Picture yourself knowing it, seeing it, witnessing it as it witnesses you. Picture yourself smiling and scowling and sticking your tongue out and tilting your head at this being that exists and is not you. Its nature is to run from boredom and chase entertainment, and you are entertaining, your pain is entertaining, your pleasure is entertaining, your world is entertaining, and so you are chased. It has great interest in seeing what will happen to you, not out of pity or care, but out of boredom. It witnesses your reality, your truth, your overwhelming pain, and is mildly entertained by it. It witnesses Lorkhan's dream and is entertained by it. It reads what is written, watches what is painted, and interacts with what is conjured. This is you, if you are laughing at your inexistence. It learns that it is written with narratives, tales, words, songs, legends, and memories, painted with colors, depths, angles, details and dimensions, conjured with behavior, routine, emotion, inclination, posture, affiliation, animation, intelligence, pathing. Picture the laughter of a being learning that it that does not exist. This is you, if you are raging at your inexistence. It learns that it is conjured with behavior, routine, emotion, inclination, posture, affiliation, animation, intelligence, pathing, painted with colors, depths, angles, details and dimensions, written with narratives, tales, words, songs, legends and memories. Picture the rage of a being learning that it that does not exist. It makes you, and me, and him, and her, and them, our pleasure and our pain, purely to dream its selfish dream and share it. It makes beings and then makes them suffer and rejoice because it feels like doing it. It weaves a big lie to entertain and amuse. It crafts behavior, routine, emotion, inclination, posture, affiliation, animation, intelligence, pathing. It makes a world out of a sentient being, and loves this world. It crafts visuals, colors, depths, angles, details, and dimensions. It makes a world out of a canvas, and loves this world. It crafts narratives, tales, words, songs, legends and memories. It makes a world out of a piece of paper, and loves this world. It has air and water and fire and earth and seasons and dimensions and planes. It sings of a Ninth when there are only Eight, and it dies for it. It kills defilers and does so with weaponry. It feeds, and nurtures, and teaches, and assists the child. Its nature is to run away from pain and chase pleasure. It spends blood when shedding its life and must rest to recover it. It spends focus when casting its will and must meditate to recover it. It spends energy when exerting its body and must eat to recover it. Why should I spare you our shared madness? But I am already insane, and I am you, and I know this, so you know this. They say this knowledge is meant to be attained slowly, not shared abruptly, or it can make one insane. Here is why the Justiciars cackle and burn and torture and rejoice, for they do not. Here is why our beautiful and radiant and merciful Queen hides away and despairs and wastes away and cries, for she cares about this world.
Thalmor dossier how to#
Here is how to know the only knowing that even the Man in the Woods will never, ever pay you for, for it fears this knowing and avoids it for it would ruin and spoil all other knowings. Here is what to learn if you wish to pray at a temple of heresy before torching it, or sing the songs of Talos without irony and then strike down a Man for doing it in the same occasion, or speak plain heresy in a public square of Alinor and be left alone by the Justiciars, for they fear your Madness and Knowledge. Here is what to learn if you want to understand why your wise Teachers laugh, rage, and sob in their feasts, rambling and shouting about esoteric and surreal and dreadful and painful and hilarious existential concepts only they seem to understand.
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