Vvardenfell, the massive island you explore in Morrowind, is one of the few sandbox maps that feels like it was built without any intention to turn it into a game, as if it was designed and mapped to serve the lore more than playability. As far as the player's lofty quests are concerned, all those administrative details behind Vivec City's economy aren't relevant.

You can learn all about the process of how the nearby Netch farms churn out Netch leather which turns into Netch armour, and it's only flavour text. There are almost two hundred different books to read (well, not really books so much as they are a few paragraphs, but still) that document everything from the world's history to directories of the council members that currently lead its political parties.

All this detail doesn't really make or break the game, mechanically speaking. It's just there. It's flavour text the player can skip. But what this massive amount of detail does do well (and indeed, its very purpose in the game) is to reify Vvardenfell as a world that is almost as complicated, ancient and dynamic as our own.

Look at how the game handles transportation, for example. Instead of pointing and clicking on a map screen to fast-travel (like in the TES games before and after Morrowind) you use Vvardenfell's public transit system instead. The people of this island use animal mounts, ferry boats, and magic teleporter booths to travel around. So, during the early game you use those facilities too.

Critics during the game's launch rightfully bemoaned Morrowind's slow walking speed and constricting fast-travel system, but those caveats serve as build-up for a divine pay-off later on. They build anticipation for a revelatory moment that the player may not experience for tens or perhaps hundreds of hours later. Until then, Morrowind is a slow-burning game.