The vision of the prophet Jubal

This is the vision of Jubal, son of the Trickster whom he received from the Creator during the second reign of the ALMSIVI on the Trickster's corpse. Listen, you Mundanes and higher beings, listen to this! Because the Trickster speaks to his prophet:

"I created and raised children, but I was betrayed. A child knows his parents and their spheres, but my et'Ada, my siblings, had no knowledge.

Woe to the sinful Daedra and the guilty Aedra, the peoples and families of the evildoers and corrupted children.

What else is there to tell you that was held back by my peers? To you, who multiply themself unruly without performing the rites of love: your body is sick and your heart is dull. Your land is desolate, your cities built on corpses, then destroyed and time breaks out of all limitations and safeguards.

But what about you, son of the Suls? You are the last thing left, like Nightshade in winter, a concept that you do not even know: Seasons. If I had not, like the guilty Aedra, planted a part of myself in you, you would still be like stasis and change: existing side by side and thus incapable of progress, of life.

Listen to my words, Prince of Velothiid! Take my gift to your God-Ears, you existence of the most important power and know who you are. " And so it happened that the Sul-Son woke up, perfectly clear in mind and turned to his heart, like a man of the Sheggo: "What should your words reveal to me?

I am only the descendant of salt-traders and yet you demand so much from me, because I recognize what you want from me, but not what you see in me. I do not feel like bloodshed.

If you speak to me and ask me, I ask you to come and stand before me.

Do not bring me such foggy words anymore. My soul hates your reinterpretation; It is tired of it; I'm tired of deciphering them. And if you reach out your hands to me, I will not hide my eyes from you; and when I hear you but can not hear you right, your hands must be full of blood and your words full of possibilities of failure.

Wash yourself, cleanse yourself of your thinking, and stand before my eyes in the form that is to awaken feelings in me that you want to kindle in me, like the fire of the Flame-Mountains from ancient legends.

If this does not work, your soul is blood-red and not compatible with me."

"So come and let's talk," the dreamer said, and the son straightened up, hurried to the Silver-Window, and saw the trickster's son and the trickster, which was the same. "Do you refuse, are you disobedient?" The Trickster asked himself and the trickster-Jubal answered. "For the mouth of me, the lord, is full of justice, justice lacks one thing, the murderer and the traitor, but now say, what am I?"

"Love."