Vonus Valerius, Oracle of the Cult of the Free Mind

Cyrodiil, Cyrodiil, Talos Plaza District, 3E 428

Vonus Valerius, Oracle of the Cult of the Free Mind

Hallowed Tiber, awaken us in thine impartial Love for all.
Bless us that we be free from the sway of fear and delusion;
Inspire us to build a new World, one in which strife, conflict and ignorance
are but only memories of a distant past.
Righteous Talos, arouse us to know.

Congregants, be seated.

To supplicate at the altar of one’s own divine inheritance is to court ruin. This is attested to by every scripture of God - only Kings can bear the burden of Assertion matched to Insight, and emerge, victorious, from the black sea of negation. To mantle the Aurbis is to take within oneself every mind and moment and spirit that Creation has ever known, and more, an infinity that is beyond human imagination. Novitiates, I regret to inform you that you will not be coronated this evening, or any other. If you believe otherwise, the path to erasure is a simple one. Seek it out privately and never be heard from again.

You may be wondering why I am telling you all this; the most trivial of admonishments for learned students of the arcane. For one, it always bears repeating. The power and majesty of the Kimm will never be yours.

But to mantle the world is not to mantle yourselves – if our beloved Aurbis is indeed naught but God’s imagination, every sentient soul the issue of some other, could this process be recreated on a mortal scale? Could every one of you become masters of your own realms of thought? Set yourselves into meditation, my sons and daughters of Cyrodiil.

In Lorkhan’s grip, illusion transforms verity,
perceiving thus a delusive world of reality.
Find within yourselves a separate entity;
the ego germ is just beginning to be.
An infinity within thy consciousness,
the swell of burgeoning sea.
Immortal spark ignites potential,
spirits absolved of fear.
AE GHARTOK LKHAN AE TULPA
my beloved host, appear

At this, the Oracle explodes into a brilliant golden phosphorescence, blinding the congregation before vanishing to reveal the figure of a diminutive, unassuming Bosmer woman.

“It isn’t just a theory, children.”