Sooo partly to keep the blog going - *looks at how long it's been inactive and winces*; I'll get to that Wheel of Time post, I promise! - and partly as a writing exercise, and partly just for the fun of it, today I'm doing something a little different.
I've been playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim lately.
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| Here be dragons. |
One of the first things that struck me about this game was the loneliness. The graphical style aims for realism, and in large part has you wandering through snowy forests, open tundra and haunted ruins alone. You'll feel relieved to stumble upon a new town or city, or to return to one you've already found, because you'll be back in civilization.
Life feels fragile here. When attacked, characters die and stay dead because you didn't save them, or because you killed them. Danger lurks in the wilds, and sometimes in the cities too. You grow in skill and strength as the game goes on. But even with companions by your side, you'll never lose that sense of the world being a dangerous place, where you can only rely on yourself.
So yes - the game does take itself a bit too seriously. This is the epitome of high fantasy, albeit with a viking twist, so at least the accents aren't British. The sheer vastness of it threw me at first.
But before long, the freedom to be who you like, go where you will and do whatever the hell you want won me over. Follow the main storyline to a T? You can do that. Focus on one of the secondary questlines first? That's fine too. Simply wander around killing draugr and collecting wildflowers? Go for it.
In fact, because this game is all about forging your own path, I realized that hardly anyone's path would be the same. Everyone would have their own story.
So I decided to write out my own.
I guess you could classify this as fan-fiction. All of the concrete elements belong to the game itself; I simply coloured them with opinions. For anyone who thinks my character sounds a little evil at times, well, what can I say. I have a preference for the darker heroes. They're so much more interesting.
All credit goes to the awesome people at Bethesda. The story is mine, but the world is theirs - and what a world it is.
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I am a Dunmer. A dark elf, if you will.
Like so many of my people, I was fleeing another life. They said this was a frozen wilderness, wracked by civil war. I didn't care. It had to be better than what I left behind.
Of course, I didn't expect the dragons.
I was caught crossing the border, and learned the realities of the war firsthand. I'd stumbled into the company of rebels, you see. The Imperials would have had us all executed. I actually had my head on the block when the black roared in and started breathing fire over everything. In a way, it saved my life.
I suppose I should feel grateful.
In the chaos, one of the more polite Imperials actually helped me escape. The village was destroyed - but I was free. I started walking.
I won't bore you with what I've found in the wilderness, then or since - wolves and bandits and the odd nest of vampires. Obviously I've survived.
Like all Dunmer, I have an affinity for the elements. Fire and ice and lightning, nature in its purest forms: those that kill. I am simply a conduit, guiding that purity, directing it. This is - I admit - something I enjoy. It defines all of us so gifted. Our blood burns with it. We are destroyers.
But I can also pull out a sword if need be - one in each hand. I enchant them myself. The best defence is a strong offence, as they say.
I know what you're thinking. I am not one to strike from the shadows. I'm no paragon; I have stolen and murdered when the need arose. But I disdain thieves, and I despise assassins. The Dark Brotherhood will burn if I find them.
Ahem. Where was I?
I wandered for a time, learning trades, never staying in one place for long. There were always new sights to see. Yours is a beautiful land - and a harsh one. I met many in need of aid; I heard many sad stories.
And I saw how my people are mistreated.
I have nothing against Nords in general, you understand. Not all are bigots. The Jarl of Whiterun was quite courteous when, as a favor to that Imperial, I delivered a warning of dragons. Their housecarl was another Dunmer, no less. Would that we could all rise so far.
The rebels show no such respect. They see Dunmer as vermin plaguing their lands. What has Ulfric Stormcloak done for us? His grand ideals of independence are for the Nords alone.
I met the man once. He was among the rebels to be executed before the dragon attack. Gods know how he got himself captured; I suppose even the mighty slip up now and again. Even then he exuded confidence. I disliked him on sight. A shame the dragon didn't kill him, but it seems he escaped as well.*
I have killed many dragons since then - and absorbed their souls.
I still remember the first, on the outskirts of Whiterun. The warning I delivered was just in time.** Another flew in near a watchtower; of course I joined the defense. By chance, mine was the killing blow. Its body burned away in moments, leaving only bones - and the wind of another world passing through me. Into me.
And I gained the power of the Voice.
They call me the Dragonborn. One who can use the dragons' own power against them and cleanse the skies once and for all. Me! A dark elf, the saviour of Skyrim! What the patriots must think of that.
A heavy burden indeed. Much like this mask I wear.
My true face?
Why not. I have nothing to hide.
Younger than you expected? Oh my friend, don't be naive. None of us are young at heart.
I slay whatever dragons I find, of course. But I have larger concerns.
I journeyed to Solitude, the Empire's capital in Skyrim. Seat of the High King, before Ulfric Stormcloak murdered him in a hall of witnesses and then fled the city. Another nail in his coffin. The new Jarl still mourns; I pity her. So young to be a widow. But that is not why I made my choice.
You see, I swore the oath. I have joined the Imperial Legion.
Our high-elven allies can be arrogant bastards. In fact, I killed one once who tried to press me about the Nordic god they so adamantly oppose. He annoyed me.
I care nothing for this man who died and rose again, whom the Empire has outlawed. Yet I can sympathize with the rebels who worship him. The freedom to believe what you will - perhaps this is something worth dying for.
But I know that under the Stormcloaks, my people's lot will only worsen. The Empire treats all races equally. What more can we ask?
There is still much I wish to do. I hope to study at the College of Winterhold, and learn more of the powers I wield. Perhaps I will earn a name for myself as a warrior among the Companions. An enchanted blade is still a blade, yes? And of course, I must master the Voice and attempt to end the dragon threat.
Perhaps I will even find love.***
But above all else, I am a soldier of the Empire. And I will crush the rebellion, if I have to cast a spear of ice through the heart of Ulfric Stormcloak himself.
In fact -
I look forward to it.
*I didn't meet him again in Windhelm. I'm supposed to hate his guts, after all.
** I'd already found the dragonstone before meeting the Jarl, so after handing it over, the game went straight to the dragon attack.
*** Yes, you can even get married.
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Naturally, I'm already thinking about making another character to join the Stormcloaks and overthrow the Empire. Maybe I won't, if I'm satisfied with one playthrough. Again: this is a huge game. But maybe I will.
Maybe I'll write about it.
