The ( Improved ) Emperor ' s Guide to Tamriel : Stonefalls and Deshaan The ( Improved ) Emperor ' s Guide to Tamriel is a book written by Flaccus Terentius to explain his adventures throughout Tamriel during the Second Era . It was written as an additional Guide book to . Content . The Dark Elves of Morrowind I was jostled awake by the clattering of caravan wheels on cobblestone road . My vague memories of last night ' s debauchery in Riften would have made Sanguine himself wince . Peering out of the mead wagon , vision bleary and head aching , I saw we were traveling on a road to the southwest , away from the autumnal forest . " Ah , the milk - drinker is up ! " Fenrig flashed a toothy grin , while Roggvir launched into yet another Nord verse about Kyne , hunting elk , and the consumption of mead . I offered a feeble wave back . When we reached customs at Fort Virak , two sour - faced Dunmer stopped the caravan for inspection . This was to be our first encounter in the Stonefalls region known as Daen Seth . These Dark Elves took their time ; I mean , did we look like we were part of the Daggerfall Covenant ? After Fenrig agreed on a two - crate " tariff , " we trundled off to the south , headed for the city of Kragenmoor . Our initial trip through Stonefalls was uneventful ( aside from the intermittent but always atrocious Nord singing ) , until we were ambushed by a pack of three odd - looking predators . After slaying these nix - hounds , Roggvir explained the danger of the bloodsucking animal ' s bite : " I was lucky ; I only caught Rockjoint the last time I got bit . Watch these critters when you ' re out on your own . You ' ve enough elixirs to cure poison , right ? " By Arkay , does everything in this grim realm carry diseases ? Having read the above , I was ready to sneer at the lackluster security and downtrodden masses of " wretched Kragenmoor , " but my experiences were in stark contrast to what I ' d read : Once again and to my dismay , my Imperial texts fail me . I witnessed mile after mile of saltrice plantations stretching across this fertile valley . As Roggvir slowed the caravan , steering it around the watchtower ' s guardhouse , I saw the Nord stow his hammer and bring out a journal . He nodded at the imposing specimen of Dunmer , clad in equally impressive armor : " These are the Dres House Guards , " he murmured to me . " Best not draw their ire . " I noticed further watchtowers , defenses , and contingents of guards in heavy armor , moving at an almost graceful pace . Fenrig beckoned me over . " We ' re showing the Dres overseer our Ebonheart Pact paperwork . " As I nodded , Fenrig pointed out an imposing structure a little farther along the main thoroughfare . " That ' s our stop , the manor of House Dres . Go explore and don ' t worry , we ' ll protect you . " I snorted and hiked off past the saltrice fields . Having eaten saltrice almost constantly since leaving Skyrim , I find the foodstuff bland . It also plays havoc with my digestion and leaves me with terrible bouts of flatulence . In my usual social circles this would be cause for embarrassment , but the Nords find my emissions the height of hilarity . In the Manor library I found a copy of a recent painting ready to be hung : " Leaders of the Ebonheart Pact , " a work depicting Vicecanon Heita - Meen , Jorunn the Skald - King , and Tanval Indoril at the forging of the Ebonheart Pact . The city of the same name is beyond them , with Ash Mountain belching its smoke in the distance . I rolled it up and appropriated it . I swallowed a sleeping - philtre and missed most of our trip into the region of Deshaan . At dawn , I woke just as we reached the majestic city of Mournhold . The long shadow of night withdrew , revealing the city ' s graceful green spires , soaring basalt archways , and golden finery along even the most modest buildings . Guards clad in the richest ebony and glass armor strode the streets and patrolled the battlements with grace and an ever - watchful gaze . After the horses stopped for water near the already - bustling Great Bazaar , I seized the opportunity to gather my belongings and step off the mead cart for the last time . I left these red - haired and red - faced Nord idiots for good . " May Kyne guide you ! " Roggvir hollered as the cart clattered down an alley . " May Lady Namira feast on your children ! " I mouthed back in a voiceless curse . I ' d just been served a Cyrodilic Brandy in the gloomy antechamber of a cornerclub when a voice interrupted my doze . " Pssst ! You , there . Over here ! " I spotted an angular face peering from behind a heavy door under the stairs . " What ? " I whispered back , a little flummoxed . This Dark Elf looked shifty , even more so than most . " Answer me now , " he hissed , " ' Decmitius . ' ' Epimachus . ' ' Gennadius . ' Which name did I leave out ? " " Er . . . ' Flaccus ' ? " " Close enough . " The cellar door swung open , and the Dunmer ushered me down the steps . I followed , hand gripping my dagger pommel tightly . Down in the basement , the Dunmeri merchant stooped to push and indented button . A bookcase swung outward on a well - hidden hinge , revealing a den with three cloaked men huddling around a map with various pins stuck into it . I noticed the wolf of Kvatch on one of their tunics : these were Imperials . I stopped fidgeting with my dagger . " Welcome back , Brother Festus , " one of them said without turning around . " I trust your information on Vox Las has been corroborated ? " " Er , hello , " I replied nervously . " My name is Flaccus Terentius . I hail from Bravil , and I ' m Envoy - Scholar to - - " One of the Imperials jumped as I started to speak . They all spun around , hands on their hilts . The speaker turned to the merchant . " By Stendarr ' s beard , does he even look like Festus Silius ? " " You Imperials all look the same to me , Decmitius . " Another Imperial burst in . " Decmitius ! The den has been compromised . Take refuge . . . " Suddenly the door was wrenched from its frame , and four powerful Dunmer clad in heavy ebony armor charged into the den . As I cowered , a robed Dunmer turned to me and flicked his fingers . I felt blackness racing in from all sides . I woke on a soft bed in a grand bedchamber , with a glass - armored guard frowning down at me . " Come with me . Lady Almalexia will see you now . " Still dazed , I was led into an ornate and immense circular chamber where a statuesque figure of shining gold waited , her hair and armor glinting in the sun : the Goddess Almalexia . " Flaccus Terentius : my apologies . There are times when my Hands work with more speed than care . You are in the Tribunal Temple . " " I , " I stammered , " I ' m . . . " " Envoy - Scholar to the Empress Regent ? Yes , we know . We know everything : your encounters with the Worm Cult . Your meeting with King Kurog . Your rescue by Galerion . " " But . . . but how ? Agents ? Scrying stones ? Informers ? " Almalexia smiled . " Oh , no . We read your journal . " She indicated a strong - jawed female clad in Temple robes . " This is Urili Vox , Magistrix of Morals . She will guide you safely through our land , and toward a better understanding of our culture . " " But , Mother Morrowind . . . , " Vox began . I saw Almalexia flash her a glare . " Consider this penance , Urili Vox , " Almalexia said . " Think about the regrettable actions of your son . " " Yes , Mother Morrowind , " Vox responded with a bow . Almalexia turned to me for the last time . " The Three favor you , " she said sweetly , her voice echoing from inside my head . " You may leave . " It ' s not every day you meet a living goddess . Even one I still didn ' t believe in . Vox ' s squad of Ordinators escorted me out of the gates of Mournhold at dawn . The Magistrix wanted me to " see the views , hear the sounds , and smell the air " of her province . We rode east until the lush plant life near Mournhold grew small and sparse . I asked Vox what our itinerary was , and she confirmed a visit to a local tribe of Ashlanders . When I said I ' d rather visit a military installation , she replied , " I am here to ensure you aren ' t bored or distressed by such matters " - - and her hand lightly tapped the pommel of her sword . I received the message loud and clear . Lagging behind Vox and her guards , I was almost eaten by this ugly predator , a kagouti . Fortunately , it subsists largely as a carrion and chose the carcass of a guar to devour instead of my entrails . Arkay preserve me ! It was late afternoon that we neared a rocky outcrop overlooking the Grazeland plains on the edge of Deshaan . Vox slowed to a stroll and beckoned me over . Pointing at a cluster of tents in the valley below , she told me to watch myself in the forthcoming encounter . " Your behavior in Mournhold didn ' t instill me with confidence , " she said , catching me in her piercing red gaze . " Take a modicum of care in your dealings with these simple nomads . " Vox arranged for me to meet the tribe ' s Farseer . I was ushered into a darkened tent for a spiritual cleansing and welcoming as a Clanfriend . The air was sweet with incense . A wizened crone appeared and whispered as drums sounded softly . " We venerate Boethiah - - the Prince of Plots ! Mephala - - Hail the Webspinner ! And Azura - - the Cosmic Severer ! Here , drink . " I swallowed a broth of bitter herbs . My head was swimming with colors and voices , but I could have sworn the Farseer mutter , " The black worms feast on this one . " The Ashlander tents , known as yurts , range in size and shape , but all have a single entrance flap over which hangs a lantern of vivid blue . They may be constructed with wood , hides , and sinew , but they are remarkably sturdy and can be collapsed within moments . I spent some time sketching their structures and the hackle - lo and trama root the Ashlanders had been harvesting . Deshaan is the fertile , central plain of Morrowind and the triumphant fruition of Dunmeri agriculture - - as Magistrix Vox reminds me on a seemingly hourly basis . But there ' s more to this land than incredibly fertile soil , slave labor , and almost inedible beetle cheese : Vox is intent on proudly showing me every farm . Surely there ' s more to this toilsome trek than watching yet another morose primitive tending to a saltrice field ? Even the novelty of the exotic flora is wearing off : if you ' ve seen one giant mushroom , you ' ve seen them all . At least I haven ' t spotted any of those unsavory Worm Cult fellows in my time here . At a netch ranch , a netch - herd named Rolves Ramoran took a few moments from his lunch to point out the main differences between these cow - sized herd creatures . He waved a herding stick in the general direction of his floating cattle , telling me the blue - headed female is called a " betty " netch , while the larger brown one is the bull . I wondered aloud how such a large creature keeps itself afloat , and Vox noted that their buoyancy is due to internal sacs of magical vapors . The female netch is fiercely territorial , the male emits poison from its feelers , and a netch ' s skin contains a toxin that makes the meat inedible . I also learned that netch hide is made into particularly strong and supple armor . Indeed , some of the soldiers I encountered in Mournhold were wearing such attire . At a shalk corral , I watched an intrepid shalk - herd coerce some of the giant insects into a pen , using protective magic to ward off the beetles ' fire strikes . She told me shalks are prized for their meat , resin , and carapace s . She then asked me if I was willing to seek a vision of the Fore Times , as it " would help cleanse you before the coming plague , " and muttered something about " Veloth ' s Judgment . " Another day dampened by superstitious nonsense . I declined and waited for Vox under a nearby mushroom , finishing up some other pieces of art and eating some savory shalk stew with boiled bittergreens . I watched as a brief thunderstorm crackled overhead and dissipated . Vox ' s company returned at sundown : It was the first time I ' d been pleased to see a Dark Elf . A guar - herd named Llynth told me that , unlike the ferocious wild guar , the domestic Pack Guar are docile and easily trained . He introduced me to a pack guar he called Sweetroll , who took one look at me and promptly ate my hat right off my head - - the new one I ' d just bought in Mournhold ! Llynth said the other varieties of guar are the pony guar , which is about the size of a goat , and the bantam guar , the size of a chicken . Both seemed to be only slightly less intelligent than my host . In his kitchen , I was given some guar meat to try . Bantam guar looks and tastes like chicken ; pony guar looks and tastes like leather . It was only after the tasting that Llynth told me pony guar aren ' t meant to be eaten . Yet another trick pulled on the hapless foreigner . " Come , serjo , to the kwama mines . " Vox was insistent , and I managed to feign interest despite now being heartily sick of her need to show me Dunmeri advancements in farming . Naturally , I hid my true feelings , as I feared for my life and secretly wished for this " hospitality " to end . Bloodlessly , if possible . Secunda was waning tonight , but it still loomed over Ash Mountain as we reached Darkshade Caverns , a kwama mine owned by House Redoran . The House workers stepped back to let us through , one shouting , " Greetings , mehra ! Are you here to help with cultists ? " As always , Vox had appointments with the locals , but one of her entourage - - a particularly striking guard named Bathrone Rendo - - offered to guide me through the mine . This handmaiden could have snapped me in two with her bare hands , a fate almost preferable to watching a kwama mine at work . We ' d skirted Silmindel and were heading into another mountain meander . " We now enter sacred ground , " Vox said . " You may once have thought of us as aloof or mirthless . But we are simply guarded against outsiders . You have proven yourself worthy . It is time to witness my personal veneration of the past . " Painting on an enthusiastic smile , I followed her to a grassy knoll topped by the ruins of giant obsidian arches . The scope of the place was impressively vast . " The Shrine of Saint Veloth , " Vox intoned . I cautiously followed Vox into an underground chamber , half expecting to feel a sacrificial dagger thrust between my ribs . As Bathrone lit candles and braziers , I gaped in amazement at this cathedral of flying buttresses , side chambers , and banners to entities I ' d only seen in my nightmares . This was a marvel of Chimer architecture , hidden from time ! Vox knelt down beside me . " We pray to the Good Daedra here . " Vox and her troop left me to paint in peace . But the vision of the Black Rose hovered before me again , petals falling from a withering vine . My brand pulsed with a pain I had not felt since Skyrim . A low , deep voice penetrated my mind , murmuring , " The candle inside your head is slowly going out . " I thought my wretchedness was behind me . Bathrone helped me back to the surface and fed me some boiled muckspunge , and I felt a little better . " Magistrix Vox seeks judgment to the west , " Bathrone said cryptically . " I have been assigned to escort you . Your journey to Black Marsh shall be without incident . " She was correct - - our only stop was an enforced one near the Silent Mire : Bathrone pushed me into a ditch , dropped a prowling kagouti with a single whirl of her blade , and beckoned me onward . We were slightly early for our rendezvous at Stormhold . As a thin reptilian figure approached , I turned to thank Bathrone Rendo for her help and protection , but she had already departed my company , armor glinting in the afternoon sun as she strode away . I would never see her like again . " Welcome to the mire ! " Meeleeh - Een cheerfully rasped . My brand itched .