Playing ten hours of The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim is the equivalent of doing the button tutorial in any other game. I have spent more time picking flowers in the fifth Elder Scroll title than I did killing the entire third world population in the Modern Warfare series.
But how do you review such a game? To capture Skyrim’s massive scale and describe it’s every nuance you’d need a book, a tome – no, a chronicling! Hmmm…
Year of Talos 2011
Our hero did bid his friends and family farewell, for he would not see them for many months, perhaps years. Someone said something about feeding the cat before it starved, but he was no longer listening. He had already set off for Skyrim.
Ah yes, Skyrim: a land of adventure; a land of dragons; a land where a mighty explorer can do as he pleases – other than set the chickens in Riverwood on fire, something our hero only discovered after Alvor the good-for-nothing blacksmith had already beaten him to death.
‘To Oblivion with that chicken-loving peasant!’, thought our hero. How dare that stubby-fingered peon kill him – he who had escaped the attack on Helgen by the dreaded dragon, he who was destined to be the dragon born, (or so he had read on the back of the box).
So, with a new found mistrust of blacksmiths, the dragon born set out to fulfill his destiny.
Soon our hero found himself summoned to Whiterun, where Jarl Balgruuf the Greater asked for his aid in defending the city from the dreaded fire-breathing dragons. ‘This is more like it’, thought the dragon born. ’Maybe if I kill the dragon, this Balgruuf guy will help me take out that stupid blacksmith!’
After much fighting and many quick-saves our hero returned victorious, and was named Thane of Whiterun. The dragon born had no idea what Thane meant, but as long as it wasn’t ‘coward who hides in a watch tower while his companions kill the dragon’ he was happy.
But the dragon born gained a lot more than a fancy title from his battle with the beast, for he had learned the way of the voice – an ability to summon lightening, fire and all other kinds of magical forces using only his vocal chords.
‘Now to have a word with Alvor the Blacksmith’, proclaimed our hero, quite pleased with his own wittiness. But alas, the fates had other plans. For our hero had been summoned by the Greybeards, a group of powerful old hermits whose mighty beards were only rivaled but those of ZZ Top.
So the dragon born set out for High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards, to learn new powers and hopefully find an even better way to get back at that dirty blacksmith.
Thus ends the chronicles of the dragon born, part 1…