Tamriel Data:A Dunce in Morrowind

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This is a compilation of books assembled for easier reading.

A Dunce in Morrowind

by Frolja Silver-Blood

---

Volume 1

It was a cold morning in the West Gash, when Remyn found me standing naked by the side of the road. He gave me a contemptful look, but slowed his pack guars and his walk as he came to me. After staring at me like I was stupid for another minute or two, he finally spoke.
"Why are you naked, Nord?"

I was rather smug in my response.
"Ha! I know what you might think, Dark Elf," I said. "You think I saw a comely lass or something, and not realizing she was a witch, I was tricked, hexed, and all my clothing stolen in my sleep."
"It is a rather common issue with you people."
"Oh ho! But you see, I am not an average stupid Nord," I said. "I am an educated future noble, from the famous College of Winterhold."
"Uh huh. And what exactly do you study at the College?"
"I'm the caretaker for the student dorms."
"I see."
"I read their books in the meantime when they aren't looking. Of course, I am not very good at reading. But I come from a very good pedigree. My father was executed by the Jarl, and my mother was five feet tall."

Remyn simply stared at me for a few minutes.

"Why, pray tell, is this a good pedigree?"
"Well, you see, my father was executed by the Jarl for mercantile fraud, the most wealthy form of crime there is. Surely this must reflect to his intelligence to commit such a profitable crime, no?"
"No, it musn't [sic]. And your mother?"
"Yes, she was five feet tall."

I received another stare. Remyn looked away for a moment. He looked to me again.

"So, it was not a witch who fooled you. Why are you naked then?"
"You see, there was a comely lass--"
"Okay."
"--there was a comely lass at the tavern. I was visiting Fort Frostmoth, you see, because I was drowning at the time."
"You were drowning at the time."
"Yes, I was drowning, you see, because my boat had been destroyed by dreugh."
He paused. "I don't understand."
"I set sail from Winterhold in a boat, you see, headed for Solitude for my cousin's wedding."
"I am not an expert on Skyrim. But is Dawnstar not west of Winterhold?"
I chuckled. "Yes, and west I did go, Dark Elf. I've seen many maps in my time. West is to the left. So I sailed left, and would have arrived bright and early in Dawnstar, had it not been for the dreugh that attacked my boat."
"Wh--"
"Once I was drowning, I simply used a scroll of Divine Intervention to arrive at Fort Frostmoth, where I caught a boat to Khuul. That's where I met the comely lass I mentioned."
"I see."
"Yes, and you see, here is the thing, and it should go to show you how educated I really am. You see, this comely lass, she was rumoured by the locals to be a witch. And wouldn't it be just so expected and stereotypical of a Nord in Morrowind, to think that a woman is a witch just because she's a little unusual? And so I said, no, this woman is not a witch, and I will not be tricked or play into your stereotypes. And so, I went home with her to her odd little camp outside town."
"Her camp."
"Yes, had a lot of odd skulls and potions around. While I wasn't looking, some sort of hex was placed on me. I assume she fought as hard as she could to stop my assailant, but alas, I was knocked out, and all my possessions stolen, including my beloved axe, Niptickler."
"Niptickler."
"My beloved axe Niptickler."
"Nipt--" Remyn stopped himself from speaking again. "Okay. You seem a fool, but I am not without sympathy. If you wish, you may accompany me to Ald'Ruhn."
"Old Run, you say?"
"Ald'Ruhn. That is a common Western misconception."
"Ah, you see, it is a common Eastern misconception that it's a common Western misconception."

Remyn paused.

"That's called reverse psychology, you see," I said.
"There are some clothes in one of the guar's packs. Put something on," he said. "Try not to embarrass me when we get there."

****

Publisher's Note:
The "Dunce in Morrowind" series, collected and edited by Frolja Silver-Blood, were originally assembled by the Sneezing Horker Historical Society in Winterhold. Winterhold, as a center of magical learning, is rather cosmopolitan for a city in the icy north.
The Sneezing Horker Historical Society saw its fair share of Dark Elven and Nordic members who were often violently astonished by the ignorance about their respective homelands.
Serving as an introduction to the Dunmer lands for the Society's Nordic members, the Dunce in Morrowind was a series of skits originally written by the late Ferana Adrethi and acted out by regular members to much laughter and drink.

"The Dunce" can easily be found in Winterhold as one of all too many "nobles" residing in town as prospective College students. Full of bluster, arrogance, and a dash of cunning, they are as much part of the city as they are guaranteed income for the carpenter's guild.

Volume 2

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.

Volume 3

When I woke the next morning, I was shocked to discover we were all in jail.

"Hey!" I said, standing up, hitting my head on the ceiling. "What's this about?"
"Be quiet," said the guard standing outside.
"Quiet? I've done nothing wrong!"
"We'll be the judge of that," the guard said. I looked around. One of us was missing.
"Oi. Where's the mage woman?"
"Dead," he said. "You're all suspects. Nobody else was in the Fighters' Guild while the Blight storm was going, so it had to be one of you." Then, he turned around to face me specifically. "Speaking of suspects. I interviewed the Indoril representative earlier today. After he stopped demanding his release, he said you and the Telvanni didn't particularly get along."
"Ha! Would you get along with a Telvanni?"
"An unexpectedly good point, Nord," the guard said, "but it does not change the facts. Second. The murder weapon was rather interesting and uncommon."
"Oh, aye? And what was it then?"
"A Nordic combat axe," he said. "An enchanted one, too. A weird one, too. The Mages' Guild says that whenever this axe strikes someone, it paralyzes them, soul traps them, and lightly poisons them, but also makes them mildly more charismatic."
"That's Niptickler!" I said.
"So. You know the murder weapon, you had a motive to use it, and you're a Nord, who probably thought that a Telvanni sorceror [sic] was a witch who would steal your clothes and enchanted axe. How stereotypical."
"Now, listen here! The only reason I'm here is because I had my clothes and enchanted axe stolen by someone who wasn't a witch!"
"Yes. That reflects so much better on you," the guard said. "You know, it gets worse though. The soul trapping part. Because we found a soul gem, probably filled with the victim's soul. Highly illegal in Morrowind. I don't know why you'd bring these into the province... unless you weren't supposed to be here."
"Well, I'm not supposed to be here, but that doe--"
"Fascinating."
"Look, listen. Niptickler was stolen from me. Whoever did that, that's your killer."
"And where was 'Niptickler' stolen from you?"
"Up near Khuul."
"And how did you get to Ald'Ruhn?"
"By foot, yesterday."
"Yes. Okay. You want me to believe that the not-witch who stole Niptickler followed you, on foot, to Ald'Ruhn, to frame you--you specifically--for murder, and that given that you were the only ones in the Fighters' Guild at the time, she somehow got in there before you, and before the Blight storm picked up. This is the story you want me to believe?"
"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?"
"I am not a fool," he said. He walked off.

After yelling at the bars for a few minutes, I slumped back onto the bench with the others.
"Remyn," I said nudging him. "Remyn. Did you hear that?"
He stirred a bit, groaning. "No."
"They think I committed murder, Remyn."
"That's bad."
"They've got Niptickler."
"That's ba--Niptickler? How?"
"That's right, Niptickler."
"I know, but how? You never had it," he said. "You were naked. I remember that part very clearly."
"Right? There was nowhere I could have hid Niptickler from you, not that I would hide it."
"Yes, you weren't hiding anything, unfortunately," he said. "And why do they have Niptickler?"
"That's the thing. The Telvanni woman was killed by Niptickler."
"That's good. But confusing."
"Good?"
"Yes, I'm glad she's dead."
"Hey, be careful about that!" I said. "They think I killed her just because we didn't get along!"
"Yes, but you're a Nord," he said. "The Dunmer are not great fans of Nords."
"That's pretty unfair. You know, an Elf was Jarl of Snowhawk once."
"...Where?"
"Snowhawk! Bah, never mind it. I suppose they weren't Jarl for very long, only the time it took for good ol' Hjomar to cook him. Bah, nevermind."
"I won't."
"I guess the only real possibility is that... somehow that witch who stole your axe got here before us."
"Or followed us."
"Wouldn't we have noticed?" He paused. "No, we probably wouldn't have. This is very serious." He sat up. "You are a fool, but you do not deserve to be framed for a crime you did not commit. However, Redoran are stubborn, and don't listen to reason."
"Then what should we do?"
"Lucky for us, we're not well known amongst guards, here or elsewhere. If we wanted, we could just escape."
"We could? How?"
"I'll just cast Divine Intervention. Then, we'll walk from the Imperial fort to the silt strider, and get away long enough for the guards to forget about us."
"You really think the guards would forget about us?"
"Telvanni kill each other all the time. Once the guards realize that the Telvanni councillors don't actually want people to be punished by other houses for killing Telvanni, they'll drop it."
"Is that true? That seems stupid."
"Most of the councillors are only councillors because they killed someone or other, and many of them intend to rise higher by killing some more councillors, not to mention all the aspiring young wizards in their ranks. The last thing they want is other Houses standing in the way of their individual schemes. It's one of the sick but practical ways that they remain united against other Houses. Here. Hook my arm."
I did so.
"Now, I'll just cast Divine Intervention."

And, after some purple nonsense, we'd finally gotten out of the jail. Still hungover, we stumbled a bit in the Imperial fort. The legionnaires ignored us, used to finding hungover, injured, or other kinds of adventurers and travellers teleporting themselves into the fort, often just by accident, but one legionnaire seemed to swear under his breath.
"Right. The silt strider." Remyn, still hung over, stumbled out. "It's that way." He pointed.
After a few hours heading down the ashlands, it was clear that we were going the wrong way, but by now we were closer to Caldera than we were to Ald'Ruhn, so, Remyn reasoned, we would just use the guild guide. He was annoyed, because his important business was ruined now, his pack guars and merchandise were back in Ald'Ruhn where he was still suspected for murder, and he was too hung over to have realized this when he got us out of prison, but it was too bloody late for any of that nonsense. We arrived in Caldera, a completely non-descript place with no features whatsoever, and hitched into the Mages' Guild, a completely non-descript place with no features whatsoever.
Remyn stumbled up the stairs to the guild guide. "Get us to Vivec," he said.
"Where?" the woman said. "Sorry, my hearings a bit weird right now. I got hit by a sound spell."
"A what?"
"What? I said my hearing's a bit we--"
"Yes, I heard that, what sound spell?"
"That's right, a sound spell?"
"Is someone casting sound spells?" I said, getting hit by a sound spell.
"What?" Remyn said.
"I got hit by a sound spell!"
"A what?"
"Whggshs ka k k?" the guild guide seemed to say, but I couldn't hear, because I'd been hit by a sound spell.
"Yes, a sound spell!" I shouted at her. Remyn and I were starting to lose our tempers.
"My, my, you're being very rude and drunk and intimidating at me, and if you don't stop, I'll just, I'll just send you somewhere and you won't like it!"
"No, a sound spell! Someone in this bloody guild is casting sound spells!"
"I mean it, I really will just get you out of here! I don't even know where! I'll just cast a spell, I'm warning you, you--you could end up in Red Mountain! I've had a very stressful day because the Argonian keeps casting sound spells at everyone!"
"What?"
"Yes, sound spells!" she said.
Remyn lost his temper and stormed right up to her. "Listen, Breton, I don't care about the sound spells, just get us to Vivec!"
"You asked for it! I did warn you!" she shouted. Remyn and I disappeared in a bright light.

After stumbling about and choking for a bit, Remyn and I got to our feet. Touching the ground with my bare hands scratched them, and it felt poisonous. The air was disgusting. Truthfully, I have never felt so immediately attacked by anything in my life than I did by wherever this place was. This includes the time I was attacked by three frost trolls up near Morthal. But I would've taken my chances with the trolls over wherever this place was. Standing up was a test of strength. Luckily, it was obviously not Red Mountain. Wasn't red.

Remyn managed to stand up too, covering up his nose to protect himself from the foul, foul stench. He hacked a bit. "That n'wah!" he yelled. "I can't believe her!"
"Where are we, Remyn?"
"She teleported us off Vvardenfell!" he shouted. Before me was a flat wasteland, mostly covered in a green haze. It smelled worse than anything I'd ever smelled, covered in salt and poison fumes.
"We're in the Deshaan Plains."

****
Publisher's Note:
The comparison of Dunmer Great House virtues never failed to provoke a healthy bar brawl, which Ferana Adrethi took personal pride in.
Unfortunately, during one such a brawl, caused, of all things, by her characters' unflattering remarks about House Dres, Ferana was struck by an ill-aimed keg and perished shortly afterwards.

While copies of the unedited volume 4 and a few drafts of an unfinished volume 5 exist, it is the wish of Frolja Silver-Blood and the Sneezing Horker Historical Society to remember Ferana's work at its best. Her characters, brought to life by insight, performance, and drink, ended up stuck in an inhospitable wasteland. Who are we, to tell you how they overcame their predicament?

Come, drink, be merry, and share a laugh and a care about the Dunce and all who can still laugh like you do!