Mad God's Masque and Bellicose Ball

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Texte de développeur Auteur réel : Ted Peterson Commentaire : Ce poème accompagne le Grand Bal du Dieu Fou, la danse de la vie et la mort, qui est fréquemment célébré à Ald Daedroth. Il est tout particulièrement joué avec les Ordonnateurs et leurs "masques dorés". Welcome to the Mad God's Masque and Bellicose Ball. I am Hlireni Indavel. I am an incredibly famous witch because of our dance in Ald Daedroth with those of gold-hats, hee hee... Here I am honored to bring you the mad poems of our Lord, the Mad God Sheogorath. The Imperial librarians are nice enough to let me give an introductory speech for the works of our Lord. It is strange enough that our Lord is also known outside of Nirn as Ted Peterson or Tedders. He is widely known as one of the conspirators of the trouble in Iliac Bay. Well, that is far from us here in Ald Daedroth. I don't know much about this trouble, but I heard it was messy, hee hee... Ah anyway, enjoy the poems and the gibberish words here, hee hee... -Hlireni Indavel Drow, drow, drow your canoe The stream provides flotation Hysterically, hysterically, hysterically, hysterically Existence is hallucination 2nd of Sun's Dawn Aye, I can often be beckoned Popping from my golden sphere, During Sun's Dawn, day the second, My favorite day of all the year As time on Nirn is chiefly reckoned. Still, my daily schedule is always clear. Sheogorath: A Case Study I agree To think to study me Is the mark of a mind delirious Beyond the pale And quite doomed to fail Ye who tries to take me serious In your world, Sick minds have unfurled Psychiatrist’s careers do embark But in the real Empire of Tamriel Madness grows strong in the dark. Queen Alessia Alessia, O Alessiiiiaaaa O Slave Queen in the White Gold Spire My question will beeee aaaa Quick one as on your throne you expire. Was it, o, diarrheeeeaaaa You birthed instead of the First Empire? Alessia, O Alessiiiiiaaaaa? O Slave Queen in the White Gold Spire? Would You Mate? The darkling and the dabbling duck In salacious mind he’s stuck On the mortal questions Of hot coital sessions Wondering whether spirits ... mate ... Tit for Tat with Hermaeus Mora This poem was posted by Hermaeus Mora: Sheogorath's a merry drink Both matured and refined A colour rich and deep as ink And flavour that blows your mind. Sheogorath's response: And Hermaeus Mora is a filthy stew Rotten glyphs and moldering scrolls Burbling layers of green, red, and blue, One cup is enough to fill two bowls Ode to Azura Oh, Azura, Azura, the dust and the dawn, My guts fill with worms, my body their pawn, Oh, death cometh to stop my immortal dance, Alas, alackaday, and, aye, what an annoyance But weep for me not, we soon will laugh and laugh hearty Don’t dawdle, in the stone wood to the Ear-Clipper’s party Sanguine's Realm Mind aflame, loin afire, illicit pleasure to seek From under the bed, Lord Sanguine doth peek To inspire perversions in the wild and meek Tales of taboos of which virgins blush to speak The wild rose blooms, perfumes in the burbling creek The petals, the stem, and the thorns’ painful preek Having No Lips Must Suck Lips can be equipt if you'll pardon my quips to be ships, can be flips, can be drips, can be cracked whips, can be teasy strips, can be firm hips ... oh, dear, better keep from getting naughty ... can be salty chips, can be cheese dips ... oh, now I'm hungry ... Let's Put a God on Trial Ot tup eht eslaf dog no lairt Si nosaer, dna ton nosaert Tub rof slatrom ot egduj eht enivid Neve fi no reH ym noinipo sedivid Si eht yrev tsehgieh fo ssendam Hcihw I nac ekamnu sa ti si edam. It’s a funhouse, a madhouse, a palace of magical sin But beware you leave nothing behind For if you go back through the way you came in The Dam Dog will swallow your mind. Oh, Oblivion is full of games to make you scream and chortle, Like, Guess the Disaster’s Path, or Pin The Madness on the Mortal. And there’s always poetry involved, for it is the Princes’ duty To take the ugly in your world and give it our own beauty The marble jaws of Oblivion forever opening and shutting Like poetry, you let Mundus run, and then do a lot of cutting. A plague here, pestilence there, it’s so difficult choosing, But when we’re not doing that, we trying to be amusing. Mehrunes Dagon There once was a Prince named Mehrunes Whose buttocks sounded sonorous tunes ‘Twas an odiferous song People sang before long They had enough of his full crescent moons. Hermaeus Mora There once was a Prince named Hermaeus, Whose voice was a thundering bray, thus People harkened to his call Til they discovered that all He was, was just withershin chaos. I evah enod esoht semyhr ni eht tsap Uoy loof, lla lluf fo everv dna echanap Tub sa a dlihc erofeb a denmad tsaredeap Ym dnim gnihguols htiw noitirted I t’nahs od erom rof ym niotatsetsed Snalp ylno ruoy s’dlrow niotcurtsed That's Not Prose "A tib fo esorp" uoy reffo eht noitalupop Tub daetsni tahw ouy evig ot su si yrteop Gnivorp ecno niaga eht noinu ecrovid Neewteb ruo serehps, ton os ralimissid Eht elat uoy llet si gnisuma, tub on elims Si no ym spil ni ym tnerruc doom ot etims Ni ym nettor doom, D’i ekat eht dnim Fo sudnum dna htiw a efink D’i ecnim . . . Sheogorath The Banker it’s nice to think you’d easily recognize a raving lunatic with your myopic eyes his hair is all askew, possessions in bags, he’s draped in chains or festooned in rags peering in too clearly is a dangerous task you don’t know what is behind the mask the smiling man on the street moving in your direction might be wanting your teeth for his molar collection you trust your spare key to the sweet lady next door never suspecting a thing ‘til your blood’s on the floor the fine merchant, those cute kids, that pair of newlyweds, you’d be filled with pure horror if you looked in their heads so, some say i choose this form to put you at ease with middle class formalities, thank you and please, others say it’s symbolic, though my bank has no walls and there’s no penalty for early mental withdrawals On Writing Poetry the meter’s quite appalling like bad fruit from out of season the witless wit rather galling and i’ve got no rhyme or reason don’t think i’m being modest per the bad verbs and noun declension i’m proud as a pillow bout my oddest poems of extradimensional demention more insane than all those psijics read my words and feel the curse boil the brains of all my critics who say i’ve gone from bad to verse Sewing With Hearsay When sewing a garment using thread coarse To create a gown of some beautiful art You might find that without a primary source One tug on the thread, and it all falls apart. Sithis Thither thin Sithis did slither the plinth So she supped and she sipped on thick absinthe Thus sated she waited, her sick thoughts with pith Lisping sibilant hisses does this Sithis writhe "Amusing sport," insolent Sithis doth say, "This hundredth pastime in ether’s sweet sway. The assassin’s soul, his carcass is a myth that I miss Sailing insane into the teeth of the ceaseless abyss." Whither Sithis withered, this they seldom say, A rancid kiss of passing sin, sagging death doth sway, On a starry isthmus soaked by thick salinic slime, Whisper thelemic solipsisms on supple flesh sublime On The Misspelling Of His Name Part I You left out an O, my jobbernowled brother The name's Sheogorath, Sheograth is another A herder who lives with his family and his flock In an adorable little cottage in north High Rock His wife is fair and portly, still girlish for her age, His older son lives elsewhere, an actor on the stage, They get loving letters from him every single week Which proud Sheograth reads though his literacy's weak. A middle daughter and infant son complete the brood. She is sweet and shy, with a talent for cooking food, And though the tot is too young to have much personality He's the cutest, mildest child in the High Rock principality. They're happy if not rich in their modest little hovel, 'Til Sheograth, mad, bludgeons them all with a shovel. Part II Don't worry, young gascleramp, I don't care about the spelling, 'Twas an excuse to tell a bloody tale that's worth bloody telling Many hiss my name in incoherent gibberings and squeaks, Or wild-eyed tongueless faces who voicelessly speaks Plenty screech my name in terror or croak it like a frog I'll even come politely when people call for the daM doG. And the greatest trick I ever pulled since light came to my brain Was holding Mundus in my jaw and slowly biting down It has absolutely nothing to do with feeling like it or not. It is not what I say but what you hear. The entirety of Mundus is staring at a handkerchief and calling it a hacksaw. As the poet Ithijjithi wrote before the Marukh tied rocks to his feet so he sunk from the clouds into the waves: Yclept the world is only light nO darkness, no, in man's eyesight laUghter joyless echoes perforce ariA of terror that there is no source natuRal law is neither word aversE to flight is the airborne bird amnesiAtic dreams of a disunioned marriage hyperboLic words but they disparage phenomenA you call what seems rare membershiP revoked of fire and air lively deaD rotting in the dirt, grin claw skin tO rip, pull back the curtain idiot knowinG is no way to be certain OF REALITY. First thing in the morning, M. Bal likes to slay A random principality, that's how he starts his day. Then he does his stretches, and if he's feeling wrath, He'll make someone's guts explode, then he has his bath. For breakfast, he has tea and jam, listening for the news Of the temple that collapsed, people kneeling in the pews. After lightning strikes in Elsweyr and floods in Daggerfall, An inferno in Solitude, why, then, does Molag Bal Take a break before smashing more with a deafening crunch? No, he's a busy Daedroth, so he takes a working lunch. All afternoon and evening, it's kill and kill and kill And kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill and kill, until He finds the day's last victim, it's always good to view The last one to annihilate today, and today that one is you. i Myself hAve Never visiTEd aetherius, nor have any of you, but Legend has it that it’s a LANd where logiC and Reason reign Under a Xiphoid sky. O'er the treetops, the worm takes flight, 'Tis no dragon, it is Peryite. Like a shadow over country and city, Comes the harbinger, Peryite. Pestilence blooms with each wing beat. For whom doth seek Peryite? Azura: Who would bet with me not expecting a cheat? To play the game fairly is the worst kind of deceit. You wish to dance 'til the floor burns with white heat. Your last waltz with Vivec, he stepped on your feet. Oh, yes, the path is very crowded, But it is smooth and the skies unclouded, Those who think it's steep and twisted Which you can't move on unassisted Don't know you walk it without any strain Much easier than the rocks of the sane. Oh, yes, your fellow walkers may be odd As you stroll on the lunatic promenade. They stare and dribble and screech shrill Some move faster yet while standing still So, join the march, move fast, no slowing, No promises where this boulevard's going Run free cross the bridge that span the gaps (And, oh, steer clear of all the tourist traps.) Ah, the hot topic is soul possessing The subject I'm always sharp addressing What is it like, you're no doubt guessing A wound that festers, clot abscessing The force on your head now harder pressing A spice-laden breeze the wind caressing In your body, a darker soul oppressing, Til yourself, your own self acquiescing Then ceases to fight, it's not distressing. When I'm gone, this is what I'm stressing, You'll find yourself always obsessing How sweet is Sheogorath's blessing Shiogorath is a word a lambling might bleat While choking on a particularly thorny thistle His blood raw throat, breath dry like a whistle. But a ruse by any name would smell as sweet. Impossibility, probability, likelihood, and odds When one is considering the killing of gods As the recipe says, firstly, when making a pie Create a new world, the old one must die When fourteen have come, then comes the Insider To stoke the hearth's flame, and thou, deicider, Can slaughter us all, cut our throats like mere swine, And drink deep of the blood of that which was divine. Retem dna emyhr eht fo esuaceb yrteop od tonnac dam eht Tub eht dam era dnuob yb selur llits, siht yeht reven llet Nylnial fo sgnisselb eht etarbelec yam yrnezitic lacipyt Dna eht yad nehw s'nerdlihc doolb saw cinoteb edit Htarogoehs dlo fo modsiw eht raeh ohw uoy fo esoht tub Wonk taht yltcaxe neewt' meht si nehw eht dlrow si tliub. You can sometimes tell I'm coming Swiftly and surely as black death Other times you are succumbing With no time to catch your breath While I have you in my chill grip It's a spasmodic, frenzied event Sometimes I grab and let you slip And sometimes I like long torment My brutality always overwhelms Though every guard has caught me, I move freely through the realms Dust to dust, I humble the haughty. Amidst the mists and coldest frosts With barest wrists and stoutest boasts He thrusts his fists against the posts And still insists he sees the ghosts.