Mages out again, are we, Gondopharès? No matter, I heard about it from the Second Understudy to the Chief Fertiliser of the City Tree (who was also, quite rudely, not invited), so here I am. I expect someone will reimburse me for my carriage ride.

Heedal,
Warlock of the Guild of Mages (Gideon).

My your manners, Magister, for you are a mere technician amongst artists. And sadly, Gondopharès could not join us today, he was needed by the Chancellor and simply could not leave The City. Now, does anyone have the merest inkling of an idea of where Archbishop Ottus is?

Did this council of Padomayics not receive the Sleeve-Message?

DREEMSLEEVE_STORAGE_RECOUNTATIONAL---
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ANULLOWANCE_SPECIFICATION=13897r++=JjJ8136=---
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MEMOSPORE_RECOVERED---
INITIATING_RECOUNTATIONAL---
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((OOC: Consult previous post for the repetition of the Qorowen's dreemsleeve transmission))
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MEMOSPORE_RECOUNTATION_COMPLETED
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Behold! The amplitude of the dragon! The glory of the Thalmor!

The magnificence of Aka's roar resounds through my every word, Lorkhanites. I am Auri-El's transducer, I am the mouth of time. Remanisthenes was the mouth of a broken pact, a Sithical nothing. His oscillation interpretations theorized a song. The message of the Dragon is not that of harmony, it is that of a warcry!

I am the only true interpreter of Aka. I am his Toshic majesty's ambassador, I feel the king's embrace as I feel this council's rebellion. You will reason with me to conclude upon matters regarding the son of Anu, or suffer trickery at the hands of the Drum. The roar will be reinforced by my will, at any cost.

The Thalmor Fanfare flows through me, manworms. The true saviors of Mundus are awake from our sleep, Perriff stood no chance against our Sleeve-Champions. Aka was awakened, the Ayleidoon Warrior-Bird resurrected from its hibernation as Perriff's blasphemes collapsed under Meric Sleeve-Dominance.

Arane Baune Oiobala!

Us Thalmor gained our first victory against the brother of Lorkhan, Dagon. Auri-El's Battleform called back by warsong, has shown strength and returned to quash the rebellion and assert Anu's majesty. The Dragon's Unfurling has begun, there is no Status Quo, only an eternal war. The mundrial armistice is over.

Huge redress is needed to appease the will of the battle-dragon. I do not trust that servants of Trickery will abide by such inevitability. I only wish that exempting myself, there are true Paladins of Toshic Magnificence among this council.

...Er indeed, your...Excellency...ahem...

Psst! Shurz! Have your men ready in case we need to eject this lunatic.

====<<<<<>>>>>====
"jl-0000-50000"
ACCESS DENIED, PLEASE TRANSMIT CORRECT WARD NOW OR FACE ANCESTRAL DISSOLUTION
"AE-8888-8888"
[ERROR DRACOVERFLOW DIVISION BY ZERO CULT]

Know that the orphaned razor children of the Paradise that Was but Is Not look upon this council with mingled anger and pity. Rejoicing in the knowledge that our vanquishers share in the loss and confusion that drive so many of our number into the void before the knives of the dragon's hunters make that choice for us. We mourn the loss of a father who's brutal impact on mundex arena pales in comparison to his occupation of the Mythic. You mourn a father who's life spent as a pawn of the Aggrega'tada was as little understood by his feeble mind as your own, and who will soon be forgotten, when the chosen sigil of the Empire of Man grows tooth and claw and descends from the waving red banners of the north to devour those who hoisted them. These secrets of the Fourth to Come are the legacy of Mankar Dawnsblood, Mankar Godshand, and we shall take them to our graves.

Though we are defeated, your Towers lay fallen, and we now gladly turn to the dispiritedness, disorientation and dissolution of our enemies as the instrument of our repose. Do not bother tracing this memo-spore. I am in Bruma-upon-Jerall, in the shadow of Imperator Actual, and I will not run from my fate. NU-MANTIA! FREEDOM!

Relvis Cravan
Ipsissimus of Razors

[CONNECTION REESTABLISHED]
[COMMENCE INTERCEPT TRACE]
[TRACE COMPLETE MOTHONACH DEATHSQUAD AUTHORIZED BLADE-SENESCHAL LEVEL]

(Allerleirauh: Perriffiat per mihi, she whispers, but then blows on her fingertips in the Atmoran fashion. For thus did our ancestors put the Snow Demons to confusion.)

Your Grace, if I may speak out of turn. I fail to see the transgression. This is not some bandit Great Aka was apprehending but Dagon himself, an allowable intervention. In any case, despite bombast and briast-beating, if any oaths were broken, there are none present with the means to call the transgressor to account.

Since I seem to be the only Void Ranger present, if it is your desire, I shall go and look for the Archbishop. Someone lend me a strongly-scented handkerchief.

Do you not listen to Sleeve Message Shorling? I am the newly crowned "Archbishop", recognized by Time Lord and recognized by the Toshic Chantry. I am the mouth of Auri-El, Nord. Aka seems to have not had a true ambassador for many a year.

You will not find Remanisthenes among these stone walls. He resides in the void, such was his ignorance of the Dragon.

Quite...

Um, Allerlyria, was it? Best that we not agitate this most...esteemed presbyter. But in response to your first query, perhaps I misspoke? I did not mean to imply criminal breach or culpability - at least not on the part of our Aetherial Father, for the crowd of gentlemen-in-red sitting in the docket there, bound and gagged, have very much to answer for.

(Drenim gesticulates tantra's of reflection and introspection and rises from his seat.)

And so it has begun, the shed skin of the Serpent to be vied over as if it were a maiden on her first fair.
Know then, Quaradil, that not only the Thalmor can lay claim to the era's to come, nor to endeavors that utilise the Mundus for that which it was not intended!
You think to grab and claim things that may or may not rightfully be yours, but do not forget that whilst the playthings of those that call themselves the Aedra can be waywarded by that which is outside their spectrum, there are also those that have torn away the blinders to behold the full glory of that-what-is, was and can-never-be.
We who follow the Worm live in the cracks, under your temples, and we can never be rooted, for by our mystery we are like the dust-breath that binds!
Your growling over bones like a shambles hound is of no relevance to us.
Go! Follow your doom, squabble over tablescraps and look towards your Tower with hunger.
We have our own Endeavour, and all touch He-who-snares-Arkay, be it of their own volition, their doom or the symmetry of ages.
In short, esteemed Quaradil of Thalmor, we have no interest in your conquest of the Drake and you have nothing to gain from us, be it by alliance, indifference nor war.
Leave us in our cracks where dust will settle. Do what you will to Mundex Arena, it matters not to us.
Leave us and we will have no reason not to forget about you.

(Drenim looks around the room smugly, adjusts his robes and sits down.)

Hold your tongue Archbishop Drenim! We are all here for one reason or another and Quaradil is here to represent his people in these times which bind all races together. Taela has her...precautions with Thalmor busy bodies herself, but tolerates their presence when need be. Now...when do we partake in these sugary words of knowledge?

(Heedal stands, and adjusts his robes awkwardly)

Erm, perhaps I spoke out of turn. But! To refer to my mastery of the Art, my defiance of the very laws of the Earthbones as mere technique... it's well, (Heedal mumbles and trails off)
But, to get back to the point, why are we even bothering to discuss a footnote of history like Martin Septim? Everybody knows it's the An-Xieel who threw Dagon's armies out of Black Marsh.

Ah, son of Anu. So like your foregradient, utterly predictable, incredibly boorish, so, so dull. Remember that you are a guest in the house of Shezzar. Take a lesson from me, your mirror-brother, and conduct yourself with honor.

SOUL//Olodiil: 8th WAKING~TRANCE {ATTAIN WITH PREJUDICE-IN-EXTREMIS};
C0: 8th WAKING~TRANCE ACTIVE (YOUR BIDDING?);
SOUL//Olodiil: Cloud Ruler ==== PARLIANCE;
C0: PRISMARRAY == HORRIPILATING; TENDRIL PILGRIMAGE EN ROUTE;
C0: TENDRIL PILGRIMAGE ACCEPTED; DR{EA}M SIGILS AND SPEAK YOUR PEACE:

"Brother Steffan,

I know your pain. Truly, I do. For while your rank honorably guarded our Lord's body, I guarded his mind, ministering to him with the Canon Fables and even light kisses on the forehead (when need-be) on those long nights when slumber yielded him nothing but old terrors renewed.

Which is why that I must insist that you reign-in your Acherontieers in apprehending the Dagonite. Confiscate their weapons and issue cudgels and wrist-irons. I don't care the cost; I want the heretic brought to Chorrol alive and in possession of most of his faculties. Swift end on the edge of a 'Viri blade is too good a death for this snivelling recreant. Trust me that I shall extract due justice and you will not be disappointed.

Talos Guide Your Swift Intercept,

- Rev.-Gen. Belharzslav Olodiil"

SOUL//Olodil: CUT TENDRIL AND AUTOCANNABALIZE;
C0: AS YOU WILL ~~ HEAR MY HYMN (AUM NAUM NAUM...);

Akatosh's appearance is not without precedence. Did not Mara and Zenithar (Blessed be their names!) appear in person to the Nerevarine, when he was gathering artifacts for us? Akatosh simply appeared in a form closer to his true self.

And how did that Dagonite get in here?

I have no stake in the private squabbles of Aka's chantry. If the Arbiter recognizes the Thalmor, so be it.

The Void is disconcertingly pastel of late, but still traversable. Let Ottus find his own way if he can.

I am certain he speaks only in abstractest metonymy. Though I would like to caution the Thalmor's esteemed representative to be more sparing in the use of invectives. We may tolerate many...distastful customs in Cyrodiil, but undue discourtesy is not one of them.

Now if we might return to the matter at hand: the Mysterium Tremendum et Draconans. Why? What? How?

In the wilderness is a wraith of a man, a spirit half-present but not un-corporal. lacking sure contours, the tips of his hair and fingers fade into the sylvan surroundings. With a touch he becomes the union of a tree and a flurry of snowflakes dancing to a windsong. He is-hums-hears the tune.

Meanwhile, a stranger appears in Chorrol. A stranger manifests himself into experience with no prior reality, though one may be constructed by procedures colloquial or mystic. Without origin here he stands, now strolling through the plaza near the south gate, examining the statue with a thoughtful expression. A Breton, unarmed and unassuming in appearance, adorned in simple garb.

He frowns. A bird alights in a nearby tree and begins to chirp. He nods and smiles, like putting something in its right place.

Entering a tavern, he asks the publican for an ale. The ash-skinned dunmer produces a tankard and places it on the counter.

"That'll be five gold pieces."

The Breton does not respond. His eyes focused on nothing visible.

"That's five gold pieces, sir," says the woman, a little louder.

The Breton starts, and mumbles and apology. He fishes the gold out of his pocket and hands it over.

The dunmer shakes her head. "It's like you're only half here."

A wild looking woman in an ill-fitting habit of the Priestesses of Kyne scratches her ear and looks about the table, smirking outwardly.

From what I understand, the matter is simple. Baby-Empire couldn't stem the blood-tide, so Daddy-Drake stepped in and made the bad demon go away. The mysterious thing is that the serpent didn't snap its jaws earlier. Almost like Papa Aka didn't mind to see all those babies gobbled up and towers crumble. Or at least that's how it seemed from ..where I was.

She seems to be quite positively enjoying herself.

Stooping down, the wraith extends an arm towards the forest floor, hand melding with a walnut which is drawn upwards until suspended before his semi-corporal gaze. Examining the nut, he infers a myriad of possibilities, from a fetid end on the forest floor to many fecund years fathering generations of descendents: birds and squirrels scurrying through their branches, children gathering baskets full of nuts in the shade. He extracts a single possibility and stows it away for later use. The walnut falls to the ground, bounces, rolls, and at last settles. The adventurer who may pass by in two weeks time following a rumor of treasure will now not misstep and squash the nut.

Meanwhile, the Breton sips takes a sip from his ale.

"Haven't seen you around," says the Dunmer, whipping a plate with a cloth. "What's your name?"

The Breton takes another drink and then sits the tankard down the counter. He furrows his brow contemplatively, like trying to recall an old story.

"Are you well?" asks the Dunmer. "Maybe you should get some rest. We have beds."

"I am..." the Breton begins. His tone shifts, and he starts again. "There is a lot on my mind, is all."

He takes another drink. "I am Aer-a-null...Error-nil...pronunciation depending on the local dialect...”

The Dunmer eyes him with a perplexed scowl. She puts the plate down and begins to clean another.

“You from High Rock?” she asks incredulously.

“I have been.”

*the rugged Redoran in full ceremonial garb moves to speak to the floor*
So the discussion is one of the validity of divine intervention, hmm? Forgive me for my intrusion upon a Strictly Cult matter but my ignorance of your religion has caused me to only now understand the meaning of the discourse.

You can understand that I am perplexed by the controversiality of such a subject. It is, perhaps, due to my nature as Dunmeri that I only see it as natural that a god should intervene on the behalf of his people. I count myself among the fortunate of these days to have seen a God with my own eyes: many years ago, I spied Lord Vehk in discourse with a mere beggar on the canols of his palace! Such was his love for the Dunmeri, even when he spent most days in total seclusion. I feel you should take the works of your Aka with a grateful heart, mindful of the energy he spent in your defense.

Who is to say that your...Akatosh was the only divine entity gracing Nirn that day. Hidden among the secrets burried in the sand of deceit, lay a story to be told to many Khajiit and their litter-born for eons to come. A day it spoke of when the Great and Powerful Alkosh, Cat of Time, would save it's people and this mortal sphere from the Crazy and Rambunctious Merrunz! This one believes the prophesy was fulfilled! As Ambassador of Mara, Taela urges you to at least contemplate such possiblities of this continuum shift!

A bird lies sprawled out lifelessly on the forest floor. The flies have not gotten to it yet. The wraith stoops, hand melding into feathers. He flinches nigh-imperceptivity, as if being pricked with a needle while sewing. Withdrawing his arm, the digits of his fingers regain their definiteness. As his hand pulls away and takes with it a dim and wavering shadow, and the bird stands up as if awoken from a deep sleep. He stows the shadow away for later use.

Meanwhile, the Breton asks for another ale.

“That’s 10 gold pieces,” says the Dunmer.

“It was 5 before.”

“This one has an added hospitality surcharge.”

The Breton nods in acquiescence and produces 10 gold pieces. The Dunmer places a second tankard of ale before him. Then she begins to clean a bowl.

“What brings you to Chorrol?”

“I’ve overheard on various channels rumors of god-talk, aurbic-physics, and historical indemnification.” The Breton pauses to take a drink.

“You are...” she begins, uncertain as to how to phrase the question, “a scholar, or priest, of some sort?”

“Of a sort,” the Breton answers. After taking another sip of ale, he continues. “Intrigued, my curiosity brought me here, as one might seek out the rain in hopes of finding either a rainbow or a storm.”

The Dunmer places the bowl on a shelf and tosses the washcloth down on the counter.

“Is there any danger?”

“It is hard to say. It depends whether everyone stays civil. There is probably nothing to be concerned about, but be cautious of the unexpected. As for me, I have a second chance and a draught of death if I need them.”

Foolish Khajiit, they believe the world revolves around them almost as much as the Elves do. Except the Elves have the dignity of being often right.