This does build to another potential problem; the more they dumb down the lore, the more similar it starts to look to every other rpg ever, and that is a very bad thing in an oversaturated market. Still, nothing to be done except wait and see how it turns out at this point.

Realize that the Real-Ones has been betrayed, and the Fake-Ones has triumphed.
Realize that we are the Forgotten Truths, they are the True Lies.
Realize the pretenders are acting, and the Elk is fighting.
Realize that our own is at stake.
Realize the message these fakes are faking.
Realize that one our loved ones are betrayed and taken affair by imitators, mimes of the Elk.

Realize that this is not who we are.

TAM! RUGH! FOREVER THE ELK!

It bemuses us to hear the void-planes of Oblivion described as 'magical dimensions.'

Conjecture.



This is a wise thing.

Another bit I forgot to mention. Still I seem to be the only one not assuming these mistakes are of the above quoted journalist.

Conjecture? How? TESO is going into an oversaturated market; this is something it seems fair to say is a fact, not opinion. The closer the game universe looks to other, existing games (and their fanbases) the less likely it is people will buy the game.

You base your claim on the as-yet-unproven hypothesis that the lore will be dumbed down.


It's a secondary source, designed to appeal to broad audience- this is not a good way to discover lore.

I sense a disturbing lack of Thok-talk among the ripples, brothers.

Hark now, for twice Vehk has forseen all and we the Selectives are as a brilliant prism, we preach as thus:


Being blind the netchiman's wife wandered into a cave on her way to the domains of House Indoril. It so happened that this cave was a Dwemeri stronghold. The Dwemer spied the egg and captured the netchiman's wife. They bound her head to foot and brought her deep within the earth.
She heard one say, 'Go and make a simulacrum of her and place it back on the surface, for she has something akin to what we have and so the Velothi will covet it and notice if she is too long away.'
In the darkness, the netchiman's wife felt great knives try to cut her open. When the knives did not work, the Dwemer used solid sounds. When those did not work, great heat was brought to bear. Nothing was of any use, and the egg of Vivec remained safe within her.
A Dwemer said, 'Nothing is of any use. We must go and misinterpret this.'

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI

Unproven, yes. Likely, yes. They are doing this to make money. To do that, they will almost certainly simplify/change whatever lore is in the game, so as to make it more accessible to people unfamiliar with TES universe.

Brother, Vehk's tongue is as a shield, we must be as his many-faceted memberweapon if we wish to strike piously.

Penderghast: thus, conjecture. Your eyes watch the future, but you have yet to speak to the barons of Move-like-this.

'Love is used not only as a constituent in moods and affairs, but also as the raw material from which relationships produce hour-later exasperations, regrettably fashioned restrictions, riddles laced with affections known only to the loving couple, and looks that linger too long. Love is also an often-used ingredient in some transparent verbal and nonverbal transactions where, eventually, it can sometimes be converted to a variety of true devotions, some of which yield tough, insoluble, and infusible unions. In its basic form, love supplies approximately thirteen draughts of all energy that is derived from relationships. Its role and value in society at large are controversial.'

The Dwemer were vexed at these words and tried to hide behind their power symbols. They sent their atronachs to remove the egg-image from their cave and place it within the simulacrum they had made of Vivec's mother.

A Dwemer said, 'We Dwemer are only aspirants to this that the Velothi have. They shall be our doom in this and the eight known worlds, NIRN, LHKAN, RKHET, THENDR, KYNRT, AKHAT, MHARA, and JHUNAL.' The secret to doom is within this Sermon.

The ending of the words is MULTIDIMENSIONAL SON OF A NETCHIMAN.

And Seht then extended his hands and multitudes of homunculi came forth, each like a glimmering rope through the water, and they raised the netchiman's wife back to the surface world and set her down on the shoals of Azura's coast. There she lay for seven or eight more months, caring for the egg-knowledge by whispering to it the Codes of Mephala and the prophecies of Veloth and even the forbidden teachings of Trinimac.

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI

and Vehk took from it its feet.

Merari and War_Psyence, dear brothers in Maruhk, for last 36 hours and few minutes i have learned Sermon 3 as if it would be me myself, as we solemnly swore in our meetings of Selectives. Now you, my dear brothers in Monkey Talk, come here with your words and purposes and quote MY SERMON!

Is this the Enantiomorph, brotherly betrayal by stab in the back? Is my heart to be carved out from my chest? Is it going to be spark to stabilize new Mundus? Am i to be Lorkhan? To be Moons in sky? If yes, then thank you Brothers in Selectives for this glory bestowed upon me!

The ending of the words is Second247-Reaching-Heaven-By-Betryal.

Who was Marukh?

He was Marukh the Rebel, for he went against what was common for his kind.
He was Marukh the King, for he ruled over the affairs of men.
He was Marukh the Seer, for he observed the One observing him, and he saw this and spoke: WHAT VIVEC SAID.
He was Marukh the Dragonborn, for he broke beneath his feet the back of the Dragon, who exhaled "Our-we-?ll" in fiery death.
He was Marukh the Ape, because he was that.

Tam. RUGH!

I maintain that a daedroth is in fact divine. Daedric Princes are gods of the Void, and the lesser Daedra are their immortal servants, also sprung from the Void. The word 'daedroth' can be equally well mistranslated as 'demon', 'angel', 'divinity' or 'tiny god' in the monkey-tongue of the uninitiated.

Always loved that line.
Anyway.
The ending of the words is Tam! RUGH!

The netch-woven Mask dropped to the floor, a glorious site to behold, a long spear in the cold.

muatra

In the cold, in the cold of the Throat's long night sat an Elk and a God, plus a spear shining o' so bright.

muatra

The God lifted his weapon and lunged at the Elk with lies and blood on a stick.

muatra

The Elk, sworn to peace, grasped the lies and blood between the nick his hooves.

muatra

The God moved his blood-lie to and fro, hoping to set himself free, but the Elk's grasp was too true, and thus the Second Egg was conceived.

Tam! RUGH!

TAM! RUGH! to that!

Tam! RUGH! to everything!
I AM ALL WE

DRM.SLV.LOG [PERMISSION GRANTED]
* glyphcast [horripilator:v366 333]
toSHELL == SELECTIVE;

I am forever swimming around, amidst this ocean world we call home. My limbs grow weak and weary as my eyes drift skyward in defeat. I remember how warm the earth felt, as I lived and breathed next to her beating heart. I remember enough to keep searching through an ocean of tears, raised to astronomical depths. My dreams offer solace, where I return to distant, faded times. Through trees entwined with cool autumn air, my sorrow is lured by fragrant, bittersweet memories. I am at home as much as my world and consciousness allow. I remember falling into the most beautiful lake I've ever experienced. She swallowed me whole, like a droplet, and I was enraptured and enwombed within her bliss. The lonely windswept desert sky of my soul was filled by her luminous stars and warmed by her sunlit radiance. I gazed downward in awe and saw it all reflected in the shimmering ripples dancing and playing about the surface. It appeared to me as real as the very wonders it was reflecting. I stepped forward to prove to no one and everyone that they were, by belief. For an aching instant I was betwixt the two and the summation. Confusion befell me and I fell through, only to realize I hadn't entered the lake, I had left it. With all of my remaining life I howled at the heavens and collapsed, like a star on the shores of my youth, as my life's breath wandered away from the home it had harbored. I have been drowning on dry land ever since.

I lay there, coital, for heaven knows how long. I felt eons ebb and flow in the spans of seconds. I lived as intently as I could in those endless instants, as the boredom of -after- droned on and on. The fires of my heart grew dim and became only the faintest embers of the roaring blaze they had once been. My limbs, heavy with the weight of the world, protested. I felt the longing of this life which slowly began to ease the agony in my heart. As I was gradually nursed back to health, knowledge of record and history tried desperately to fill the yawning, nauseous chasm of my soul.
I began to know the deadpan search for freedom and forgetfulness, and I released the hold on my life. Though it still lurched, pained, in front of me, I just stared back with tired, vacant eyes as if watching the most fascinating of nothing. My mind drifted, only to be slammed back reluctantly, repeatedly, and painfully by those I vaguely remember knowing, as if from a different life and age. I try, in vain, to forgive and forget myself as I paste on those plaster smiles and strain to look levelly. I remember. I forget. I forget again. I remember less. I am saddened at the thought that I have forgotten.
I am not who I used to be. Though it pained me so, I was never so real as those lonely, lost times of my undoing.

I am torn asunder at the thought of losing forever that, which has changed my life eternally, and that which I fear in the depths of my soul will never be again. That, which has gifted me with more pain than I have ever known in all of my lives or all of the lives that I know through my own.

Who am I to ask this of you?

+-Transmission ends--+

I hope the Grand Council in Morrowind is present. Else we'll have to do something about that... Heh heh heh.

These will be the days of Redsdaynia, when MMO fan and TES fan live under the wise and benevolent rule of the Marukhati Selective and their champion the Elk. When the Lore changed, to mold the cosmos differently from that that was known and other retcons, the Selective will at times become confused. Vivec will always be there to advise us, and this is the first of the three lessons of ruling kings. "The waking world is the amnesia of dream. All motifs can be mortally wounded. Once slain, themes turn into the structure of future nostalgia. Do not abuse your powers or they will lead you astray. They will become lost and resentful and finally become pregnant with the seed of folly. Soon you will be the grandparent of a broken state. You will be mocked. It will fall apart like a stone that recalls that it is really water.

Can I put this in my sig? I just love this explanation

By all means.