The ( Improved ) Emperor ' s Guide to Tamriel : Black Marsh 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 . Argonians of the Ebonheart Pact Meeleeh - Een is a thing , cheerful reptile whose demeanor soured only when I referred to him as an " Argonian . " Apparently , in these parts , they prefer the term " Saxhleel , " but I ' m going with the Imperial term anyway . He ' s been temporarily assigned to my protection as I head to Stormhold and a meeting with Vicecanon Heita - Meen . I might as well burn the guide chapter on this province , as Imperial geographers seem to have circumvented this entire swamp and used imagination instead . Little truth is really known about this place . The instant I spotted Vicecanon Heita - Meen in her administrative office , I recognized her pointed snout and the concentric patterns of the clasps of her battle armor . Her likeness was present in the painting of the Ebonheart Pact I appropriated from Kragenmoor Manor library , back in Morrowind . Although her quarter in the rather shambolic Stormhold lacks the immense fortifications and wondrous architecture of other capitals of Tamriel , this is forgivable due to the recent circumstances . Heita - Meen , under her magistrate title of Vicecanon , was occupied with judgments against two bitter - looking Dunmeri from the recently suppressed House Dres . To think , less than a generation ago , I could have selected an Argonian for my own whims . No more ; the Dark Elves were convicted of slave - trading and sentenced to be hung in cages attached to the Ayleid arches for a year . Should they somehow survive this fate , they face exile from Black Marsh . My Argonian friend , Meeleeh - Een , referred to them as " dryskin fools and withered roots , " not a term of endearment , I ' m sure . " Stay moist , " Meeleeh - Een said in farewell . " An Imperial presence here is approved , " Heita - Meen stated as she beckoned me with a flick of her spindly wrist , a gesture that belied her combat adeptness with a staff . For a few moments , I felt she spoke disdainfully with me , until I realized this wasn ' t simple rudeness ; all of her race addressed me with a detachment that was antithetical to my formal upbringing where manners mattered . " Lonely - Spines , an egg - brother to assist you with your progress . " She gestured to a young Argonian who was to escort me around Stormhold . He explained he was a former slave ( or as he put it , " a choking vine rootbound in the soil of our homeland , now free to bloom " ) . His lilting tone was both annoying and strangely comforting , although he spoke no Jel - - the lizard - tongue of his progenitors - - as he was a product of an unpleasant upbringing on a Morrowind saltrice plantation . He explained he was a Lukiul Argonian and already assimilated in the ways of Tamrielic matters . He warned me of the Saxhleel , who were traditional Black Marsh inhabitants and rightly suspicious of visitors . I hoped we ' d encounter more of the Lukiul as we set off toward the town barracks . We watched a Nord sergeant - - thickly built and dripping with perspiration from the head - - drilled a set of fluid and impressive combat maneuvers with a recently formed company of Shellbacks , the infantry troops of the Argonians . Lonely - Spines motioned for a reptilian fellow watching from the barracks wall , an Argonian captain and veteran of the Akaviri campaign , overseeing the melding of battle tactics . He had a furrowed brow and a deep scar where one of his eyes had been . As the maneuvers became more coordinated , Lonely - Spines explained the Shellbacks were being trained to stand firm next to Nord and Dunmeri heavy infantry units . Up until this point , I ' d thought Argonians excelled at scouting and light skirmishing in Pact matters and hated fighting in formation . These lizard - folk are more adaptable than I expected . Our disdain for Argonian battle equipment is most misguided . As I watched the Nord and Argonian officers square off to show their recruits a dull - bladed duel , I was impressed at the dexterity and lithe skill of the supposed primitive . But it was his crocodile armor that was easily a match for the Nord ' s best thrusting attempts . I was far less enamored with Argonian architecture . While other cultures have gleaming temples that celebrate the grandeur and aspirations of Man or Elf and are built to last the centuries , the atrocious mud huts I had the displeasure of staying in seemed to be actively disintegrating into the oozing swampland . These are wattle - and - daub in construction . But even a Breton knows a foundation of stone is superior to this wet loam . Lonely - Spines pointed out that Argonians really like this " sun - blessed " mud . And also feathers : Not a step can be taken before another tribal totem of wood , mud , and plumage rears up at me like a malformed golem . I might be the first outsider to sketch the heavy armor and weapons of the Argonians in such detail . Perhaps this might persuade disbelievers of the reasonable sophistication of this equipment . The melding of reptile hide , metal , shell , and bone is both tough and lighter than steel armor . The advantages are numerous , but all the proof I required was displayed as I watched lizard - folk swimming , seemingly unencumbered , in this attire . Lonely - Spines offered " an oozeworthy opportunity " to try splashing around myself , but I politely declined . I ' m already coming down with an unsettled gut and a phlegmy cough . After a night in Lonely - Spines ' mud hut , I can safely report that Argonian hut architecture is just as disgusting as it appears in these sketches . The walls tend to sweat in high humidity ( which is , naturally , all the time ) and that incredible odor ! It makes one wonder what these lizard - folk use for a binding material . I ' m never one for idle speculation , but I ' m reasonably certain I spotted dry excreta mixed into the sealing at the edges of windows . My remit requires a thorough exploration of every locale I deem important to future Imperial affairs . I was to venture into the deep marsh , where the Knahaten Flu still lurked . Lonely - Spines was reluctant : " Beware , for you swim in Trouble River . " After a protracted negotiation , my powers of persuasion ( and the bartering of coin and a genuine Tu ' whacca prayer wheel ) won him over . Tomorrow we venture to the Argonian hatching pools , where I am determined to inspect one of the legendary Xanmeer s - - strange pyramids built by the Saxhleel in unknown times past - - and sketch the big Hist tree . Our soggy sojourn shall commence by dawn : Lonely - Spines has just spent the day gathering the necessary equipment for the trek into the Deep Marshes while I attempted to waterproof my Nord boots and tended to the blighted patches of my toe fungus . Draining those pustules was a simple affair . Then , I quickly cracked open my paints to sketch some of the collected baggage of our small caravan . A depth stick was most welcome ; we could now fathom which fetid pond was in a fact a small puddle and which would swallow us to our necks . Dried flower buds would serve as water purifiers , as the swamp effluent I ' d been wading through wasn ' t fit to stand in , never mind ingest . Lonely - Spines also returned with a Lukiul tent . He explained " a dryskin like you probably doesn ' t want to burrow into the mud at night . " What a perceptive fellow he is . I waterproofed my best Nord boots for this ? My initial meandering away from Stormhold ( toward the delightfully named Bogmother ) was on ground firmer than a Breton thoroughfare , a stone - flagged road , or causeway , between the unrelenting wetness I ' ve been assured was ready to swallow us soon . Lonely - Spines has gifted me with a vile - smelling emollient to apply to my forearms , face , and other exposed extremities . It apparently has properties to keep the fleshflies away . While this is indeed true , now only the larger insects dare to bite me . Something winged and iridescent found me delicious already . We made good time despite the bites and humidity , and the smell of fleshfly repellent was finally beginning to fade as we approached Bogmother . The moss - draped trees and grassy knolls were alive with a thousand unseen insect musicians . Masser lit the crumbling ruins of this fallen temple village , which once seemed a more mighty and proud place . There were unexpected intricacies in these ancient towers . Strange figures . Unknown gods ? Lonely - Spines had no learning to impart . My painting shall be guesswork . My anger and anxiety have risen now that my favorite easel rests halfway down a crocodile ' s gullet . I had set to paint at the edge of Bogmother - - clearly well within the town ' s threshold - - and was finishing some preliminary sketches ( now lost ) when something lurched up from the stagnant water at me : As long as two men are tall , this sharp - fanged fiend immediately went for me with amazing speed . A lengthy snout and thick teeth clamped the air where my leg had been . Paints , brushes , and parchments went flying . Lonely - Spines was indisposed as the latrines , so I fended off the two snapping attacks with a hodgepodge of dexterity and panicked screaming . Than I force - fed the beast my art stand until it slithered off . How can the lizard - folk put up with such attacks , practically in a citified area ? Why are there no town guards ? I refocused my sketching efforts and wasted no time inspecting the ruins of Bogmother still further . The ruins are both immense and rambling , and I can almost hear the rasping cries of Lonely - Spines ' ancestors echoing off the cenotaphs and barbicans . As Lonely - Spines puts it , " My forebears still whisper here , like the swaying marsh reeds at Last Seed . " Most glorious of all this carved stone i the dominating stepped pyramid , or " Xanmeer . " The entire area is " Xal , " or " sacred " in the rasping tongue . We were now deep in the mucky wilderness of Shadowfen . As I applied ointment to lessen my chafing , I remembered reading about the legendary Argonian hatching pools . I inquired further . " We are quite close . One is only as far as the territory of a crocodile . But Lonely - Spines thinks you may return with despoilers . There is no moisture in this choice . " The help , it seemed , was acting up again . " Look , I ' ve already traded a Tu ' whacca prayer wheel - - a genuine one , mind you - - for services beyond your remit . You ' ve had my coin and companionship . I ' ve even endured your nature allegories . We journey to the Hist tree at once . " " I am dry with vexation about your choice , " came the reply through a curled - up snout . " Then wet your feet as we wade to our destination , " I replied , tossing him a few more coins . We were soon splashing our way to the most sacred glade of Black Marsh . " Xuth . Intruder . " An Argonian Keeper guarding the perimeter of the pools raised his voice and his spines at me . He made invocations to the mire , and it began to churn beneath his feet . Out of the marsh came a cloud of what looked to be strange spores that circled around the Keeper ' s head . I hastened a necessary retreat . Thankfully the Keeper turned his attention to Lonely - Spines and said , " Eventually we all feed the roots of the Tree . Is it your turn ? " Moments later , my Argonian escort had fallen to his knees , writhing in a storm of spores . Again , you must pardon my recollection at this point . I was confused , worried for my own skin , and blundering in the dark . As Lonely - Spines was dragged away , I panicked and made for our previous camp . Failing to find the way , I staggered , bewildered in the dark . Next I saw a bluish , flickering light . I yelled for help and stumbled toward it . As I viewed the origin of the illumination , I leapt for drier land . This was no lantern , but an intermittent electrical discharge from the spine of a huge and gnarled lizard the size of a fallen tree . Luckily , Arkay failed to summon me . The dragon - thing was thrashing and gnashing at three of the largest wasps I ' d ever seen . Panic . Lost in the endless marshes . I felt the branding mark throb . The wasps halted their pursuit as I reached a strange and forlorn glade . I instinctively shivered as the moisture seeped into my bones . Bereft of warmth , I gazed at three dancing lights , strange wisps that flickered and darted about my quivering body . Then a figure . A wonderful , graceful female form , coalescing from these indistinct vapors . I reached out to her . She beckoned me to her . I obliged in my befuddlement , seeking an embrace . Her kind eyes . . . I clutched my chest as freezing pain seared through it . I watched the woman grimace , contort , and fall away into a twisted vision of snarling hate . Was I to die here ? No . A high cackle vibrated between my ears . I half turned around to look for the source but knew the culprit already . Mannimarco was tormenting me even here . I shook my head but could not dull the dark puppeteer ' s laughter within my skull . I splashed deeper into the mire and despaired . There was silence , then a rush of blood to my temples . I took a few unsteady but purposeful paces toward an embankment . I had found a strange shrine . . . to a serpent god ? I had just begun to sketch when the biggest snake in Black Marsh darted toward me . I instinctively fled and , by Stendarr ' s mercy , scrambled to a pathway . I was catching my breath when two thin , cowled figures approached from out of the low mists . A scaly hand was held to my face . " Imperial slaver scout , you seek to tarnish our foliage with your mildew . " This rasp was menacing . Red and black garb , and blades glinting off their torches in the early twilight . I half hoped the snake might arrive to aid me . " A simple mistake . I am Envoy - Scholar to the - - " The hooded Argonian beckoned me to within a whisper ' s distance : " We know . " " Then I demand you unhand me and - - " An ebony blade appeared at my throat , and a second pointed decidedly lover . The Shadowscale responded with a hiss : " I have heard that if an Imperial loses an appendage , it does not grow back . Shall I test this ? " I was traipsed back to Stormhold to answer for my supposed crimes . I should be thankful I wasn ' t murdered before the Shadowscales sought to substantiate my story . But Vicecanon Heita - Meen vouched for my good nature , and I was reluctantly given up , although there were no proper apologies and admonishments . Akatosh smite me if I ' ve the inclination to visit further sodden sights in this dark and odorous sewage pit . I abandon Black Marsh with elation , for tomorrow I set out for Blackwood and across Cyrodiil .