"This is probably the sexiest conversation we've ever had."
"That's totally gross."
So went the (mostly sarcastic) conversation between Dan and I as I explained the manner in which I survived combat with a Frost Troll.
That's right. For the past two days, I've been playing Skyrim. My husband couldn't be happier.
To put it mildly, Dan is a game enthusiast, particularly epic/hero type games. I, on the other hand, tend to stick to tabletop - and I don't mean DnD. Settlers, Scrabble, Mad Gab, Munchkin...you know. A little bit of strategy, a whole lot of fun, and most importantly, no nightmare-inducing monsters.
But that doesn't mean I've been immune to absorbing LOTS of Skyrim-related facts. Dan bonds over gameplay, which often means that I have the opportunity to show my affection for him by taking an interest in whatever has captured his attention.
Sadly, it's not an opportunity I take very often. But maybe, after these couple of days, I'll be able to engage in that conversation a little more.
I wound up coming home early yesterday courtesy of a fever and other nasty cold symptoms. After dosing with ibuprofen and my slouchiest "look how sick and pitiful I am" pj's, I turned on the Xbox and decided to further my miser...I mean, get to work on this week's "try-it" list.
The game loaded the familiar black screen with a pseudo-nordic dragon, and then the music started. The music that, prior to this moment, had signaled that whatever conversation I'd hoped to have with my husband was on hold until further notice. The sound that had, for the past many months, meant that I needed to head upstairs if I wanted to hear anything other than bloodspatter and clashing metal.
The grunting began. "hoo, huuh, haahh, HYEH! hoo, huuh, haahh, HYEH! AHH! AHH! AHH! AHH! Dovahkiin, blah blah blah..."
Oh my. I hadn't even left the load screen and my comfort level was already maxed.
The game began in a movie format. A plot played out wherein I gathered that I was some sort of prisoner who had been collected as a mistaken rebel. After a few moments of rolling through (albeit stunning) scenery, I and my fellow prisoners were dumped into a small town and lined up for execution.
And see? This is the thing. I really don't care for violent games. I just don't need to kill things in my spare time.
The prisoner in front of me was beheaded. The blood flew and the head rolled and I wasn't even in control of my screen to look away, so I had to shut my eyes. And before you call me a wimp, keep in mind I haven't even made it through more than 25 minutes of the movie Braveheart and I had to physically leave the room during the Sweeney Todd scenes where the bodies keep dropping through the chute. I don't do gore sounds.
Anyway.
My name was called, and everything stopped. Finally! I reached the character creation phase.
I spent a solid 10-15 minutes on character creation alone.
Suddenly, despite wincing all through the opening sequence, I was determined to avoid falling into any stereotyped "girly" choices. I second-guessed myself through the gender selection, overall look, and the 57 other character specific options the game allows you to customize. (Remember when I mentioned I struggle with perfectionism? No? Well, here's some solid evidence.)
Finally, I called myself out on this ridiculousness and just picked the skills and looks I liked.
And then the transformation took place. No longer my sickly, snuggie-wrapped self, I stepped into Skyrim as Talitha*, a Wood Elf (best archers, apparently?) with some pretty sick braids and war paint. Haah, HYEH! indeed.
Once finished, my execution was back on line. Again, no longer in control of my view screen, I step forward, am slammed to the chopping block by an Imperial guard and face down my death.
But then...
"DRAGON!!"
I spend the next 25 minutes running through an incinerated courtyard. When I try to do anything, a small message appeared at the top of my screen. Your hands are bound.
After about 15 minutes of entirely fruitless gameplay, I yelled aloud "THIS IS RIDICULOUS!"
But then I found the Keep, got my hands unbound, and was able to get into some actual gameplay.
For those unfamiliar with Skyrim, there are dragons. They're bad, because they like to desolate and stuff. They haven't been seen in ages, but they're all back for some reason.
It's single-player gameplay and you, no matter what character you create (white person, other white person, elf, other elf, dark skinned person, lizard-person, or cat-person) you eventually learn that you are "Dovahkiin," Dragon-born.
Much to my sadness, "Dragon-born" doesn't mean that you get to fly. Nope. You get to shout. That's all.
You yell at things, but you do it super hard. Game-playing friends, forgive the oversimplification - but as far as I can tell, that's really about it!
In my roughly 6 hours of gameplay thus far, I've learned a few valuable things:
I may have accidentally massacred a couple of menacing flags thanks to that last lesson.
All in all, my adventures in Skyrim weren't as miserable as I thought they'd be. Sure, there were plenty of moments where I was gutting it out solely due to my aforementioned fascination with misery endurance contests, but there were some other moments that were actually interesting - making potions and fleeing for my little pixelated life, to name a couple.
Will I continue to play? I don't rightly know. So far, it's proved a halfway fun distraction from sneezing and moaning on the couch. Once I'm back to limited recreation time in the evening? We'll see.
*For my geek/church friends: yes, my name is a nod to my inner church/scripture nerd. At least I'm not playing some sort of self-righteous paladin, though, right?
"That's totally gross."
So went the (mostly sarcastic) conversation between Dan and I as I explained the manner in which I survived combat with a Frost Troll.
That's right. For the past two days, I've been playing Skyrim. My husband couldn't be happier.
To put it mildly, Dan is a game enthusiast, particularly epic/hero type games. I, on the other hand, tend to stick to tabletop - and I don't mean DnD. Settlers, Scrabble, Mad Gab, Munchkin...you know. A little bit of strategy, a whole lot of fun, and most importantly, no nightmare-inducing monsters.
But that doesn't mean I've been immune to absorbing LOTS of Skyrim-related facts. Dan bonds over gameplay, which often means that I have the opportunity to show my affection for him by taking an interest in whatever has captured his attention.
Sadly, it's not an opportunity I take very often. But maybe, after these couple of days, I'll be able to engage in that conversation a little more.
I wound up coming home early yesterday courtesy of a fever and other nasty cold symptoms. After dosing with ibuprofen and my slouchiest "look how sick and pitiful I am" pj's, I turned on the Xbox and decided to further my miser...I mean, get to work on this week's "try-it" list.
The game loaded the familiar black screen with a pseudo-nordic dragon, and then the music started. The music that, prior to this moment, had signaled that whatever conversation I'd hoped to have with my husband was on hold until further notice. The sound that had, for the past many months, meant that I needed to head upstairs if I wanted to hear anything other than bloodspatter and clashing metal.
The grunting began. "hoo, huuh, haahh, HYEH! hoo, huuh, haahh, HYEH! AHH! AHH! AHH! AHH! Dovahkiin, blah blah blah..."
Oh my. I hadn't even left the load screen and my comfort level was already maxed.
The game began in a movie format. A plot played out wherein I gathered that I was some sort of prisoner who had been collected as a mistaken rebel. After a few moments of rolling through (albeit stunning) scenery, I and my fellow prisoners were dumped into a small town and lined up for execution.
And see? This is the thing. I really don't care for violent games. I just don't need to kill things in my spare time.
The prisoner in front of me was beheaded. The blood flew and the head rolled and I wasn't even in control of my screen to look away, so I had to shut my eyes. And before you call me a wimp, keep in mind I haven't even made it through more than 25 minutes of the movie Braveheart and I had to physically leave the room during the Sweeney Todd scenes where the bodies keep dropping through the chute. I don't do gore sounds.
Anyway.
My name was called, and everything stopped. Finally! I reached the character creation phase.
I spent a solid 10-15 minutes on character creation alone.
Suddenly, despite wincing all through the opening sequence, I was determined to avoid falling into any stereotyped "girly" choices. I second-guessed myself through the gender selection, overall look, and the 57 other character specific options the game allows you to customize. (Remember when I mentioned I struggle with perfectionism? No? Well, here's some solid evidence.)
Finally, I called myself out on this ridiculousness and just picked the skills and looks I liked.
And then the transformation took place. No longer my sickly, snuggie-wrapped self, I stepped into Skyrim as Talitha*, a Wood Elf (best archers, apparently?) with some pretty sick braids and war paint. Haah, HYEH! indeed.
Once finished, my execution was back on line. Again, no longer in control of my view screen, I step forward, am slammed to the chopping block by an Imperial guard and face down my death.
But then...
"DRAGON!!"
I spend the next 25 minutes running through an incinerated courtyard. When I try to do anything, a small message appeared at the top of my screen. Your hands are bound.
After about 15 minutes of entirely fruitless gameplay, I yelled aloud "THIS IS RIDICULOUS!"
But then I found the Keep, got my hands unbound, and was able to get into some actual gameplay.
For those unfamiliar with Skyrim, there are dragons. They're bad, because they like to desolate and stuff. They haven't been seen in ages, but they're all back for some reason.
It's single-player gameplay and you, no matter what character you create (white person, other white person, elf, other elf, dark skinned person, lizard-person, or cat-person) you eventually learn that you are "Dovahkiin," Dragon-born.
Much to my sadness, "Dragon-born" doesn't mean that you get to fly. Nope. You get to shout. That's all.
You yell at things, but you do it super hard. Game-playing friends, forgive the oversimplification - but as far as I can tell, that's really about it!
In my roughly 6 hours of gameplay thus far, I've learned a few valuable things:
- My halfway decent sense of direction in real life does not translate in-game. I spent 20 minutes being entirely lost trying to find a town that I was practically on top of.
- You can kill pretty much anyone for any reason, and that fact is entirely mutual.
- Frost trolls: Not even once.
- Being the Dovahkiin is kind of like being a celebrity - everyone is talking about you, but you know there are a select few crazies who really want to kill you for unknown reasons.
- All the horses look drunk when you ride them.
- Skyrim mountain goats have a deathwish. Seriously, they will walk right into your battle axe.
- And finally, if it is moving toward you with purpose, it totally wants to kill you.
I may have accidentally massacred a couple of menacing flags thanks to that last lesson.
All in all, my adventures in Skyrim weren't as miserable as I thought they'd be. Sure, there were plenty of moments where I was gutting it out solely due to my aforementioned fascination with misery endurance contests, but there were some other moments that were actually interesting - making potions and fleeing for my little pixelated life, to name a couple.
Will I continue to play? I don't rightly know. So far, it's proved a halfway fun distraction from sneezing and moaning on the couch. Once I'm back to limited recreation time in the evening? We'll see.
*For my geek/church friends: yes, my name is a nod to my inner church/scripture nerd. At least I'm not playing some sort of self-righteous paladin, though, right?
RSS Feed