Somewhere in the dream of the Amaranth, a new language was born.
It was the native tongue of a new breed of quasi-mortals formed through some devilry of Molag Bal: soulless Men, Mer and Beast, reborn as Daedra yet unquestionably of Nirn itself. Those who witnessed it spoken were often left wondering if these poor Vestiges, or what have you, were entirely in possession of their mental faculties - their language was terse, filled with unnecessary shortenings and spoken acronyms that made sense to no one but themselves - but if one were to ask the Daedric Prince of Madness on the matter, he would claim no involvement. As a matter of fact, Sheogorath Himself found them maddening - particularly when one of these poor unfortunate beings had the nerve to ask him - and I quote - 'how I mine for fish???'
... And they seemed to go on about 'Pee Vee Pee' a lot. No one, on the whole, seemed to know exactly what that meant - except that it seemed to involve them running around the imperial province of Cyrodiil, killing each other, being reborn, then killing each other again while passing the Amulet of Kings around from one to another like a cheap cigar. And while mortals killing each other repeatedly was business as usual in The Arena anon Mundus, the lack of souls involved made the feast, on the whole, entirely tasteless to the eight world-eaters anon the spokes of the Wheel.
The most curious thing about the Vestiges, however, was the fact that their presence seemed to affect the very fabric of Nirn. Many of them took to a life of adventuring, taking on quests from local folk - though for some curious quirk of the Dragon, the tasks they set out to accomplish never quite seemed to be done - when one returned to turn in the object of their quest, so did several completely unrelated others - to no surprise at all by the quest-giver, who would then proceed to bestow the very same quest upon the next soulless flock in spite of having absolutely no logical amount of time to dispose of the items they sent their predecessors to locate. Great beasts and warriors that were slain periodically came back to life, and though from the perspective of the Vestiges themselves things were going somewhere, from the point of view of the world at large absolutely nothing changed - except the few things that inexplicably did, casting history itself into the voids of confusion and chaos.
Thus Anu and Padomay continued their endless dance on the head of a pin. Or perhaps, in the head of a god. Who may or may not have been a pinhead.
History came to call this confused time the Interregnum. Loremasters spent days of scholarly debate on whether or not it was the ground of some manner of Dragon Break, while priests made their inquiries to gods both fair and foul on the subject (as well as several others - such as the matter of the Thought-Mining Engine from a different coil of the Dragon which fell from the sky and inexplicably became an Altmeri queen, somehow causing the fabled, scintillating architecture of the High Elves to become a rather lacklustre lump of bricks). The Aedra said nothing, dead as they were. The Daedra said "We're on a budget, deal with it". The mythical Bride of Kirk said that s/he was not concerned with this fork of reality, and Alkosh had little to say on the subject matter except 'Meow'.
That is what he always said. Sometimes prefixing it with FUS RO.
But on one thing they would all agree.
Tiber Septim could not be born any sooner.
"Well at least it's not our fault this time." said an Orsimer Chieftain somewhere, in a disturbing moment of genre-savvyness.
Malacath was silent. In retrospect, it may not have been a good idea to introduce the Daedric Prince of the Outcasts to the concept of a Massively-Multiplayer Online World.
Couldn't pry him away from World of Warcraft these days even if you tried.
It was the native tongue of a new breed of quasi-mortals formed through some devilry of Molag Bal: soulless Men, Mer and Beast, reborn as Daedra yet unquestionably of Nirn itself. Those who witnessed it spoken were often left wondering if these poor Vestiges, or what have you, were entirely in possession of their mental faculties - their language was terse, filled with unnecessary shortenings and spoken acronyms that made sense to no one but themselves - but if one were to ask the Daedric Prince of Madness on the matter, he would claim no involvement. As a matter of fact, Sheogorath Himself found them maddening - particularly when one of these poor unfortunate beings had the nerve to ask him - and I quote - 'how I mine for fish???'
... And they seemed to go on about 'Pee Vee Pee' a lot. No one, on the whole, seemed to know exactly what that meant - except that it seemed to involve them running around the imperial province of Cyrodiil, killing each other, being reborn, then killing each other again while passing the Amulet of Kings around from one to another like a cheap cigar. And while mortals killing each other repeatedly was business as usual in The Arena anon Mundus, the lack of souls involved made the feast, on the whole, entirely tasteless to the eight world-eaters anon the spokes of the Wheel.
The most curious thing about the Vestiges, however, was the fact that their presence seemed to affect the very fabric of Nirn. Many of them took to a life of adventuring, taking on quests from local folk - though for some curious quirk of the Dragon, the tasks they set out to accomplish never quite seemed to be done - when one returned to turn in the object of their quest, so did several completely unrelated others - to no surprise at all by the quest-giver, who would then proceed to bestow the very same quest upon the next soulless flock in spite of having absolutely no logical amount of time to dispose of the items they sent their predecessors to locate. Great beasts and warriors that were slain periodically came back to life, and though from the perspective of the Vestiges themselves things were going somewhere, from the point of view of the world at large absolutely nothing changed - except the few things that inexplicably did, casting history itself into the voids of confusion and chaos.
Thus Anu and Padomay continued their endless dance on the head of a pin. Or perhaps, in the head of a god. Who may or may not have been a pinhead.
History came to call this confused time the Interregnum. Loremasters spent days of scholarly debate on whether or not it was the ground of some manner of Dragon Break, while priests made their inquiries to gods both fair and foul on the subject (as well as several others - such as the matter of the Thought-Mining Engine from a different coil of the Dragon which fell from the sky and inexplicably became an Altmeri queen, somehow causing the fabled, scintillating architecture of the High Elves to become a rather lacklustre lump of bricks). The Aedra said nothing, dead as they were. The Daedra said "We're on a budget, deal with it". The mythical Bride of Kirk said that s/he was not concerned with this fork of reality, and Alkosh had little to say on the subject matter except 'Meow'.
That is what he always said. Sometimes prefixing it with FUS RO.
But on one thing they would all agree.
Tiber Septim could not be born any sooner.
~*~
"Well at least it's not our fault this time." said an Orsimer Chieftain somewhere, in a disturbing moment of genre-savvyness.
Malacath was silent. In retrospect, it may not have been a good idea to introduce the Daedric Prince of the Outcasts to the concept of a Massively-Multiplayer Online World.
Couldn't pry him away from World of Warcraft these days even if you tried.