On Service to Dagon: An excerpt from the Ravings of an Heretical Dunmer.

Dagon is the fire which cleanses the impure, betrayal is nothing compared to destruction and revolution. Master Camoran knows the way, knows the glory of Lord Dagon and the proud Dragon's defeat will soon be at hand. Blessed as the master is, even he does not know my Lord's true secret, that He-Who-Destroys was once He-Who-Plans before the dark Dragon ripped his nymic and twisted my Lord's purpose.

As Leaper-King he had been happy in his task of stretching the world, but the Dragon was angered that his attempts at destruction were becoming more difficult every time he tried to devour our world. Thus did he speak ill words into the ear of the Leaper-King and corrupted his noble heart towards the destruction of his own demesne.

Yet, my Lord survived, angered but still strong, and he vowed that his new role as Destroyer would not turn him away from creation. And so he gathered some fire from the Red Tower and bathed in it until his flesh had been burnt off, and from this pain, he understood a new concept, that the Fire of Red Tower created as well as destroyed. His soft flesh exposed, my Lord took up a great mound of ash and smothered his tortured skin with it. In his heart, he knew that his old skin was no longer suitable to his form and he tore the still-hanging sheaves of skin from his body and draped it around himself as a cloak so that he would always have a reminder of who he had been. His new name rang forth as he stood on the slopes of the Red Tower: "He-Who-Creates-and-Destroys!"

But my Lord could find no peace and his children, the Grabbers, pulled him into an Adjacent Place and forged my master into a symbol of hope against tyrant Cephalomer, adding Mehrunes, a razor made of the blood of Star-Orphans and imbued with manifest destiny, to destroy those who would enslave all and corrupt as my master had been corrupted. With hope burning at his side, my master cracked the Great Face and threw down Towers to the music of wailing dreugh. CHIM-EL GHARJYG lay in ruins as bright fire erupted from the master, searing the Tower of Lies and so on Mehrunes went, and Kuri, Djaf, Horma-Gile, Malbioge, and finally Galg and Mor-Galg knew utter ruin.

With these bastions destroyed and Lyg fading, the Slave-Oceans boiled and cooked the tyrants in their shells and the odour of death heralded Nu-Mantia for all beings.

As Lyg died amidst the screams of expiring tyrants, Lord Mehrunes Dagon erupted from the boiling ocean, mad with the frenzy of red-drink, and understood another new concept: Forever. Drunk on the blood of lessers, the master foresaw that he would need to do this again, thus, he grabbed a dying dreugh and made of its head a chalice with which to drink the bloody ocean and grant resolve for the next task. Mouth foaming with dreugh ichor and cold fire, the master cried out: "AE MHRNS DGN GHARTOK PADHOME ALTADOON NU-MANTIA! And He-Who-Creates-and-Destroys-Forevermore!" And he took his razor which now replaced his 2nd left hand and slashed at the burning air and he fell into black ocean and all was darkness before him.

He awoke and emptied the chalice of blood from his 2nd arm, poured forth the daedric fire from his 4th arm, starlight from the 3rd arm, and finally, a great storm poured from the 1st arm. Together each wrought the home of Dagon: oceans of boiling blood which flowed like wet stone, skies of power that blazed with conquered glory, and the dark stone itself born of LRKHN's fire cooled into the abode of the master and given new purpose for He-Who-Creates-and-Destroys-Forevermore. Thus do the phlogistonic oceans roil, creating land as the skies weep the tears of conquered dreugh, and consumed land which no longer has purpose. And my Lord sits at the centre of the Fire-Sea amidst the bones of tyrants and fools, gazing at the blazing orb above which holds his nymics and makes treasures of all the despair that my master no longer found useful. The orb reminds my master of his kingdom and relentless quest to reclaim it and save the faithful from Tyrant Serpents who wear lies as skin.

Now, my master dwells in a land of new promise, 'the Deadlands', a name given by ill words serpent-fed to gullible babes; the true name is more majestic and terrible than such a simple notion, for it is wrath, service, creation, destruction, freedom and hierarchy, a land some think dead but which persists by the fires white-hot enigma, razored into the mythic as cataclysms balanced on its mighty tip.

All shall know my master's embrace and the coiled, wounded Serpent of Cyrod shall fall for such blasphemies. Behold, the Time of Gates! Soon the wayward children shall return to the Father of Revolution and all shall be cleansed, neonymic and swaddled in king's flesh forever.

Nu-Mantia!!