No, contrary to popular belief, I am not dead. I am not hiding in a Tauntaun’s innards. I’m lost. In Tamriel. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Yes, folks, as previously predicted, I am utterly, and helplessly addicted to Skyrim. Dishes be damned! I have to level my Smithing so I can create Glass weapons and armor! There are growing multitudes of “Miscellaneous” quests to finish, and a whole section of map that needs exploring!
The Night Mother has chosen me as The Listener! I need to bring the Thieves Guild to glory! And of course, there are all those pesky dragons I need to go ravage.
Bring it, bitch.
With precious little free time as it is, I find that I’m inexorably drawn to this fully realized digital universe time and again. And while I am in no way ready to check myself into RPG rehab, I have come to some disturbing realizations and observations.
For instance: Recently, I was grocery shopping, and while perusing the produce section, my sleep deprived mind considered not the sale prices on kiwi fruit, but the weight of my purchases – would I be able to carry them? Was I wearing my Thieves Guild armor, with the the +20 carrying capacity? My Dwarven Boots of Hauling?
And upon plucking some items off the display, I was actually surprised by the silence. There was no sound effect for my sack of potatoes. And on the heels of this thought, I briefly considered if I had the necessary ingredients to make Apple Cabbage Stew.
Nothing beats a handy Horker Stew. Smells like Stamina Regeneration and escapism!
That folks, is when I think I realized I had a problem.
My conversations seem to solely revolve around those who are currently also playing Skyrim. What weapon enchantments are you using? Did you finish the College of Winterhold quest? Did you know about the secret invisible chest in Dawnstar? What’s your best killing blow cut scene?
And on. And on.
I mean sure, there are other ways that I spend my time. I’m working +40/week as a retail manager, which in and of itself is an achievement and a f-----g half. Retail truly deserves its own circle in hell. I’m a mother, and wife, and self-professed TV junkie. I’m reading Horns by Joe Hill. But none of that holds a candle to the joy of wandering aimlessly through the wilds of Tamriel, arrow knocked, ready to kill any straggling wolf or giant that crosses my path.
The interwoven plot lines, the detail in every f-----g blade of grass; entirely engrossing. I’m an escapist by nature, and s--t if I don’t want to buy Breezehome for real. Climbing a mountain peak is exhilarating. The sunsets are beautiful, the ice capped vistas majestic. My paltry lawn pales in comparison. I’m a nerd, through and through. My childhood consisted of an unhealthy attachment to my Nintendo system, hordes of fantasy novels, and lack of sunlight. Not much has changed. But while exploring the vastness of Skyrim, I think I’ve actually tricked myself into believing that I’m somehow becoming “outdoorsy.” I’m proficient at herbology (and how handy that Nimroot not only glows, but emanates an eerie otherworldy drone!) and apparently have a knack for climbing steep rocky inclines. Not to mention my new found talent of mining ore veins! S--t, at this rate, I could give Bear Grylls a run for his urine-imbibing money!
Sure, you’re handsome. But can you brew a Damage Magicka Regen potion? Didn’t think so, asscheese.
But I think the most telling evidence of my utterly consuming love of Skyrim is this:
The latest Final Fantasy came out today, the highly anticipated sequel to Final Fantasy XIII. And I’m not sure that I entirely care. I have so much leveling to do, and so many quest lines to complete, I don’t see a new game on the horizon for quite a long time. I’m just settling into my groove – the rouge Dark Elf Thief/Assassin, causing mayhem in every smallhold and crypt I find. I couldn’t possibly abandon it now.
Although… once the honeymoon has passed, there is this little gem just waiting to become my new obsession:
I miss my husband, I do. He’s so patient with me, understanding my need to run off time and again into the wild to help needy Jarls and scheming shopkeepers. He’s always there for me. We’re even thinking of moving soon – there’s a lovely home for sale in Riften…
Yeah, and my real life husband misses me too, I suppose.
I could easily go on, but I won’t. I have the wedding of Vittoria Vici to attend, and the secrets of the Greybeards to unravel.
I am the Dragonborn.
Fus Ro Dah, bitches.
It’s a pity that those of you who would most appreciate this article will most likely not be reading it, being similarly afflicted.
It’s ok, guys and gals. I’ll be seeing you soon.
Is Skyrim truly as immersive as we’re to believe or is there only an illusion of choice present within the game? AiPT contributor Matt tackles this controversial topic in: Skyrim: The Illusion of Choice.
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