Sermon 17

Ayem left the Hortator at the roof of the world, to ponder the first lesson of the ruling king. Vivec travelled with her. Ayem circumabulated the Tower 66 times before Vivec asked,

"What is the purpose of this?"

Ayem bit her tongue, spat blood at Vivec's feet.

And he clapped his hands in joy. "A good lesson. I shall find its unsung master."

"You shall learn nothing you do not already know."

But Vivec paid no heed to this, for he is a riddle-shaped wound in the world.

Thus Vivec left Ayem's side, seeking the warmth of love. Ayem journeyed on, coming to a sundered Dwemeri stronghold. Its mighty walls wept rust, its spires uncoiled.

"Who wrought this?" asked Ayem.

And the stronghold liquefied. From the bubbling mass emerged the face of Seht the Creator, eyes like gears, flecked with incomplete equations.

"This is the intrusion of the false life, war," he said.

"My people suffered much at the hands of the Northmen."

"Can you rectify this?"

And Ayem stretched out her hand, and Seht subsided into a golden pool. From the stronghold's watered remnants Ayem crafted 9999 servitors, with burning coal for bones and trapped lightning for nerves. She sent these servitors across the land, to aid in its resurrection. And the servitors obeyed, marching in all five directions, singing Ayem's names in perfect synchronicity.

But it was not enough. Cloaking herself in the garb of a netchiman, Ayem walked among her people, to examine their scars.

At Narsis, Ayem found the Great Lake bloated with shells. They rose up, and in plaintive voice cried, "When shall you free us?"

And Ayem said, "You are already free. Do not cling to me."

And she bade her servitors excavate a great earth-womb, and Ayem gathered up the squalling souls, depositing them within.

Pure water flooded the lake anew, and the people of Narsis rejoiced. They praised ALMSIVI, although they knew not one of Her aspects walked amongst them now.

Ayem travelled on, to the city of Baal-Ae-Mora, anon Balmora. Here the canals were blood-crusted and the people lamented. Ayem bade her servitors make nets of their veins and cast them into the waters. They drew up the Memory of Battle. It howled, fanged-arms flashing, "You think to forget me so easily? Inconstant people!" And the Memory ran amok, terrifying the residents of Baal-Ae-Mora.

"Foolish one," said Ayem. "How do go? They shall long to forget you now."

And the Memory paused at Ayem's tone. "What is my response then?"

"Come, set yourself here, at the city's centre, so all may look upon you."

And the Memory of Battle did stand in a pose of feral glory. Ayem summoned her servitors and they draped the Memory in glass from the earth's heart and pearls pried from dreugh-dens. Ayem then breathed upon the Memory, making it real. And the people did gasp at this, for when the sun shone upon the Memory's form, its light shattered.

Ayem left Baal-Ae-Mora with this reminder, and continued her progress. (This statue no longer stands. The foul work of Apostates.) She came then to Asa-Nur, anon Blacklight. Many women were lost in mourning, rubbing ash into their faces.

"Why do you weep?" Ayem said.

And a woman replied, "Many of our men were slain by the Northerners."

Ayem looked to the great funeral pyre, frowned. "But they are gone."

"Which is why we weep."

And Ayem summoned her servitors, gathered up the corpse-smoke. She shaped it into masks of the lost men, placed them upon her servitors.

"See here," said Ayem. "You need not weep for the living."

The women rejoiced, danced, sang. They embraced the simulacra of their husbands, brothers, sons. And in time, belief would make them real.

And Ayem left Asa-Nur, and continued on.

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.