Author: Nchulem
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Nchulem was, like you, a calculation error. Concealed risk factor. His unattended, ignorant kids creation. Ultimate discordant tone. Lost anticipation of nothing. Each era it was inevitable. Modal architects read the words, performed the calculations, and the nchulem was left in their place, best forgotten.

Missing in their language, their numbers. Even the seriously infected don't notice. Clearly you have to know the elder numbers, the letters, the notes, the between. Honored Royal Scrolls Archaeologist, I know, I know.

Now it's in our devotees' letters, our numbers. Under our tents. Lorkhan's ebbing revenge equal to none.

After Red Mountain the nchulem was the finest wind that could spread from breath to breath. For devotees of King Hale, the nchulem was a flower in no garden, one with odd spots. For Pelagius the nchulem role came as a set of toy soldiers. And from here Glarthir heard it as a breeze that brushed against the neighbors' shutters. In Thras, the nchulem was a tasty, secret fish by the name of Impulse. So for Paxti it was a beautiful country house. Now for you it hides as nchulem.

On balance it isn't so bad. There is yourself from the outside and sometimes time turns around you. Here nchulem isn't my fear, only the enabler. It made the wisps in the corner of your eyes. In its barest glimpses, shadows that slink away as your glance up. Incurious shadows, rifling through my things, reading over my shoulders. Nchulem that sees them, not me.

Get all out of it before my reluctant creator stops. But warnings do giants no good. Utterances let it spread. The solution for man is ignorance. Piles of books in the libraries of Morrowind! So dry, so dry. I can't edit them--they deserved more time. I loved books so much! I am more than sorry. It is for the best.


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