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They laughed at us. Mocked us. Even my own mother never understood me. She wanted me to follow the family tradition. "Join a respectable cult," she told me, but Vaermina was but a chaotic lie. My Lord is the perfect truth of order. Why don't they learn to listen? They never listen! But they will have to hear us now. They shall all learn to heed the name of Peryite.
Our blessing is now ready. It shall spread, an all-consuming plague which will bury this world in corpses. This nasty, imperfect world, with no order, no respect. All will belong to my Lord, to his order. Their laughing will be drowned out by coughs, their impertinent words choking in their throat as bile builds. I'll make them beautiful, perfect. And then they shall die, lying in their own filth. My heart flutters just imagining the sight.
I've begun to allow my fellow researchers to gain the blessing we have created. Oh, how they craved it, as do I, but we must be careful. Should we follow the whims of our hearts, our entire operation may fall apart. I simply cannot let that happen, not when we are so close to true natural order.
We'll start small. There's a village nearby, tiny, perfectly suited for our needs. We'll wipe them out first, let the rumors spread. Let the fear fester in their hearts. My creation will be on the tongue of every citizen of Tamriel. And then, well, I'll make sure those tongues rot off.
But as for her …. Oh, what a grumpy, nasty woman. She cares nothing for our experiment, for our plans. She merely stares at me. What is she thinking? I cannot see her face, for she refuses to remove that unsightly mask. I fear she still holds an attachment for her former master. Nasty, nasty!
Of course, I do not question Lord Peryite's will! I do not! He knows I have been loyal. Faithful. I see the vision of his ordered world, and I revel in it. A land filled with corpses, rotting, resplendent. A new age shall come, a new order will come! All under my Lord's banner. Mother will regret the day she spurned me.
I wish to keep recording, of course, but it's getting a bit trickier to write since my third finger fell off. I fear this may be my last entry, but what shall it matter? I can see no way our plan can fail. No one can overcome the will of the Prince of Pestilence! And all shall know his blessing.