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Taken from the sermons of Deldrise Morvayn, Fourth Tourbillon to the Mainspring Ever-Wound.
By the word, I wind the gears.
Behold, the Clockwork City! The Throne Aligned! The Omni-Axle! The Brass-Throat Herald of Joyful Destruction! The Oil-Slick Tower of Seamless Assembly! Rejoice! Rejoice!
Listen, child of the Tribunal! Do you not hear the whirr of the gears? The hiss of the pistons? It is the voice of Sotha Sil, calling you to the Nirn-Ensuing. To the Tamriel Final. Anuvanna'si. Cast down your worldly maths. Loosen the chains of your selfish pursuits. Shall I describe it to you? Shall I guide your eyes to the future of Nirn? Hear the words in sequence, dark child. Close your eyes and awaken!
Gaze up to behold a crystal sky, girded and bound by Seht's bright bands. Look down to behold the black stone of His will, and His imagination made clay. Drink His truth, thick as blood, from the broad black rivers. Feel His breath on your skin—let its dreamy redolence fill your nostrils and sting your eyes. You stand at the center of the wheel. The home of the Mainspring Ever-Wound.
Obsidian towers stretch ever skyward, festooned with polished brass and godly filigrees. Great turbines drive memory through a thousand thousand pipes that stretch out like tangled veins, or the golden roots of an ageless tree. And wandering amidst the humming and hissing paradise are His second-children. The Fabri'siraynosim. The merged-ones. Birthed of the unsequence, and bound to the Nirn-Ensuing. They cry out in one voice: "Death to Multitudes! Woe and terror! Let the fragments melt in the Boiler of Unknown Angles! Let the falsehoods burn in the Furnace of Forgotten Numbers! Disassemble and cleanse! Dismantle and make whole!" They are the guardians—the ever-wound key-lords. Only the Nameless heart avoids their wrath. Their hatred of discord knows no limits. For the road to Tamriel Final is not a bloodless one, child of the Tribunal. Anuvanna'si. Contemplate this with a pious heart. Seek a clean and well-oiled soul. It shall serve you well in His truth-to-come.
So you see the Clockwork City is like Sotha Sil Himself—rich in beauty for the faithful, and alight with sublime terror for the servants of chaos. In which Clockwork City would you reside? Commit your small blasphemies and think on this.
By the word, I wind the gears.