User:IceFireWarden/Apologues of At-Hatoor
Praise be to Almalexia, Mother Morrowind, whose beauty restores the weak and whose mercy nurtures the dissident! Praise be to Sotha Sil, Clockwork King of the Sea, whose contraptions are built with mystery and repair us through humility and ingenuity! Praise be to Vivec, Lord of the Middle-Air, whose words soften our hearts and steels our armies! Praise be to ALMSIVI, who have been and shall ever be!
As a mere priest, I know not the glories of Lord Vivec gifted to the Archcanon through speech when he goes to the Palace for consul. But I do know his glories as gifted to me in his writings, which lie within the grand library I have sworn to maintain through oaths and binds beyond flesh and magic. In these writings, Lord Vivec teaches us parables and virtues that he himself had to learn in his youth before his ascension, granted to him by benevolent spirits who perceived his holy star from the heavens themselves, and wished for our Lord to surpass them in both wisdom and power. Of these many spirits, three appeal to and help guide the servants of the Guardian of Vvardenfell, their former student, so they may walk the noble path and dedicate themselves fully to the Three; they have bound themselves to Him, for His love for both us and them is eternal.
Amongst the Buoyant Armigers and Ordinators, the Mortal Arms of the Middle Air, it is Fa-Nuit-Hen the Multiplier of Motions Known, who gifts them with a combative fluidity unmatched in any other but Lord Vivec himself. And amongst the Morag Tong it is Mephala, Black-Handed Anticipation, who sharpens their wits and their blades to aid them in the culling of strife and the arts of subterfuge. But amongst us, we priests and priestesses of the Temple? We are aided by At-Hatoor, the Spirit of Meaning, whose friendship with our Lord knows no end and whose bestowed teachings formed a part of the cornerstone on which Dunmeri culture is built.
At-Hatoor came from the far distant east like a shadow upon the wind to Vvardenfell during the days when the ash was young, House Dwemer was old, and the northern barbarians were growing discontent with snow. She came in her true form, un-wreathed in masculine guise, and her traits were bestial, chiropteran as she was. Wearing garbs of salt, fire, and song, she glided upon the wind to where Lord Vivec meditated underneath a parasol trying to understand himself, and witnessed the anger in his heart when the Triune made to squash a scarab that crawled along his knee, interrupting his train of thought.
“Lay thy hand still, muse,” the Spirit of Meaning spoke, and Lord Vivec turned to face her, his annoyance a fury seeded in the soil of his soul. “Why smite a creature whose life is unknown to you, when you can gaze upon it and discover the value of what it does?”
To this the Middle-Air laughed and dismissed the fanged spirit, taking up his spear. “Begone, wayward goddess, once mortal and erratic, and whose many names obscure her true self and form. For I am Vivec, general of these lands, and I have no time to consider insects when turmoil threatens my culture’s destruction.”
“If this belief is true, then I persist thee to ponder upon the scarab, or none shall follow you now.”
With these words our Lord frowned, thinking of what the spirit said, and lifted the scarab lift to his face with one finger and stared into it intently. With his first glance, he turned back to At-Hatoor and said:
“This creature is useless. Its existence means nothing!”
At-Hatoor said naught to this, and Lord Vivec turned back to the scarab and stared again. After his second glance, he turned back once more and said more somberly:
“Within this creature, perhaps there is more than is first noticed, as its life gifts to me the value of eternity.”
At-Hatoor said nothing to this either, and Lord Vivec turned back to the scarab and stared again once more. After his third glance, he turned back one last time and said triumphantly:
“Beauty is to find community in something so devoid of individualism, and learn the secrets of the courtship between Sun and Ash.”
“Now there is a proverb,” At-Hatoor said, and the bat-goddess bowed to the Guardian of Vvardenfell. “And to thee, I bequeath my essence forevermore.”
“Like the Scarab, I shall shed and renew with the turning of the Sun, and gain many shapes, each one higher than the last,” Vivec spoke. “For within me burns the inner fire that all dead things seek in order to be reborn past the final night.”
Within this tome, I write the truth and glories of the two lessons given to our Lord by At-Hatoor that strengthened his resolve and allowed him to better serve our Hortator, who walks no paths and bears no mask, and comes to Resdayn armed with the weapons heathens name “duty” and “sacrifice.” Embrace these teachings, and you shall count yourself among the true lovers of Morrowind who kneel at the feet of the Triune-Most-Holy.
Praise be to Almalexia, Mother Morrowind, whose beauty restores the weak and whose mercy nurtures the dissident! Praise be to Sotha Sil, Clockwork King of the Sea, whose contraptions are built with mystery and repair us through humility and ingenuity! Praise be to Vivec, Lord of the Middle-Air, whose words soften our hearts and steels our armies! Praise be to ALMSIVI, who have been and shall ever be!
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