Diary of a Confused Cultist

26^th of First Seed 3E277

Something bizarre occured today. As per usual on Morndas, Angeir brought in the evening’s selection. Today he had bagged a nice, big Orsimer, a rare delicacy around these parts. My, how large and muscular he was, those biceps were practically screaming at me, begging for me to roast them up and devour them. Every line and curvature carved by that exquisite form only served to entice me further. This was set to be quite the evening.

We laid the beautiful creature across the altar, and recited our opening prayers to our great lady. Only our lord could truly bless us with such a feast. It was my turn to cut the throat, and I was delighted to do so. The prayers ceased, and I drew the ceremonial knife. As I slowly brought it to the hideous beauty’s jugular, savoring every moment, the most peculiar thing occurred. He opened his eyes.

“Angeir, didn’t you administer the sleep spell? We can’t risk people waking up like this, especially a hulk such as this one!”

“I did, I swear! At least, I think I did. Uh, how did it go aga—”

Before he finished stammering his pathetic excuse, the beast sprang from the altar and pounced on Angeir. The Orc wrapped his brutish mitts around the Nord’s throat, who then began to scream like a child, begging for his life. Such weakness was not expected from a “mighty son of Skyrim”, especially one from our cabal. What a pity. I’m losing track, anyway, the monster had Angeir in a chokehold, but did not seem to be choking him. He was restraining him, not assaulting him.

A solemn expression crossed the Orc’s face, and he released Angeir. “Um, I am sorry. Sometimes I get angry. Teacher says anger is a waste of time in the search for Love.” He glanced around, obviously confused. “Where… am I?”

Like always, Ganril (despicable Altmer, bah) was the first to speak. “You, dear child, are in our sanctuary. You were, uh, rescued, by Angeir here.” He gestured towards the Nord, and winked at the rest of us. “You were in peril, great peril, and we have brought you here for safety. You are obviously stressed, come, lie down for a spell.”

The Orc took a step back. “No, you are no helpers. You are followers of, um, Nam, uh, Namira, yes that’s the one!” Terror overtook his face, “You were going to eat me!”

Before Ganril attempted to charm the thug into a more distressed state, I stepped forward. “Yes, you are right, we had plans to eat you. But, you, oh, you are different. None before have resisted us. You are either one of two things. You are either a great warrior who far outmatches us that we have no business engaging, or you could be a sign from our foul Namira, blessed be her most vile of names.”

An appearance of deep contemplation overtook the Orc. “I was once a warrior, and I have never been a chosen of a Daedra. Now I am a student and a teacher, I wish to share my knowledge, so we may all know the truth.”

A few snickers came from our congregation, myself included. “Alright, uh, Orc, tell us your teachings.” The giggling heightened.

He looked excited, and then went back to thinking. “My name is not Orc, I am Mort. How do I start? Well, let me start with one of the first things Teacher taught me,” he pointed at me, “who are you?”

I shot a sly look to the group, they seemed as interested as I was, though less suspicious. “Well, Mort, I shall hear you out. I am Ralfar Henim, esteemed pustulence of Namira.”

“Hello Ralfar. Where do you live?”

“I would rather not disclose my address. All you may know is I live here in Cyrodiil.”

“No, be less literal.” He placed a finger on his forehead. “You live here. Well, not my head, you live in Ralfar’s head.”

I was taken aback, I did not expect this mongrel to get so philosophical. “I see what you are getting at,” I mimed his motion, “the only thing I know for certain is my own mind. Everything around me is all merely perceptions, this sanctuary, and all of you people, could be mere illusions. All I know is I am real, you may not be real.”

“And I have the same truths. To me, Mort is real, and Ralfar could be an illusion. I only perceive you, and, in a way, I also perceive characters in fiction. The universe could be one single point that I only perceive as sprawling country and vast oceans, and I would never know. All I know is me. To me, you may not exist. But to you, you definitely exist, and I may be the illusion. How is this?”

“That could be exactly what an illusion would say. I admit, your intelligence impresses me, but you have proved nothing. An illusion could say all the things you have.”

“Maybe I should try something else. Oh, oh, what are you?”

“A Dunmer? A follower of Namira? That is far too general a question.”

“No, think wider. Go less specific.”

“I am a person.” He motioned me to go on. “An organism? A thing?”

“Good, you have proved that everything can be generalized. Now, go one step further, what is beyond being ‘a thing’? How can you be more general?”

I thought for a while, and was rather embarrassed to admit that I had no answer. “I do not know, what could it be?”

An oafish grin erupted upon the Orc. “Nothing! Like all Dunmers are part of the Dunmer race, and all people are part of the people, uh people, all things are unified under Nothing. We, as things, are Nothing. We do not exist. But, in our minds, we are the only things that exist. We are, yet we are not. This is The Lie.”

The idea struck me as oddly profound. I am, yet I am not. The others began to laugh, and shouted crass catcalls at Mort.

“I don’t exist, that’s the most absurd thing I have ever heard!”

“Too busy getting your precious Orsinium sacked to have any real ideas?”

“I’m the real fool here, I expected an Orc to say something intelligent!” That was Ganril, such a typical Altmer.

I felt bad for the poor Orc. We reviled of Namira are the most putrid beings in Tamriel, how can we judge this man? I approached Mort and whispered to him. “Mort, you have spoken wise things to me, thank you. I suggest you run now, before these brutes eat you. They cannot be difficult to shove aside. Go.”

I sha’n’t ever forget the look in that man’s eyes. He took my gaze for but a mere moment before breaking into a dead sprint for the exit. And what speed he had! Without taking any notice, he plowed straight through Ganril and a few others. Within a blink of the eye, he was gone. The cult began to murmur, such athleticism was almost unreal. A few chased after him. They returned an hour ago, unable to find him.

I cannot get his words out of my head. He clearly had more to say, and more to learn from his teacher. I love this brotherhood, and I love our vile maiden, but where is this getting me? Perhaps I shall search for Mort, wherever he may be. Odds are, I will have to leave this sanctuary soon anyway, this incident has left me as the laughing stock of the whole group. I shall pack my things tonight, and depart during the darkest hour. Farewell Ganril, I always hated you.

—Ralfar Henim