Domination. Defilement. Corruption. Subjugation. My truth is but one-the weak deserve only to be overpowered by the strong and made into the subservient worms they were meant to be. Goodness and fairness and purity and all who think to emulate their piteous, fragile, ephemeral concepts will be smashed asunder by mace and fist and tooth and claw and will be ground and cast into the foundations from whence springs the deepest roots of the black, grimy, choking filth that encrusts all things in its caustic, endless, eternal grasp. A grasp I and I alone possess.
Deep in my realm of Coldharbour, a dark, twisted cosm as it is from your naive perspective, I patiently wait. My sight and my grip travel far and wide, seeping into the slowly, surely forming cracks and crevices of the shadowy fringes of civilization, weaning itself upon the refuse and dross, growing steadily and strongly by its own admission and grit until its presence is as great and blatant as the light of the day it shall soon eclipse in its magnitude. There will be many an opportunity to stretch my claws out over the entirety of Nirn; to extend my power, my will unto each and every one of its fickle mortal races and one day drag their pitiful plane of existence into my own for all eternity.
The enslavement of the lowly and pitiful is a righteous fate reserved for the weak. It is as much as they deserve over those with power; those with privileged earned by their own sweat, blood, strain, ache and bile. For that is my way, and the way of those who choose to follow me, wittingly or otherwise. The strong will dominate the weak, and the weak shall be made slaves of the strong, or else crushed and pummeled and eaten and excreted and discarded.
Such is the will of Molag Bal.

And if you deign to mock me because I find joy in the show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, you, too, will be crushed and pummeled and eaten and excreted and discarded. Because such petty insults are just... just unnecessary, man...