I fucking hate ESO, but this deserves attention nonetheless.
Sermon Thirty-Seven
You have discovered the thirty-seventh Sermon of Vivec, which is a bending of the light, long past the chronicles of the Hortator who wore inconstant faces and ruled however they would, until apocalypse.
Vivec was borne by ribbons of water, which wrote their starward couplings in red. This was a new place of speed. His eyes broke on the spikes above the tower, Where the Void Ghost squatted over a drake-scaled drum, imbecile in its rhythm. And he asked of it:
"Who are you that need no signature at all?"
Three in sum, the robes of Ayem stretched towards the bright black rim of memory, roping an arch of purchase. This was a new sprinting task. And Seht held his swollen body to its name, clockmakers daughter, swimming the dead confession along a century ahead. Naming her, uneaten, a golden cache of Veloth and Velothi, for where else would they know to go?
"Go here, world without wheel, charting zero deaths, and echoes singing," Seht said, until all of it was done, and in the center was anything whatever.
And the red moment became a great howling unchecked, for the Provisional House was in ruin. And Vivec became as glass, a lamp, for the dragons mane had broke, and the red moon bade him come.
"The sign of royalty is not this," a signal blueshift (female) told him, "There is no right lesson learned alone."
cont.
