THE ROYAL BEYOND - a hysteric examination
[I don't know how much this fits in here, as it crosses over both fanfic (I can't afford the drugs needed to get the concept and just claim it as my C0DA) and analysis of established lore and also poetry. Read the FAQ/Wiki as best I could and didn't think it was clear, but then again, I'm an idiot.
I think this text is from the end of my fanfic series.
Think whatever point I'm trying to make there is way better in this text.]
THE ROYAL BEYOND- deciphering the nature of otherworldly morality- – excerpt by Logrolf the Willful, based on the deathbed ramblings of the adventurer known only as „Wizard Knight“
What is the Lord Of Domination?
Would it ever understand what you hear when he speaks ‘rape‘?
How
Why
The abyssal designers
The smiths
The forgers of Tamriel
Destroyers of races
Why not contend they are the true Lords of Rape
None did ask the stone to become a home
They just hew it
None did ask the mountain to house armies
Yet it was hollowed
And did none try to understand the views of the metal
Forced to lifelong servitude
The pain it feels all the while
Curse the secondary creators
Curse their brilliance
Curse that they should have the mettle to sway Nirn to their needs
And not us
You are dogs.
ALL OF US.
No more corrupt than any other society.
For what is society but a never-ending lie.
The promise of justice and the words of harvest
A plot so great
You cannot see to the end of the threads
Mortal lives
Mortal universes
Mortality itself by default
A LIE.
IT IS ALL BASED ON A LIE.
But just because non is the truth
Should that mean non is the value?
Then hate your society you must
Hate it
Loath it
Despise the very nature of upbringing
Morality justice valour honour
NOTHING
By the plots of threads that spin us together do these untruths emerge
How many times over has the very being of existence itself been grounded down
Yielding whatever
But never
So much as once
Shown us the truth in these lies
It is all an illusion.
And so should you be thankful in regards to the liar.
It was by its will that you are now.
Lies take us in.
Hold us together.
O don’t we like the blindness?
The oblivious oblivion of what the world truly is?
Never are we less than when we are revealed as liars and lies
And so does civilization feel in turn
And as you are civilization
Worry not
You can lie to yourself into blindness again
And let the leaders of existence blather once again yet another day
For a leader knows the truth
Denies it
And works it to his favour
The leader takes what it wants.
Bite away or slap the hands
It is all the same
Cows are herded
They do not mind
Death by age, death by wolves, death by slaughter
It is death all the same
They do not even think of the effort to die such a fine life
The herd chooses by the wisdom of nature the most frolicking way
Neither do the bees concern themselves
With who takes their sweets
THEY WORK
What else would bee
Prying mortals fondling their fruits
Never have they questioned their theft
Not that they should
Let them
After all is the Lord of the Bees not the creator of their homes?
Does it not care for them
Does it not make both their lives their one and their same?
How could a farmer possibly hate any of his livestock.
The horse of the carriage, the cow of the milk, the dog of the keeping.
The farmer bends them and so they all are the same.
How angry does one get as the horse kicks
It must be bent again
And the dog
You need the dog
You need lots of dogs
So you BREED
And you take your strongest hound
And how why when wherefore don’t you always SMILE
As it performs its duty
As it takes its lesser
As it accepts your offering
And the offering
Oh
It will yield even stronger ones
And how you marvel at the thought
That the cycle goes on
That the next bitch you peddle to your hound
It ensures all of you
Because the penetration
The symbol of domination
True shackles do not cover
They infiltrate
It ensures strength
The cycle
The wheel
THE SPERM IS THE ESSENCE OF ALL LIFE
it is the purpose
it is you
what you will become
what is left behind of your mistakes
but it is not the sperm that concerns you
not at all
not in the moment
YOUR EXISTANCE IS YOUR MOMENT
and when the sperm is given
and when the sperm is taken
HISTORY IS MADE
So as you prove your dominion
Regardless of the subject
You have conquered
It gives itself willingly
You have won
It struggles
You have won all the same
As you impress with your power before
Or after
FOR YOU PROVE YOUR MARK ON HISTORY
That you can take it
Cease the moment
As you would crumble any other enterprise
So that yours could succeed
Merchant does business so it may continue living
You conquer history so it may continue life
AND HOW MAY IT BE
That the Hunter of the Predator
The Prince of the Thrill itself
Is not the Lord of Dominion?
Both if not the same
Lead the pack
It is their nature
And they it feeds on the rush
The thrill
The proving of the power
The proof that defeats all others
They it do not think of mercy
Mercy means you have done wrong
Have the potential to
Foolish mortal notions
Cannot look further than their own tiny sphere of a strain of a part of a dream of a fiction
They it hunts
How different is that from conquest?
They it hunts
Conquers
Their only survival is the proving
The constant proving
And of course it all allows for the proving of everything
THEY IT could just as well be the peasant and the sheep
The loot and the game
With that the transformation goes both ways
So can all turn
And prove that they are not prey
Only is The Lord Of Domination The Lord Of Domination when one does not flee
And only is the Lord Of The Hunt the predator when one does
It is by standing and resisting that their mettle and so forth ours and yours that the tides are turned
The Lord Of Rape is dominated
The Lord Of Thrill becomes they prey
Which is thrill within it same
But tides are still turned
Tides that change
Shape
Destroy
Form
What is the difference?
Woe be unto the unwary
Those that changed
So many times
Yet curse the flow of time as it be some antagonist to the god of status quo
Why would it mean destruction?
Once the golden skin of the curious race
Now ash
So once the earth of the red land
Now ash
Why should either be a curse?
Revered is the changer of skin the fathermother
The one that scolds so hard and wrathful
Only to make the caressing all the sweeter
Maybe it is the other way around
That the stroking and the kissing is a way of contrasting the next scolding and hitting and bashing and gnashing
It is the cold light of day the pierces as truth
Unforgiving and forceful
And the comforting shine of the night
Soothing and calm
Both are needed for the birth
The birthing
Again
The proving of provings
The picker of shapes and former of looks
By nature it is the shifter
Yet we know both its hides
The motherfather is loved
And loved to be hated as well
For a father is thanked for his beatings
It is the upbringing that made us who we are
And the mother is where we want to be
Not where we need to be
It is the trap from which it is escaped at its own dawn
And ran into again when confronted with the self of the father
So does it never look in a mirror
For it would not know what to see
It changes and forms the shapes of so many
But cannot choose their own
By that contrast it gets loved through hatred and loved it is
Yet whatever would change the face of Tamriel forever
A beast.
A GOD OF DEATH.
DESTRUCTION.
The land of the changed o so many times ones buried
And so they weep and curse
Land belongs to none
Not the abyssal smiths
Not the evolving ones
Not the young ones
Not even the divine ones
A place in the universe is not taken.
One is never born to it.
It simply is.
SO WHY WEEP
Implore thyself
Do the avatars of the Red Mountains entrails ever weep?
Does the fertile soil in the wake of eruption weep?
Do the new incarnations
O which remind us of the new forgotten lost ones
Do they regret the destruction?
Should anything regret the destruction?
What one may think was destroyed other sees as created.
We should envy not the Lord which governs such awesome forces
You should pray you never have both the power and the understanding of the balance of annihilation and birth
All this world does is weep of the destruction
In whatever form it takes
Yet
None would be here
In any way
For weeping to be had
If not for the destruction
Beginning or end there is a cycle and none of us are at either point
Maddening it is enough not to know where one is
More maddening is it so that one does never get to be oblivious of where it should be
And yes
What of the Lord of Madness
A futile attempt sure
Only thing I know.
What mad attempt would it take to justify the Daedra?