[This account was penned by [censored] the tragic successor of the better known Eric of Guis]
Mad unacceptable madness! (For this is what I seek to reveal.) The Thalmor are not what they appear, or rather they are exactly what they appear (that is) the agents of convention, unwilling bureaucrats of the shackled world, old as time, eternity as a heart-removing machine, ever repressented, ever indirect.
Foolish Cyrodiil, did you never think to ask why all we ever see are their repressentatives?
Theirs is an impossible structure, a great chain of reflecting crystal components: ideas (that were never made public), spirits (for what are ideas other than spirits?), clerks (betrayed by their numbers, repressentatives of the [god]head chairmer: Anui-El), savages (for that is what they are, the people of the tree-sap that is yet another manifestation of the bureaucracy resplendent), and an endless train of apes and livestock, imitators and mirror-beasts, aspiring to reach the lowest branches of office.
Finally appear the eight chairmer who are never seen (outside pre approved communion) because they are always there. They are the Thalmor. A court spanning the stars, dissected by the insect-wing mirrors of Alinor and delegated by visual inhalation to its golden skinned deputies.
This is the great kaleidoscope-process against Man (could any world ever hope to be more audacious?), a trial as ancient as its first luminescent ponder-judge...
[The remainder of this text is illegible on account of numerous scorch marks.]