Lore:The Truth in Sequence: Volume 8
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By the word, I wind the gears.
Every Nameless soul must confess the truth of Mournhold, for many lessons hide in its ashes. Sing now the hymn of anguish and horror, child of Seht! Behold, Mehrunes Dagon, Sovereign of Destruction! Mehrunes Dagon, the Flame Tyrant! Mehrunes Dagon, Father of Cataclysm! Recall how he marched upon Almalexia's jewel! Do you remember how his Will burned like kiln-fire, and hot pitch fell from his lips? Aloft, he held four great razors. Each sang a screeching paean to glorify him. Torrents of flame fell upon the innocent and wicked alike, shearing flesh from bone; belching forth widows and orphans in gouts of frothing screams.
"Who dares to face me, draped as I am in fire and blood?" roared Dagon. The dark Prince beat his breast and howled long-forgotten curses. The dead burst forth from their tombs, shrieking for mercy. Geysers of black liquid-sin erupted from below, flooding ruined homes with torrid lies and conspiracy. And everywhere, flames—an inferno that turned all souls to ash.
Almalexia, Mother of Mercy, cast her eyes upon the ruins of her gemmed city and wept. To see such love burned and squandered turned her heart to molten brass. Our Clockwork God took note of her fury, sealing the memory away in his great mnemonic planisphere—a reminder of her love's high price.
Rising from the ground like foundry-smoke, the Tribunes confronted the Prince of Disasters. Ayem's voice like a screeching steam-whistle, and Sotha Sil's like a lurching engine.
"ERAM VAR AE ALTADOON!" they cried, rending their garments and donning their killing masks. Ayem drew her bright Hopesfire and skipped over the flames like a river-stone. With a mighty scream, she plunged the blade deep into Dagon's breast and turned it like a jailer's key. Scorching blood spewed out of the wound, scalding her hands and face. As she fell, the Divine Metronome chiseled a thought-rune of infinite angles. Do you remember how the veins of tin, copper, and orichalc erupted from the depths to break our mother's Fall? Through His will alone, Mighty Seht wound the veins into god-bronze whips, and lashed the Prince pitilessly. Dagon hissed and tumbled backward. His otherworldly flesh fell like chaff before the scythe. Alas, a Sarmissonays'um ghoul-thing emerged from every chunk.
A multitude of the creatures gathered around Ayem, fiery tar oozing from their mouths and open sores. They groaned and retched, speaking only Dagon's name as they fell upon her. The Warden hissed thrice, took up her blessed sword, and smote the beasts by the score. She severed head from neck and arm from shoulder, cleaving sin from virtue and shouting old-oaths of banishing. Do you remember how the beasts fellher on that red day?
You must recall the howls of Madness! How Dagon foamed and snarled beneath the lash of Sotha Sil! "Behold!" cried the Divine Metronome as He smashed the Prince to splinters. "Behold the wrath of lost Ald Sotha! Know death at my hands, false-son of a false-father! KAER PADHOME VIE ALTADOON!"
Even then, at the end, the Prince of Destruction did not relent. With the last of his four great arms, Dagon dragged the last of his four great razors across the Watchmaker's jaw. Tasting the blood on His tongue, our Father of Mysteries whispered a final chrononymic death-word, and Dagon exploded throughout all time. The earthbones quaked and the All-Axle shook. From this word of sundering, Truth took root.
Mehrunes's ruin slithered between the cracks of Nirn and Oblivion, shrieking curses like a petulant child. The Mainspring Ever-Wound tightened His brass-wrought fist and slammed the gap shut—another small step toward Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. So ends the true account of Mournhold's fall. Remember this tale always.
By the word, I wind the gears.