Click here to read part 2.
Revitalized and slightly inebriated, I exit the inn. Then I realize it’s nighttime, so I stand in the cobblestone street for 9 straight hours, unwavering. I realize this seems like an odd choice, seeing as I just left an inn, but I don’t want bedbugs. Actually I just don’t want to level, and sleeping would force me to gain intelligence, willpower, and whatever other 3rd skill I would choose. But I don’t want to, because then every single living creature in Cyrodiil would also gain a level, thus perpetuating the endless arms-race. So nay, I shall maintain the status quo, staunchly refusing to gain knowledge and wisdom out of fear of change…just like a Republican, BAM!
Trance-like state of suspended animation complete, I greet the new day. The Jemane brothers also stand, having joined me in an exercise of suspension-trauma. I shake the blood clots from my legs and resume jogging. My first order of business is to examine the local Skingrad chapel. I circle, but no trees ever quite line up with its facade. Bummer. That would have been an easy resolution. I consult the painting again.
The green blobs, or Bob Rosses, if you will, might indicate their species. I decide that they’re oak, and impressively the game does do a good job of emulating real biodiversity. And I know from playing the game that oak trees primarily inhabit the Great Forest, which means Chorrol. I will therefore resume my travels, likely having to slaughter countless bandits and endangered timber wolves along the way.
I leave the town, head north around the city to travel east, and slaughter an endangered timber wolf. Maybe not sit on the road? Or not attack me on sight? And don’t wolves usually travel in packs? Lone wolfs are generally young males in search of a pack. So Cyrodiil is a giant bachelor’s club for timber wolves. As I ponder how many wolves I’ve killed, I fear for their next generation.
My fears are assuaged when I happen upon another timber wolf, and have to kill it.
Then I’m accosted by two imps and a troll. Tired of the pointless slaughter, I turn invisible. The immediately disoriented fauna give up, then attack the Jemane brothers who, being slower than I, are just now catching up. Curious, that they know my exact whereabouts, despite me leaving them behind and turning invisible.
Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and I walk away from the ensuing violence to continue my trek, indifferent to the life and death struggle behind me.
My invisibility spell wears off as I emerge from the forest to the view of Lake Rumare. A decade ago, the graphics were phenomenal. They still are, in a retro way. But like any game discovered long after its prime, the Internet is filled with Millennials who are certainly less appreciative of this game than I. But I will not let this game go quietly into the night. It’s going to survive!
Fortunately, my waning repertoire of bad jokes meets its end when Oblivion crashes to the dashboard. Perhaps this quest is folly after all.
–Simon