Truth In Sequence

The Truth in Sequence

Volume 1

Taken from the sermons of Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon to the Mainspring Ever-Wound.

By the word, I wind the gears.

How does one come to know the Clockwork God and Father of Mysteries? Our Lord Vivec and the Lady of Mercy, Almalexia, are known to us. Their faces are known to us. Their words are known to us. But what of Sotha Sil? He who is distant in both position and intent. Ever watchful, but seldom seen. Ever worshiped, but seldom heard. He is the Mainspring Ever-Wound—the unmoved mover, hidden within His Clockwork City, whose voice is the Divine Metronome. As Tourbillon, I speak His truth as I know it. I say the words in sequence so they can be known by the people. The sequence is but a shadow of the truth, but minds such as ours cannot bear the ordered unsequence. Minds such as ours cannot truly know themselves. Not yet.

The First Truth of the Mainspring Ever-Wound is the truth of Nirn. The soul of Nirn has two faces. The first is known to us—the Nirn-Prior, or the Nirn of Many Parts. It is a Nirn in pieces, assembled by the unsteady hand that has yet to find itself. Its oscillations irregular, its going train disrupted by fear and delusion. Its faults are not in its parts, but in its assembly. Each gear is a god. Each spring is a thought. But a mechanism built by many hands cannot know the precision of the master craftsman. The et'Ada Gears cannot bring forth a true Nirn, because they know only its parts. They cannot see the whole. The Eye of Sotha Sil ignores such division. Where the broken gods see only pieces, our Father Sotha Sil sees the whole. He sees the Second Nirn.

The Second Nirn. The inchoate Nirn-Ensuing. The thought-form that anticipates the world to come: Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. Only Sotha Sil knows its shape. Its nature lies forgotten in the before-time when Anu broke itself for wisdom's sake. Our lessers know the Source as two forms: Anu and Padomay, but this binary is without merit. One of the Lorkhan's Great Lies, meant to sunder us from the truth of Anuic unity. Our father, Sotha Sil, would have us know the truth: there is no Padomay. Padomay is the absence of value. The lack. A ghost that vanishes at first light. A Nothing. There is only Anu, sundered and known by many names, possessing many faces. The one.

When Anu broke itself, it did so to understand its nature. In its sundering, the values that swam in its vastness thought to know themselves. The et'Ada Gears gave themselves many names and set their will to building. Alas, they heeded the counsel of Lorkhan and forgot the face of Anu. They thought themselves distinct and whole. And so, many hands assembled the world, each with separate intention and selfish purpose. The Nirn of Many Parts was the result. A broken and leaking steam-ship that lists ever wind-ward.

But rejoice, children of the Tribunal! In His wisdom, the Mainspring Ever-Wound seeks to reclaim our lost heritage. His heart is oiled and calibrated, pumping dark truth as blood. His mind is the God-Mortar where the fractured values of Anuic nature are ground and weighed—unified through His will alone. From this great labor, a new Nirn will be born. Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. I pray that we see the fruit of His labor—a perfect world, without et'Ada Gears. Without the illusion of change. Water-tight and everlasting.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Volume 2

Taken from the sermons of Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon to the Mainspring Ever-Wound.

By the word, I wind the gears.

The will of Sotha Sil is the chrononymic will. The Nameless Will. For what is "Name?" The Divine Metronome tells us that "Name" is the wedge that pries gear from pinion. The residue of Lorkhan's Great Lie that loosens the wheel chain and corrodes the frame. The et'Ada Gears named each and each, in their way. Our lessers see this as a kindness, but the Mainspring Ever-Wound calls it a curse, rooted in selfish pride. To name is to cleave one from another. It is the death of Anuic convergence and the Nirn-Ensuing—the misassembled dragon that breathes dry falsehood and whose name is "Multitude."

There is only one name that is not Name. Seht, the convergent Clockwork God, whose will pumps like a piston into both "then" and "after." Sotha Sil, Father of Mystery, whose heart drives the Wheels Eternal and whose blood oils the All-Axle. Si, the Divine Engine, whose mind merges "they" and "we" and births the Nirn-Ensuing. Lesser wills are wisps of smoke, born and lost in a sea of endless sky. Lost children whose freedom is death.

For what is freedom, child of the Tribunal? The counter-lever to slavery? No. Have you not heard the words in sequence? The chrononymic will is the pendulum that swings only once. It cannot do otherwise. To swing twice would break one intention from another and prove the blasphemy of two. As Padomay is illusion, so too is the named will. For what is "choice" if not chaos? What is "free will" if not the lack of order, vulgar and triumphant? The true wheels spin clockwise, ever clockwise. In the unity of Nirn-Ensuing, each belongs to all, and all belong to none—save Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. So lay down your cheap burdens, child. "Shall I do thus?" Such "choice" is delusion. Give yourself to the pursuit of unity, for in the end, you cannot do otherwise.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Volume 3

Taken from the sermons of Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon to the Mainspring Ever-Wound.

By the word, I wind the gears.

The Third Truth of the Mainspring Ever-Wound is the truth of the Daedra. In the days before the First Ignition, the Chimer people bent their knees to the False Princes: The Webspinner, the Prince of Plots, and the Queen of Dawn and Dusk. I do not use their names, as Name cleaves one from another. You know them well, child of the Tribunal, for every time you bear false witness, or make foolish boasts, you do so in their name. Their words corrode and weaken the heart. Their threats loosen the fasteners and break the seals. They are the Anti-Gears that turn counter to the Nameless Will. Servants of the Padomaic untruth whose nature is void. Of the Daedra, only the Gray Prince of Order knew his nature, and he went mad in the knowing.

The Daedra fear wisdom and order, you see? And thus do they fear the Clockwork God above all others. Where others see dark crowns numbered ten and six, Sotha Sil sees shadows and nothing more. For the Daedra are the lie that creation tells itself. Like their father, Padomay, they are Nothing. And in the Tamriel Final, Nothing shall hold no sway. Anuvanna'si. Their black mountain called "Oblivion" shall sink into the Furnace of Forgotten Numbers, where all lies burn and brittle multitudes turn to slag.

I hear you ask: If the Daedra are of the Nothing, how do they lurk on our threshold? How do they lurk at all? Hear the words in sequence, child of the Tribunal! In the clumsily built Nirn-Prior, the et'Ada Gears left gaps and crevices where Nothing could take root. Imperfections born from Lorkhan's Great Lie and the selfishness of fractured creation. In the glorious Anuic convergence of the Nirn-Ensuing, all gaps will be sealed. All crevices will be welded. The creaking and rattling of the machine shall retreat to a whisper, and the reckless chaos born from the et'Ada Gears' folly shall shrivel and starve.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Volume 4

Taken from the sermons of Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon to the Mainspring Ever-Wound.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Now I speak to you of Sotha Sil's silence. The children of ash sometimes ask, "Where is our Clockwork God? Why does only the Tourbillon speak His truth in mortal sequence?" They ask in hushed tones, with brows creased by fear. Do not flee from such questions, child of the Tribunal. These are the little blasphemies that lead to wisdom—the faultless flame that turns ignorance to steam. For the Mainspring Ever-Wound is the Father of Curiosity, and curiosity is the joyful destroyer. Only in sundering can things be made whole. Only the disassembled engine can be scrubbed and made clean. So, smash the old machines! Topple your mind's idols! And from the wreckage, assemble new truths—flawless and water-tight.

Do you see now, child of the Tribunal? It is the silence of Sotha Sil that gives birth to the intrepid mind. Knowledge must be found—and to find a thing, it must be hidden. It is not enough to be told. The whirr of the machine is as silence to the one who lives within it. A turbine ever-oiled does not know the lack of oil—does not know the purpose of oil. And so it is with truth.

Now, you must know that curiosity is not without cost. ALM forgive this heresy! VI forgive this heresy! I speak the words in sequence only. Pay heed to the laws of golden masks, but know also their limits. Pay heed to the songs of dancing glass, but know also the boundaries of their scale. Their truth is the truth of inertia. Of gravity. Their hearts are vessels filled with liquid brass—resistant to harm, but incapable of movement. The Mainspring Ever-Wound spurns that which does not move. In the Nirn-Ensuing, that which does not move shall be fed to the Kiln-Amaranthine where Seht's quiet wrath burns like the sun, and broken cogs are made whole. The Wheels Eternal must spin. The Tamriel Final must tick and tock. Anuvanna'si. Each and each must take its place in the whole. For if even one piece is missing, the whole is not whole.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Volume 5

Taken from the sermons of Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon to the Mainspring Ever-Wound.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Speak not of Dwarves, child of the Tribunal. The simple clockworks of the Dwemer pale before the sublime machinery of Sotha Sil. Let Dumac's lament be a silent one. Let his hissing tombs stay buried. Let his automata rust and crumble. For his was the greatest failure—driven by Lorkhan's Great Lie and churlish pride. His is a tale of woe and terror, and those that pursue his ugly maths shall pay a great price in blood.

"But, was Dumac not a creator?" you ask? "Were the brass-child's hands not covered in oil? Did they not speak the words of Making, and set wheel to axle?" Hear the words in sequence, followers of Seht. Intention dictates the worth of a machine. Where the Mainspring Ever-Wound seeks the convergence of the Nirn-Ensuing, the ghosts of the Dwemer cry out: "Multitudes! Multitudes!" Mer and machine, parted. Wisdom and ambition, parted. Made and Unmade, parted. And from those sunderings, a thousand thousand skittering machines are made—left to wander forgotten halls, aimless and profligate. One may twist a knob left in preparation for another to twist the same knob right. One may loosen a pipe so that another may tighten it. They exist only to maintain the brass-childrens' folly, and so they are redundant and profane in the Eye of Sotha Sil.

But most profane is this: the walking horror that bears the Name, NM. The Brass Tower of Vanity. The mindless guardian of the Nirn-Prior. The Antipodal-God-Thing that reigns on the darkest pole of the sacred Nirn-Sphere. Of all the threats to Tamriel Final, NM is the greatest. Anuvanna'si. The Daedra can be banished in thought, but NM must be sundered on Nirn. It is the welded knot at the center of Anu that must be untied. The God-Puzzle. The Mainspring Ever-Wound remains silent on this point. And where there is silence, there is great wisdom.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Volume 6

Taken from the sermons of Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon to the Mainspring Ever-Wound.

By the word, I wind the gears.

Behold, the Clockwork City! The Throne Aligned! The Omni-Axle! The Brass-Throat Herald of Joyful Destruction! The Oil-Slick Tower of Seamless Assembly! Rejoice! Rejoice!

Listen, child of the Tribunal! Do you not hear the whirr of the gears? The hiss of the pistons? It is the voice of Sotha Sil, calling you to the Nirn-Ensuing. To the Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. Cast down your worldly maths. Loosen the chains of your selfish pursuits. Shall I describe it to you? Shall I guide your eyes to the future of Nirn? Hear the words in sequence, dark child. Close your eyes and awaken!

Gaze up to behold a crystal sky, girded and bound by Seht's bright bands. Look down to behold the black stone of His will, and His imagination made clay. Drink His truth, thick as blood, from the broad black rivers. Feel His breath on your skin—let its dreamy redolence fill your nostrils and sting your eyes. You stand at the center of the wheel. The home of the Mainspring Ever-Wound.

Obsidian towers stretch ever skyward, festooned with polished brass and godly filigrees. Great turbines drive memory through a thousand thousand pipes that stretch out like tangled veins, or the golden roots of an ageless tree. And wandering amidst the humming and hissing paradise are His second-children. The Fabri'siraynosim. The merged-ones. Birthed of the unsequence, and bound to the Nirn-Ensuing. They cry out in one voice: "Death to Multitudes! Woe and terror! Let the fragments melt in the Boiler of Unknown Angles! Let the falsehoods burn in the Furnace of Forgotten Numbers! Disassemble and cleanse! Dismantle and make whole!" They are the guardians—the ever-wound key-lords. Only the Nameless heart avoids their wrath. Their hatred of discord knows no limits. For the road to Tamriel Final is not a bloodless one, child of the Tribunal. Anuvanna'si. Contemplate this with a pious heart. Seek a clean and well-oiled soul. It shall serve you well in His truth-to-come.

So you see the Clockwork City is like Sotha Sil Himself—rich in beauty for the faithful, and alight with sublime terror for the servants of chaos. In which Clockwork City would you reside? Commit your small blasphemies and think on this.

By the word, I wind the gears.