As the release of Skyrim fast approaches, I found myself desperately trying to relive all my past glories in the well known province of Cyrodiil. While no malevolent Daedric Prince will be FORCING me to not play Oblivion anymore, I know in my heart that I'm no longer a citizen and prisoner turned savior to the land I learned so well; I am now a Dragonborn, i am Dovahkiin... a citizen a prison of a land I WILL learn so well. So away I went, spelunking and slaughtering my way through Cyrodiil, one last time.
The first scenes played out as always, but this time with a hint of nostalgia, and I could almost feel how I did on my first trip into this strange and beautiful land. I put aside my jaded and experienced soul and once again felt the helplessness as the Emporer was slew before me, as I stood and watched, unable to move.
As I emerged from the sewers into the open world, free to go about my business as I saw fit, I couldn't quite manage to pretend I didn't know what to do or where to go. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and how to do it: it was time to slay an innocent and await my invitation into the Dark Brotherhood. A guard patrolling the roads on his horse was the first person I saw, and I knew myself to be no match for him, so I avoided him and went instead to a nearby farm and ended the life of a random farmer whose only crime was poor housing placement. You know what they say in real estate though: location, location, location. "Your killing has been observed by forces unknown." I was dutifully reminded. I knew that when I slept I'd receive a visit and a contract for poor old Rufio, but I was happy enough with my progress for now, so I set off into the land.
On instinct more than will I followed river banks picking the Nirnroot that faithfully waited where it always had. I emptied the barrels in the market district filling my inventory with Restore Fatigue, which I then sold, bought more materials and crafted more potions. Both a great way to level my Alchemy AND make a nice starting sum of gold.
Fast forward several levels and waves of melancholy, and it really hit me: After all this time, after all these adventures and level ups and struggling as to how to best max out my stats while leveling (wait, so I pick the skills I DON'T want?) after stopping Mehrunes Dagon, Umaril the Unfeathered, stopping the Greymarch and actually becoming the Daedric Prince of Madness too many times to count... After all that, I was finally done. I was done with the game you couldn't finish. I had broken the endless cycle of saving the world and awaking back in that prison cell at level one, as though it was all a dream. My time in Cyrodiil had finally come to an end.
But I don't write this out of pain of what had been lost, but rather hope for what is to come. Long had I looked beyond the Jerall Mountains dreaming of what people and adventures lay beyond. I don't mourn for the collapse of an Empire I struggled to save innumerable times. Instead I'm overjoyed by the possibility of what new politics may emerge in a world without emporers. 200 years later, and the Nirnroots I picked, potions I made, people I killed and diseases I had contracted, suddenly none of that mattered. Not a word would be spoken of any of it, except maybe a passing tale of the legend which may or may not be true about the prisoner who stopped a Daedric Prince.
I don't know if I ever experienced all of Oblivion. And I don't know if I will ever experience all of Skyrim. But I do know that at midnight on the 11th, I'll be first in line to find out.
(discussion: have you gone back to Oblivion in the last week or more as a final farewell? Will you miss the familiarity of it all? Tell your tales.)
The first scenes played out as always, but this time with a hint of nostalgia, and I could almost feel how I did on my first trip into this strange and beautiful land. I put aside my jaded and experienced soul and once again felt the helplessness as the Emporer was slew before me, as I stood and watched, unable to move.
As I emerged from the sewers into the open world, free to go about my business as I saw fit, I couldn't quite manage to pretend I didn't know what to do or where to go. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and how to do it: it was time to slay an innocent and await my invitation into the Dark Brotherhood. A guard patrolling the roads on his horse was the first person I saw, and I knew myself to be no match for him, so I avoided him and went instead to a nearby farm and ended the life of a random farmer whose only crime was poor housing placement. You know what they say in real estate though: location, location, location. "Your killing has been observed by forces unknown." I was dutifully reminded. I knew that when I slept I'd receive a visit and a contract for poor old Rufio, but I was happy enough with my progress for now, so I set off into the land.
On instinct more than will I followed river banks picking the Nirnroot that faithfully waited where it always had. I emptied the barrels in the market district filling my inventory with Restore Fatigue, which I then sold, bought more materials and crafted more potions. Both a great way to level my Alchemy AND make a nice starting sum of gold.
Fast forward several levels and waves of melancholy, and it really hit me: After all this time, after all these adventures and level ups and struggling as to how to best max out my stats while leveling (wait, so I pick the skills I DON'T want?) after stopping Mehrunes Dagon, Umaril the Unfeathered, stopping the Greymarch and actually becoming the Daedric Prince of Madness too many times to count... After all that, I was finally done. I was done with the game you couldn't finish. I had broken the endless cycle of saving the world and awaking back in that prison cell at level one, as though it was all a dream. My time in Cyrodiil had finally come to an end.
But I don't write this out of pain of what had been lost, but rather hope for what is to come. Long had I looked beyond the Jerall Mountains dreaming of what people and adventures lay beyond. I don't mourn for the collapse of an Empire I struggled to save innumerable times. Instead I'm overjoyed by the possibility of what new politics may emerge in a world without emporers. 200 years later, and the Nirnroots I picked, potions I made, people I killed and diseases I had contracted, suddenly none of that mattered. Not a word would be spoken of any of it, except maybe a passing tale of the legend which may or may not be true about the prisoner who stopped a Daedric Prince.
I don't know if I ever experienced all of Oblivion. And I don't know if I will ever experience all of Skyrim. But I do know that at midnight on the 11th, I'll be first in line to find out.
(discussion: have you gone back to Oblivion in the last week or more as a final farewell? Will you miss the familiarity of it all? Tell your tales.)
