» Sat May 19, 2012 7:26 pm Since the Dawn, our kind have been cursed with a terrible affliction. Whenever we witness a thing, we are compelled to share that experience with our fellows, but when we try, we fail. When we speak, all that comes out are meaningless words. We try to say, "fire," but what comes out isn't a fire, it's just a word.
Our ancient ancestors knew better. When we had golden scales instead of golden skin, what we said was. We shouted fire, not "fire." Then came Lorkhan (Father-of-Words!) and the world settled into its terrible state. When it seemed that the rising sun of the Dawn might be it's own Dusk, without passing through the terrible Noons we have endured, many fought furiously and shouted loudly in hopes of returning to the glory-times, squandering their last opportunities to speak truly. But there was one who stood apart, and learned to write before Lorkhan (Father-of-Words!) could render writing meaningless. That mer was Xarxes.
Xarxes wrote the histories of the Aldmer people. He did not, as some heretics claim, write a series of words describing our history. No, he wrote our history. All the details, large and small, poured fourth from his pen. It was he who wrote our victory in the Great War, and he who wrote our victories to come. Never did he write with words, and when it came to pass that Nirn could only contain such feeble things, he fled skyward. So it is that those who read the truth trapped within these words should stay silent until they can again speak truly, and keep their pens still, except to copy this document.
Hail Xarxes, Scribe of Auri-El, the King of All!
