Walking in a Winter Wonderland.
So many bloggers have recorded their unique adventures through the Eldar Scrolls V, so many have detailed every step and moss – covered boulder. I’m not going to give you a blow by blow account of my time with the game. I’m just going to tell you a story. A small series of insignificant events that are the reasons I roleplay.
First, some background. On starting the game last Christmas, I sat with numb joy while it installed. I nearly passed water during the carriage trip to my execution. I was reminded of Fargo by the voices surrounding me. When my time came, I carefully examined each race of character, knowing that whoever I chose would be my persona for weeks to come. (I’m not the type of gamer who has ten different save files, all with unique races and classes.)
With so many beautiful faces and people ready and willing to be created, something nostalgic seized me. I missed the ugly as hell faces from Oblivion. I missed the NPC’s who looked like they had been run over. Deciding that I would honor the previous generations of unappealing characters, I picked the Orc. Then I made him as ugly as hell.
Fast forward a couple of weeks, and my Orc has done quite well for himself. He owned a house, had the approval of a Deadric God, could whack people’s heads off and was a werewolf. Not bad at all. Unfortunately, he hit a midlife crisis.
Maybe it was the appearance of one too many dragons, or the incredibly repetitive conversations with Lydia, who knows? My Orc got bored. No quest brought satisfaction, no guild looked appealing. Snug in Whiterun, my Orc felt suffocated. He longed for open hills once more, the thrill of exploration and above all, the sea. One misty morning he abruptly packed and left, telling no one, avoiding all. As he rushed out the gates of the city, a dimwitted guard made an asinine remark about a sweetroll to him. A long restrained temper snapped and my Orc slammed his shield into the guard’s face. He then easily outran the overweight human, chuckling throatily as he did so. How good it was to feel the wind once more!
Over rolling plains and dizzying cliffs, my Orc traveled north. Occasionally he would allow the spirit of the wolf to overtake him, and would lumber forward on four limbs, howling gleefully at the moon while doing so. He met very few travelers on the ancient paths he took. Once he was accosted by a trio of bandits, who demanded all he carried.
Picking his way through their remains, he pushed his body even harder, desperate to wade in the salty waters that never slept. He reached them some hours later. The ice was scattered and broken over the immense sea, which merged into the sky at some distant point. It had been worth the travel.
His keen eyes spotted an object below on the coast. It looked like a boat. Closer inspection proved this speculation. He could see figures cooking nearby on the shore. Mischief grabbed my orc, much like it had grabbed me. Taking all his clothes off, he submerged himself in the waters, and slowly swam up shore to where the men were arguing.
‘This is the part, where YOU run away..’ he thought to himself
He charged out of the water, blasting the men backwards with a well timed dragon word. A short, but furious fight ensued, with my Orc downing all the men in hand to hand combat. Looting their skinny bodies, he ate their now cooked venison and felt at peace with the world. His blood lust and desires sated, he turned to begin the long journey home.
A Sabretooth was staring at him, drawn by the smell of meat. He had left his mace on the grassy banks behind the animal. He was in trouble. The creature growled, it’s hackles raised, and took a menacing step forward. However the Orismar are not easily scared, and don’t fear death. My orc let out a primal battle cry, went berserk and charged forward.
What followed was a fight that will go down in history – two honorable and savage opponents who fought to their very last hit points. The sky above them darkened, thunder above let out bellows of approval, and the rain hit them from every angle, soaking through them, washing away blood in crimson swirls.
My Orc won.
Bloody, and missing an ear, my Orc delivered the final blow, and the animal fell backwards into the water. The sudden silence was all encompassing. The Sabretooth was slowly pulled away into the sea by currents. The sun was setting behind it, and it’s body was nothing but a dark presence, floating serenely. My Orc watched it slowly vanish, reaching the point where the sea meets the sky, and he payed his respects to his greatest foe.
He turned and left. I switched off the machine.
I never played again.