Tamriel Data:A Dunce in Morrowind, vol. 2

Book Information A Dunce in Morrowind, vol. 2
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A Dunce in Morrowind, v2

by Frolja Silver-Blood

---

Lucky was I to have a guide to the Eastern land, Morrowind, in Remyn Sadrethi, who told me he is an up and coming merchant of House Hlaalu, travelling to the Old Run on business. The walk was long, but Remyn was so stingy that he wouldn't even pay for the silt strider in Gnisis. It was also fortunate for me that he was good with his magic, which helped keep the cliff racers and kagouti away from us.

"Ald'Ruhn is the seat of House Redoran on Vvardenfell," he said to me.
"Ah," I replied. "So, what's their gimmick?"
"Gimmick?"
"Sure, gimmick," I said. "Have you ever been to the Arena fighting in the Imperial City?"
"We have an arena in Vivec, sera."
"Right, right, but the point is, every fighter has a gimmick. One guy's the sword guy. One guy's the magic guy. One guy's the coward."
"Those are acts they put on to make more money."
"Yes, yes, and I, being rather intelligent myself, find it easy to see through," I said. "But the point is, the Dunmer have gimmicks too."

Remyn stared at me. "I don't understand."
"Sure you do. House Hlaalu's gimmick is money, merchanting--"
"Merchanting."
"--governmenting, you know, all that kind of thing. And I know that the Telvanni's gimmick is that they're unlikable heathens."
Remyn paused. "That is strangely insightful of you. If I co-operate with your insane view of things for a moment, however, I would say that the Redoran's gimmick is that they are warriors. They are very big on honour, and fighting, and strength, whatever."
"Warriors, eh."
"Yes," Remyn said.
"Amazing. So the Dunmer sort themselves into warriors, magicians, and thieves."
"Thieves?"
"Well, isn't that what business is? Legalized theft?"
Remyn paused. "...No."
"It's a very convenient system."
"There are more than three Great Houses," he said.
"Oh. That upsets it a bit."
"House Indoril and House Dres have no settlements on Vvardenfell. The traditionalist, insular Indoril have not had the enterprising drives of the other great houses. They receive enough political benefits from Temple settlements that it makes no difference to them anyway. I sometimes think that they believe they own the Temple."
"Temple, eh."
"Do you know anything of our religion, sera?"
"Remember, I am a very educated future noble from the College of Winterhold."
"Yes, you keep saying."
"I, of course, know about the famous Dark Elf living gods Vivec, Sotha Sil, and Mournhold."
"...M-Mournhold."
"Yes," I said. "You see, I, being very clever, realized that the gods of the Dark Elves all have a city named after them, like Vivec, or Sotha Sil, which is a hidden, secret city where he hides the Dwarves."
"The Dw--he--what?"
"That's where the dwarves went! They went to hide with Sotha Sil so they could work on strange mage-smithing all the time and build things that blow out a lot of steam that makes it hard to see. You see, being educated, I know that Sotha Sil is very into weird mage stuff and building weird things, because I read 2920. And so logically, the dwarves would've went with him, right? He accepted their surrender, and the surrender of their lands and gave them a place to live where they could build weird things all day."
"...2920 was fictional, sera."
"Well, good thing I didn't finish reading it then, don't you think?"
"Yes, I do," Remyn said.

We kept walking afterwards, swatting away a few cliff racers.
"What about the other one? The Dres?"
"Some things become so adapted to danger that they can't function in safety," Remyn said. "That is what I will say about why the Dres don't settle on Vvardenfell."
"Ah, interesting, interesting. So, do you all live in these Houses?"
"...House is a figure of speech. Perhaps you would understand better if you thought of it as a clan."
"Ohh, that makes much more sense!" I said. "Yes, of course, clans, because clans live in a house, so, yes, I see it."
"Yes. And I must correct you. There is no city called Mournhold. The goddess is named Almalexia."
"Now, I don't believe that for a second. Mournhold is the capital city of Morrowind."
"Mournhold is a smaller part of the capital city Almalexia, like a central district for the wealthy."
"No, no, I know that's wrong. I saw that map of Morrowind a long time ago but I remember it very clearly, you had Old Run, you had Mournhold, you had Stoneforest south of Old Run--"
"Stoneforest?"
"Right near Markgran Forest."
"Markgr--I have never heard of these places."
"Boy," I said. "You know, not to be rude, but that seems a bit thick of you."

As we kept going, the land changed. Rather than swatting away cliff racers in pleasant greenery, we were swatting them away in ashy hills with dead, spiky trees.
"We are getting close, sera," Remyn said to me.
"Great news. How do I get back to Skyrim from Old Run?"
"That might be difficult. Travel between Vvardenfell and the mainland is currently restricted, due to the risk of Blight. The Temple and the Empire have to conduct very thorough, slow checks of everything here," Remyn told me. "Tedious, but perhaps necessary. I would say you should take the Mages Guild guide to Vivec, and then take a walk to Ebonheart."
"Ah, indeed, indeed. If anyone can help me, it would be a god."
"The city, not the god."
"The city or the god?"
"The city, Vivec."
"I don't see how a city can help me."
"I do not see how many could help you at all," Remyn said.
"A god definitely could. I'm sure if Kyne was right here, she could pop me back to Skyrim."
"Kyne," he said. "I am sure you mean Kynareth."
"I mean Kyne. It's the basic Nordic religion you know, Kyne the Hawk. Her and her kind help us keep protected from the dangerous ones like Orkey or Alduin."
"Arkay, you mean. I have no idea who Alduin is."
"Alduin's the dragon god who rules time, of course!"
"That's Akatosh, sera. Do you not understand your own religion?"
"Now, look here, Remyn. Maybe you think me an uneducated Westerner, but I think I should be cut a little slack in knowing our own traditions as Nords. It looks like you think we worship the Imperial cult."
Remyn seemed puzzled. "You mean you don't?"
"I can't imagine where you got that idea."
"That's strange. I was almost sure of it."

I noticed we were coming closer to Ald'Ruhn, because I could see the giant dead crab in the distance. But Remyn had other concerns. His eyes were constantly somewhere to the west, seeming worried. The wind was picking up, and he didn't like it. Weather? Weather problems. Universal, I reasoned. But as we were coming into Ald'Ruhn, and he was about ready to say goodbye to me, I realized it was something else. The concern on his face was growing. The people on the streets and the guards didn't seem too impressed either.
"Uh oh," he said.
"Uh oh?"
"Blight storm. Bad one, too. Get inside!" Remyn practically pushed me into the nearest building and slammed the door behind us. There was a ghastly noise, like an angry dragon with a bad hangover outside. It was like hearing a god throw a tantrum in the other room.
"Blight?" I asked.
"I don't feel like explaining," Remyn said. He looked around. As it turned out, we'd just barged into the Fighters' Guild, where a bunch of other well-dressed looking Dark Elves were too, looking about the same as Remyn.
"Blight storm?" he asked.
"Blight storm," one of them said.
"Hm," he said, taking a seat with them. "Don't mind the Nord."
"Did a witch take his clothes and axe and leave him naked by the road?" a wizard-y looking one said.
"It wasn't a witch," I said proudly. He seemed half surprised I could speak.
"How nice for you. Well, Remyn Sadrethi, yes, we are all stuck in here because of the unusually bad blight storm, making it too dangerous to even walk to that crab place," the wizard said, "so we can't do all that diplomacy we wanted, but we still have to all sit in here and pretend that we like each other."
Remyn just nodded. "These are delegates from the other Great Houses," he said to me.
"Ah!" I said. "So, you must be a Telvanni then," I said to the wizard.
"Yes, I am a member of the only House worth being a member of."
"And you must be a Redoran!" I said to a rather strong looking elf. He just nodded.
"And you... Hlaalu?"
"Indoril," a rather well to do one said. "We couldn't be more different."
"You could if you put your mind to it," the Telvanni said. "I might sell you a mind if you need one."

We all eventually sat down with the rest of the guild, waiting for the storm to let up, leaving us not much to do but to drink and argue for the rest of the night.
"...And of course, I'm only an uneducated Westerner," I said, "but it seems to me that... outside of Dagoth Ur itself, the most hostile environment in Morrowind is this ashy bit." I burped.
All my Elven companions immediately started shaking their heads. The Telvanni insulted me under their breath.
"Barring the fire mountain itself, sera," the Redoran said, barely intoxicated, "the most hostile, toxic, and in general uninhabitable part of Morrowind is the Deshaan Plains."
"Indeed," the Indoril said. "Toxic environment, toxic mer. Mounds of useless poisonous salt, soil so stained with chlorine or other acids that normal plants refuse to grow, wind storms that blow that salt into your eyes, nose, and skin, acid rain, wild skyrenders, noxious fumes, and worst of all, the Dres, who are possibly even more heathen than the sorcerors [sic] here."
"It's so poisonous, I read a poem written by some Dres once, describing the landscape, and I felt ill just thinking about it," the Telvanni woman said. "That, and the poem was just that bad."
"Yes, Dres are not good poets," my guide said.
"They are not really good anything," the Telvanni woman said. "They're mad. You'd have to be mad to live in the Deshaan. Which is just as well, because I think if you aren't mad, you probably can't survive there either."
"Fascinating," I said, instantly becoming too drunk to stay conscious.

****

Publisher's Note:
The original skits were set in the Velothis district settlement of Verarchen, and the journey took the characters to the port town of Rhanim, with Baan Malur as goal.
As Vvardenfell was recently opened up to colonisation, the journey was rewritten to take place on the island, allowing for a more natural flow. An inconvenient blight storm replaced the original subplot of impending bankrupty [sic] due to constant mixups between Divine and Almsivi intervention scrolls. In addition, having the Dunce take place near the newly relevant settlements allowed more nods towards the incomprehensible names proudly featured on Imperial maps, which usually take two to three editions to sort out.
Similar skits exist for the Danstrar/Dunstiorr/Dawnstar controversy, and the notorious "Kyn I have my Helm now, Holme? It's windy!" joke knows no peers. As long as the Imperial Geographics Society produces maps for the masses, the Sneezing Horker Historical Society is assured to never run out of material.

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