The Null Manifesto

Behold, we are the confraters of Temple Zero. Our monastery is the temple before the temple, a union before One, a chapel that exists only in the singular moment of Convention, and an altar placed at that divine and infinite point where Is meets Isn't, the font from which all possibility springs forth.

Do not be alarmed by us, good friends. You have heard that we are heretics to be burned, or lunatics to be pitied and feared. That we are liars and plagiarists and swindlers. No! We are the Alchemist, bringing forth the beautiful glimmer of gold through chyrsopoeic distillation. Let it be heard, from the Dragon Throne of Niben to the Crystal Court of Alinor, that our allegiance lies solely with the absolute of Truth! We bow before no worldly sovereign whose domain is so petty - so insignificant - as the empires of Mundus, for the kingdom of Truth stretches far beyond the starry skies above. Truth is the face behind the mask of gods and the centerpoint of all things.

Go on, remove the mask! - reluctantly if you must, but look upon Truth and rest assured that it holds no greater threat than a welcoming smile. In that moment of relief, know that what you hold in your trembling hands is an object of great and mighty power. The creases and wrinkles of the mask are a map of this world, which is itself a theatre of illusions and deceit. Its sardonic grimace salutes your entry behind the coulisse.

Know also that the mask you wear yourself is not forced upon you. The guise too much worn grows dull and crumbles to dust, bringing with it the beloved character of its visage. Learn instead to be an artisan: make your own mask, iridescent and ever new; carve and paint to your heart's content; sing, dance, and revel in the grand carnival that is Mundus!

I say again: behold, we are the confraters of Temple Zero, who have seen the Truth and cherish it, and by its power have lordship over our own souls. In this way we hold as our guide Marukh, the Monkey Prophet, our vanguard for Truth in the cosmic arena. Our ending formula is therefore the word of the Primate, to which we pledge our lives, our names and our sacred honor. With this call he united the peoples of Tamri-El in elegant jubilation, an elated and triumphant polyphony that reached above the skies, disturbing the waters of Oblivion and trembling the very halls of Aetherius. With this call he cast aside his mask and spread the light of Truth to all the folk of Nirn, and it shall not be forgotten until the last star has fallen and the great dreamer sleeps no more.

Tam! RUGH!

And so open the gates of the Temple. Confraters, we welcome you with open arms. Behold, you are Temple Zero.