Welcome to Part 7 of Tamriel Times: The Skyrim Diaries, our ongoing look at life in Tamriel (If you missed them, check out Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6). In the latest installment, we take a look at the virtues of patience – and the dangers of impulsive behavior.
My god – what I would do for an assault rifle. Now, when I want to reach out and touch someone, I can reach about as far as my sword arm can go. Now I’m plunged into the depths of a pre-industrial era?
I’m no barbarian. I take up the robes of a mage – after all, magic is the most gentlemanly form of combat. I’m a man who devotes himself the the ways of the mind to elegantly dispatch opponents in bouts of flame and ice. Unfortunately, as a mage, I was not the strongest, nor the most deft. Pocketing a tomato would put me in a hair raising bit of knife to knife contact, after which my magicka would run out, ultimately forcing me to ban myself from stealing if I wanted to live to the next week.
More importantly, my weak knees weren’t able to carry everything that my sticky fingers had desired, and would quickly turn my get away into more of a spirited hobble. I ended up spending my first few in game days setting any and everything I could on fire in an effort to better enhance my destructive capabilities.
Needless to say, it was not the wave of destruction that I had expected. I had hoped my stream of fire would quickly burn up whatever raider had their eye on me, but much to my chagrin, I had to engage in a game of run and flame. It’s hard to express the disappointment that goes on in a man when he realizes that his greatest power does not live up to his expectations. But as with all disappointments, you can either sit there and cry, or you can man up and do something about it.
To that end, I set out for the College of Winterhold with hopes to become the man you wish your man could be, though this was a solid two day hike from Whiterun. A two day hike which I had nearly finished, only to fall to my death in a ice chasm. This was my first painful lesson to save games, and save frequently, as the next thing I saw was Whiterun. Even more tragically, it took such a hike for me to realize that I can shoot fire from not one but BOTH hands.
Armed with now twice the firepower, I became more ambitious in my quests, taking on giants as my aid Lydia dutifully distracted them. While at Winterhold – the faculty there seemed quite accommodating – my instructor, Tolfdir, seemed more than willing to send me into harm’s way with nary a concern. Never mind the fact that I was being sent deeper into dangerous catacombs, he had a fascinating artifact to examine! This type of back and forth went on for some time, and led me to tombs underneath the college itself, brimming with undead and spirits. You would think that a mage college that is considered established would be concerned about their school being haunted, but I suppose that just comes with the territory.
I would push the limits of my mage – fighting enemies which I had no business fighting, entering areas which I had no reason to be in – impatiently trying to become the force of destruction that I had yearned to be. Damn the exploration, I wanted instant gratification. I wanted my equivalent of a magical Nord assault rifle. I ultimately paid for my ambitions, as I was used as a tennis ball by two giants. And as my folded up body rolled down the side of a mountain, I rethought my strategy to this game. This is not a game for the impatient, this is something to savor – to enjoy like a fine wine rather than a shot of liquor.
I strolled into a beautiful forest as I respawned and embarked on my new experience of Skyrim. It was outright magical. Leaves of pink like gigantic cherry blossoms surrounded me.
It wasn’t until a member of the Silver Hand attacked me that I realized – the game’s texture engine had crashed.
It was as good of a time as any to take a break.
Stay tuned for Part 8 of Tamriel Times: The Skyrim Diaries!