It all starts in a jail cell, a nice quiet jail cell where you get to while away the time for about ten seconds before the world goes mad. First they hustle the Emperor in with you, then he recognizes you from a dream, then all of a sudden you're escaping with him from the palace. It's intense. Next thing you know, the Emperor is trusting you with his deepest secrets, entrusting you with the fate of the entire world, telling you you're The One.
You may recognize this sequence. No, it's not from The Matrix, it's The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. I recently started playing through it in my grand tradition of getting to important games really late. Like so many contemporary games like
Castle Clash Hack for Android, Oblivion kicks off with some high intensity narrative that leaves you, the player, in a position of great importance with regard to doing important stuff like saving the universe. Standing at last in the open air outside the palace, the weight of the world on your shoulders, you could be forgiven for quoting Neo: "woah."
It's easy to get used to this idea that we're the most crucial person in the virtual world - it happens all the time. Whether we're Gordon Freeman or Lara Croft, it always seems to be up to us to take care of business. The opening of Oblivion emphasizes this with various missions to deliver critical messages, rescue heirs apparent, and generally hustle all across the land in a one man (or woman) crusade against the demonic invasion from another dimension. Many's the time I passed an interesting-looking set of ruins and had to turn my heroic face away. I had important affairs to take care of. I had a universe to save. No time for frivolity.
But in an open world game that's a bit of a problem. A big part of the pleasure of a game like Oblivion is precisely the exploring, the independent objectives, and the freedom to do your own thing. Sometimes you want to be a roaming shepherd, sometimes a dastardly thief, you know? There's much, much more to a game world like Oblivion's than fighting the demons and doing the work demanded by the higher-ups. But how am I meant to get a break from saving the world to do all that stuff? It’s like Superman. Sure, he’d like to chill out and watch TV or read the newspaper, but where’s the time?
Of course, you can do whatever the hell you want in Oblivion. Nobody's going to tell you off. Nobody's even going to notice, because as is so often the case, impending doom actually runs on your personal schedule. From a literal, technical perspective, the imminent destruction of the magical realm of Cyrodiil stands around looking at its shoes until you actually take action to stop it. Then it springs demonically alive, full of fury… and gets stopped. By you. So there’s a technical sense in which you can go and drink beer with the locals and experiment with every little facet of life in that world without worrying.
But I do worry. Even though the game is set up for me to play as I wish, even if it's practically begging me to play, I can’t help but be sensitive to the epic story of doom and gloom that is the setting of my virtual life. When everyone you meet is going on about what a disaster it all is and how they really need you to prevent them from dying horrible deaths and the world being taken over by demons, it seems like it would be rude to delay. ”No, thanks… I mean, I’ll get to it soonish, but right now I’m really more interested in gathering secret herbs and spices… just wait there, okay? Great! See you later!”
There are some exceptions to this rule (for instance Majora's Mask and Din's Curse), but by and large there's a faintly ludicrous contrast between the feverish urgency of needing to perform great feats of heroism, and the simple fact that the world will wait for those feats indefinitely. The whole thing often leaves me in an unpleasant state of tension about how to behave. I want to go exploring, sow my wild oats, play the game, but the roleplaying side of me feels bad about being the jackass who refuses to save the universe promptly and without fuss. What kind of hero sits around in the local tavern while the world burns?
Ultimately, it's simply a feature of the admirable twin design goals of freedom for the player (be who you want, do what you want) and an exciting, riveting narrative for them to star in (save the world, and make it snappy). They're both features of games that we all cherish, it's just that it doesn't really pay to think about them both at the same time.
And so, being a freedom-loving guy, I guess I’m doomed to be the asshole picking flowers while the demons spew out of a hellish portal.A Matter of Some Urgency
It all starts in a jail cell, a nice quiet jail cell where you get to while away the time for about ten seconds before the world goes mad. First they hustle the Emperor in with you, then he recognizes you from a dream, then all of a sudden you're escaping with him from the palace. It's intense. Next thing you know, the Emperor is trusting you with his deepest secrets, entrusting you with the fate of the entire world, telling you you're The One.
You may recognize this sequence. No, it's not from The Matrix, it's The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion. I recently started playing through it in my grand tradition of getting to important games really late. Like so many contemporary games, Oblivion kicks off with some high intensity narrative that leaves you, the player, in a position of great importance with regard to doing important stuff like saving the universe. Standing at last in the open air outside the palace, the weight of the world on your shoulders, you could be forgiven for quoting Neo: "woah."
It's easy to get used to this idea that we're the most crucial person in the virtual world - it happens all the time. Whether we're Gordon Freeman or Lara Croft, it always seems to be up to us to take care of business. The opening of Oblivion emphasizes this with various missions to deliver critical messages, rescue heirs apparent, and generally hustle all across the land in a one man (or woman) crusade against the demonic invasion from another dimension. Many's the time I passed an interesting-looking set of ruins and had to turn my heroic face away. I had important affairs to take care of. I had a universe to save. No time for frivolity.
But in an open world game that's a bit of a problem. A big part of the pleasure of a game like Oblivion is precisely the exploring, the independent objectives, and the freedom to do your own thing. Sometimes you want to be a roaming shepherd, sometimes a dastardly thief, you know? There's much, much more to a game world like Oblivion's than fighting the demons and doing the work demanded by the higher-ups. But how am I meant to get a break from saving the world to do all that stuff? It’s like Superman. Sure, he’d like to chill out and watch TV or read the newspaper, but where’s the time?
Of course, you can do whatever the hell you want in Oblivion. Nobody's going to tell you off. Nobody's even going to notice, because as is so often the case, impending doom actually runs on your personal schedule. From a literal, technical perspective, the imminent destruction of the magical realm of Cyrodiil stands around looking at its shoes until you actually take action to stop it. Then it springs demonically alive, full of fury… and gets stopped. By you. So there’s a technical sense in which you can go and drink beer with the locals and experiment with every little facet of life in that world without worrying.
But I do worry. Even though the game is set up for me to play as I wish, even if it's practically begging me to play, I can’t help but be sensitive to the epic story of doom and gloom that is the setting of my virtual life. When everyone you meet is going on about what a disaster it all is and how they really need you to prevent them from dying horrible deaths and the world being taken over by demons, it seems like it would be rude to delay. ”No, thanks… I mean, I’ll get to it soonish, but right now I’m really more interested in gathering secret herbs and spices… just wait there, okay? Great! See you later!”
There are some exceptions to this rule (for instance Majora's Mask and Din's Curse), but by and large there's a faintly ludicrous contrast between the feverish urgency of needing to perform great feats of heroism, and the simple fact that the world will wait for those feats indefinitely. The whole thing often leaves me in an unpleasant state of tension about how to behave. I want to go exploring, sow my wild oats, play the game, but the roleplaying side of me feels bad about being the jackass who refuses to save the universe promptly and without fuss. What kind of hero sits around in the local tavern while the world burns?
Ultimately, it's simply a feature of the admirable twin design goals of freedom for the player (be who you want, do what you want) and an exciting, riveting narrative for them to star in (save the world, and make it snappy). They're both features of games that we all cherish, it's just that it doesn't really pay to think about them both at the same time.
And so, being a freedom-loving guy, I guess I’m doomed to be the asshole picking flowers while the demons spew out of a hellish portal.
