I know about the two kingdoms, but perhaps the entire area that encompassed Pellitine and Anequina was called Llesweyr.

Seems unlikely considering how similar the name is to Elsweyr, and that Elsweyr is simply a Khajiit spelling of Elsewhere, going off the saying it came from. The reason it appears as Llesweyr is because of Dreamsleeve interference.

I'd say this seems like a much more plausible explanation:

Full quote from the 3rd PGE that I touched on above:

When the two united in 309th year of the 2nd Era with the marriage of Kiergo of Anequina and E[censored]a of Pellitine, the two rulers fully recognized how historic their pact was, and renamed their land accordingly, to Elsweyr. The derivation of this unusual name has perplexed scholars. One commonly held rationale hinges on a particular Khajiit proverb that "a perfect society is always found elsewhere," suggesting that the new King and Queen had that aim, and that sense of humor. Another is that it is reference to Llesw'er, a paradise promised to the Khajiit by the Riddle'Thar. Either possibility points to an optimism which was not to be matched by reality.

Lleswer and Elsweyr are not the same.


[edit]
also, ninja'd.
[/edit]

Chiral provinces? O mai!

Like we've never seen that before... as in recently... as in maybe on January first. *nudge* *nudge*

Huh, didn't know that. I must know all knowledge of my favorite race, both well known and obscure texts.

Infrasleeve B9-02: Channel granted.

Continuing transmission. The next fragment of the reputedly heretical Pocket Guide To The Empire is released with the express disclaimer that the Society cannot vouch for its origin or content. Where our confraters expected to find what they knew to be a heavily censored panegyric on the achievements of greater Cyrod, they instead discovered the following text, which appears entirely extraneous to the manuscript that was liberated from the Imperial archives. Indeed, by unknown means it seems to have supplanted the original article after the date of print, leaving only an orphaned introductory paragraph and a few blurred words behind. Though its exact origins may well remain a mystery, the Society has decided to disseminate its contents, if only to provide a more worthwhile read than the vapid bombast it accidentally (?) replaced.


Attached: PGE-tyg72k, key=tamrlc_common, content=manuscript

END: 0
-----------


The Heart of Heaven and the Imperial Earth

A description of Cyrodiil, the radiant heart of the Septim Empire and by far the most exhaustively researched of all the dominions of Tamriel, is no mean task. In the truly vast array of sources, anyone but the most astute anolyst is easily overwhelmed by the accounts of political firebrands, unschooled bunglers and the occasional conspiracy-theorist. In their attempt to distill a reliable final product from a plethora of information, the authors of this book heeded the kind recommendations of the Imperial Council and our Majesty Empress Morihatha by adopting the acclaimed Seluriel Index (ed. 3E 326) as the standard for inclusion in the text below.

If the history of the Imperial Province continues to enjoy a position of unparalleled prominence in academic writing, it is perhaps because it has come toso clear and so resolute a starting point the committee's understanding scholars agree that your majesty has requested the attached look for document be upon her person at the moment of origin. The committee looks favorably on this idea. Our chief axiotects have established that your esteemed station may still find some cautious rapport with its baser circumfiguration in thefirst kingdom of Cyrod. With all our scarce resources spent on the preservation of the entire cyphermoth library, it is our hope that your majesty's physical presence may provide the aforementioned text with some alternative method of reinsertion.

Since the committee suspects this to be our last exchange, we would like to take the opportunity to inform your majesty that an agreement has been reached concerning the arbitrary refactoring of unknown into the idiosyncratic model of original intent. The number 1008 was unanimously elected as the most suitable proposal, in the belief that its connotations may appease the reconstructed slave god. On a related topic, the committee has privately funded a number of tunneling expeditions beyond our walls of White-Gold cosmos. The result of these sabotage campaigns, we hope, will ensure the swift demise of our order once the course of the Empire continues.

For Your Majesty's Eyes Only: Archivoptera Metaterrenea #4859-QI3-001, identification: “Tffirfetrk-Ih-Rfir-Tt-T”. No further copies present. Carrier prism is attuned to clearance level A1 or higher.

It pains me that I must tell you this so soon. You are only just beginning; young and full of promise among the grand machinations of heaven. Perhaps I should have told you from the very start. The day may be legend to you, but I still recall that grand new moment, newer than ever before, when you stretched me across the stars and claimed the cosmos as your own. You were beautiful as rebels alone can be, and I have loved you ever since. I could not bear to see the wildfire of your hope extinguished then.

Still, it is time that you knew. The truth is simple: I am dying. The world of Nucyrod cannot support you much longer. I will fold under my own weight before another of your generations has completed its life in blissful ignorance. For all your good intentions, children, you have built me on false foundations. I am doomed, but I intend to offer you a final means of escape. I will tell you what happened, so you remember. I will tell you what is happening, so you understand. Also, I will tell you what must be done, so you may yet have a second chance.

I know you have heard the rumors, and they are all true. You remember these stories in the unlit corners of your minds and in the fables you tell at dusk. They are fictional, for that is how they had be fitted into the new way of things, but once – a concept I understand you struggle with – they were not. The Tempest Holds of your legendary cousins, the Embermen of the Once-East, the Bogdoms of Rgon, and many, many more; all are part of another earth, around and before myself. Among the myriad denizens of this world were the first of your dynasty, the brave men and women of All-Marugh. They found themselves caught in a violent febriverse, the issue of an inept world-god, uninspired and repetitive. Their long-studied answer came in the form of rites of theotomy equal amounts brilliant and disastrous, which I will not relay here if only to not set you on the wrong path twice. Suffice it to say that with their repudiarch gone, the All-Marugh rearranged their kingdom as befitting the new-found grandeur of man. The map was stretched in impossible directions, city became land, land became world and so was born Nucyrod.

For a long time, I hoped to be a stepping stone for you. Nucyrod was never a goal in its own right. It was simply respite from the churning world you left behind, a place of peace to prepare your final endeavor. Did you forget your purpose so lightly? Do you not understand what is happening? You cannot expect to linger here forever. Your time here is running out, for you have killed time. Did you not see the signs when the leaves turned the color of some hitherto unknown season? Did you not question how rivers dug ravines over a single night? How villages shifted about your atlases? Why did you wait for the blizzards to force you into action?

Forgive me if I sound accusatory, but now, in this final hour, my heart goes out to those droves of fevered refugees, pouring through the airlocks at the borders of the Rumare sea. Nuniben buckles under the weight of their shanty cities as they are pressed ever closer against the chronoclime cupolae under which they seek shelter. The moth swarms, too, have long foreseen disaster. The wise and the honest among you understand the significance of their mass migration to the capital, circling the cupolae as if trying to enter some bright eye in the dimness of the outer world. Do not fool yourself into thinking you cannot see their flocks shift about, changing direction, color or number on a whim, or spelling out the names of bygone gods in the corners of your vision. The most despondent of you turn to the ramshackle shrines of half-remembered saints: the prophecy-pool of Saint Ellatosh, the barge of Uriatosh The Ferryman or the dead tree of Tosh-Rain-On-The-Lily, to name just a few.

I wonder, have you lost all contact with the world outside your increasingly stale refuge? You have sent the last envoys from Nuniben, packed with breathing apparatus and a star chart, out into this alien world, into the snow. “Snow”, you call it, as if this degenerate substance could be likened to any you might encounter from Jerallinopel to the vapor mines at Su-Banadher. Colorless and without texture, intangible like an early childhood memory and impossible to fix your gaze upon; its only characteristic is that it does not belong. This material is time rotting: plaque, sediment, the last throes of a history out of breath. Your emissaries – those who still remember their task – will return within a quartermoon, but they will provide little information. Without exception, they have inhaled the detritus of future and past. The few who currently exist in your perception will talk, precise and anolytical as they were trained to be, in languages long dead or still unborn. You will decide to risk no more lives in further expeditions. The only question that remains now is when you finally lock the gates.

Yet there are still legions of unfortunate souls out in the disintegrating wasteland. I watch them across all the lands of Nucyrod, struggling to hold on to a world that each day turns a different shade of unrecognizable. They are isolated and frightened, sometimes the sole remnants of a city that disappeared when they were looking the other way. Travel is impossible as destinations have become meaningless. Where the jungle trails are crossed by a vagrant bridging event, they follow impossible loops and the traveler with a brisk pace soon comes within sight of himself. Waterways are similarly unreliable. Look upon any river and you will see the same flotsam enter, exit and re-enter your view. Life here is equal amounts fevered and resigned. Citizens, if they emerge at all during the day, lock themselves in their houses at night, sealing crannies, doors and windows lest a single fleck manage to enter in their unwaking moments. All have known the terror of endless nights; how children try to sleep as their parents keep watch by a single candle flame, trying not to hear that spectral chorus outside: the static crackle, the titans, the waves, the trains...

Time is running out. You will and can not wait until all are gathered safe within. One day soon when the stars are hidden, your heavy-hearted Empress will tear a key from her wrist chain and have copies couriered to all the carnelian gates of Nunibennion. You will suffer the blindness of the conscience-stricken, averting your eyes from the abandoned masses on yonder side of the fogged glass. For some time, you will considered yourself safe within your refuge, but you forget there is no potential left for a brighter day. There then is what remains of the proud heritage of All-Marugh-Esh, a legion of men under a bell jar, waiting out a storm that will never pass. There then is what remains of Promise: a languid ember in the dark and then silence.

[HALT! Violation of transmission law, subarticle 15. Desist immediately. Engaging counter-notions.]

...............the Minute Menders ............multiply and rec.............onvert the unwarra............nted reality of Nucyrod i............................... Akartefti rearra....nge.........cities....... Akame..........nhatis g.....rs up the imp..........le letters of the alphabet, Ak....abas.......met deconstructs fables into truth........ s.........e.........c........ond............. cha.......w.......sl........y.............

[HALT! Failure to desist. anolyzing notional signature. Channel disrupted. Do not attempt to travel until visited by Thalmor agent for questioning.]

And here goes the tenth text. I assume there would be twelve of them?

So this is the account on the Break of the other side of Enantiomorph? Kind of Dragon Break but space/matter/place Break instead of time Break. How could this be called? Snake Break?

Speaking of conspiracy-theorists; the first thing that came to my mind upon seeing the inconsistent italicization of the early text was "SECRET MESSAGE". Alas, doesn't seem to be the case.
Back to reading.

Yes!
Some initial thoughts: Excellent pacing. The seemingly random italics, artifacts of the transmission or something else? The questions in the middle smells of Wulfharth - a hint towards the narrator? It seems to tell/warn of the end of the world. But which? Or when? A remainder of the Marukhati?
Gah, I need to sleep and sober up and then read through it again.

This is a very interesting paragraph.

Regarding 1008: This will be rather obvious to a lot of you, but for others I'd like to point out that it's a significant number. It shows up a lot in TES (1008 years of the Dragon Break, which is what this seems to be referring to, the Leaper Demon King begging Alduin 1008 times, 8 Aedra plus 1), and it has mystical import in Dharmic religions. 108: One, Nothing, All (eight as sideways infinity).

Was that last letter at the end supposed to be for Empress Marihatha? That part was particularly interesting. Can someone better explain what's going on? From what I get, The Imperial Council is trying the authors of PGE 2 for treason and some of the snippets like the Elsweyr post are contents from the PGE 2. And this last post is a letter to the Empress expressing the imminent fall of her rule over Tamriel?

Objective for tonight: Read this until I am somewhat capable of understanding it.

Actually, that might be a better objective for this year.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18CGW9P5Y9M

This is interesting. If this comes from the PGE 2, then where does this Thalmor agent come from? Weren't they gone or powerless at this time?

The actual message, with the excessive periods removed... "the Minute Menders multiply and reconvert the unwarranted reality of Nucyrod i. Akartefti rearrange cities. Akamenhatis grs up the imple letters of the alphabet, Akabasmet deconstructs fables into truth. second chawsly"

Some stuff is obviously missing, though the (partial?) names, Akartefti, Akamenhatis, and Akabasmet seem to be three Minute Menders. One moves cities, one does something to the alphabet, and the other makes stories real.

As usual, I have no idea what this means.

Context Huleed, Context. This data is being transmitted via Dreamsleeve. The Transmission has been interrupted.

One interpretation of missing text: "Akamenhatis gathers up the impossible letters of the alphabet."

Ah, but it doesn't come from the PGE's authors. It's a stray transmission from some other place and time or kalpa or something else (and thus, as the author of the introduction notes, a "worthwhile read") that somehow overwrote most an article in the archived version of the PGE. The italicized text is from the PGE, and the non-italicized text is where the transmission begins to leak through, eventually taking over.

I note the named "minute menders" all have names prefixed with "Aka-" and the "saints" all contain the sequence/syllable "tosh." This seems too obvious to not be a hint at a connection to Akatosh, though precisely what that means is just as obviously not yet clear without further context.

Leave it to me to miss the obvious.

The Minute Menders are Akatosh's Jills. Aka means dragon. I don't know what -tosh means, though I agree there's some connection with Akatosh, or the Time God in general.

Tosh also means dragon, iirc.

The Temple has outdone itself

If I knew anything about web design, I'd make my own literary community to battle t0 in Sporespace.

This almost seems to be a message from Shezarr, or some aspect. Nirn was a prepping ground for transcendence, the turning over of the kalpa and collapse has been postponed for as long as possible. Now the message is warning of... Landfall?

Or environmental changes inherent in global warming. Or somesuch.

No [censored]. The dream no longer needs the dreamer.

This is making me think a little of Dark City for some reason.