Once upon a time, like many of us, I was obsessed withThe Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion. The world just seemed so expansive and full of life, I was awestruck by how much there was to do and see. It’s also the kind of game I’d simply struggle to fully play today, however. With adult responsibilities, I have little enough time to sink into an RPG as is, never mind a 100-hour time sink with a massive world.
Back then, though? There was no place quite like Cyrodiil.
A little role-playing exercise I used to do was create a ‘headcanon’ for my character. Essentially, I would pretend I hadn’t been tasked with events of cosmic importance and I would choose a little corner of the world to live out my life in relative obscurity. This usually involves tackling the local quests and delving deep into the day-to-day of being a townsperson.
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Well, recently I had to urge to pick up Oblivion again, and I reflected on my time with the game during my childhood years. I thought, why not try and recapture those feelings I had in my youth? Why not treat the game as a living and breathing world, rather than just a game to power through and complete?
Meet Boris, an Imperial woodsman with a heart of gold, originally hailing from the quaint settlement of Brindle Home east of the Imperial City. Not quite satisfied with his current way of life, he travelled north through the Great Forest to ply his trade in the city of Chorrol. The city is a major trading post in Cyrodill, historically known for the merchants that would gather under The Great Oak to ply their wares. It’s surrounded on all sides by lush forest, attracting woodsmen and hunters to its environs. After offloading a pack full of rat meat and goblin trinkets (how did those get there?), Boris went about exploring the idyllic city.
While admiring this mighty centrepiece of Chorrol life, The Great Oak, Boris was approached by a young Argonian woman who introduced herself as Dar-Ma. She was friendly, welcoming him to town and pointing him towards her mother’s store if he needed supplies. As she departed, Boris was sure that nothing tragic or untoward would happen to this kind soul should he leave Chorrol, stand still outside the city gates for 72 hours, and return.
Everyone knows each other in Chorrol. While strolling, Boris overheard a well-dressed woman speaking to a scruffy beggar on the street, bridging the class divide in a way that his medieval fantasy mind hadn’t expected. The conversation seemed amiable until she asked him if he had heard any news from the other holds to which he replied gravely “Nothing I’d like to talk about.” It was only a passing moment, but Boris heard the pain in his voice. This was a man who’d been suffered greatly, and who wasn’t yet prepared to confront the demons and tragedies that led to his life on the street.
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After acquainting himself with the local merchants, Boris picked up a copy of the Guide to Chorrol. The author was a crabby woman who hated layabouts, Orcs, Argonians, drinkers, mages and smut. She absolutelyadoresStendarr, though. It doesn’t matter if you’re a brutish Orc as long as you pay your respects to the Nine Divines, long may they reign.
Boris would hear all sorts of murmurings on these quiet streets. Every single person in Chorrol has seen Reynald Jemane in Cheydinhal and apparently, he’s blanked every single one of them. Why has the entire populace of Chorrol been travelling halfway across Cyrodill to Cheydinhal on a regular basis? How can the beggars afford to go over there and back?
And what on Nirn is going on with Reynald Jemane?
Boris lived out of a room in The Grey Mare. The travel guide he’d read described it as a “meeting place for drunkards, thieves and orcs,” which didn’t sound all bad. Everyone on the street loudly denounced the nicer inn, The Oak & Crosier, as being “shady” during their regular gossip sessions. Boris dipped inside to check what the fuss was about, but after a quick snoop, he suspected that higher powers invented a plot thread but didn’t follow through with any substantial conclusion.
Anyway, after his brief dally with paranoid existentialism, Boris mingled with the regulars at his new home when he met Valus Odil, a farm owner who has been plagued by goblin attacks. After seeing his supple muscles and sharp steel axe, Valus entreated Boris to help fend off the goblins with the help of his sons. Being of farming stock himself and familiar with the dangers of rural work in this uncertain times, Boris sympathised with Valus’ plight and agreed to help out.
On a misty morning in The Great Forest, Boris stood guard with the farmer’s two sons. As if by divine intervention, the sickly green creatures popped into existence adjacent to the field. Though he had never used his trusty axe against another living thing, Boris had no qualms about wielding it against these bloodthirsty beasts. He employed a unique fighting style, swinging his axe mid-air as he leapt backwards.
Before you could say ‘I turned the difficulty all the way down’, the goblins were vanquished. Valus was so impressed with Boris that he gave him a shiny blue sword. Neat. Well, that was a good way to endear himself to the townsfolk, Boris reckoned. He encountered another lonely soul, Eugal Belette, who told Boris that he was new in town and didn’t know anyone. Well, that sounds like a natural beginning to a beautiful friendship, does it not?
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As is Boris' customary if unconventional way, he snuck into Eugal’s home to leave him a sweet roll and a welcoming message, but after discovering a basement door, he did a little snooping and found an altar with some red robes and a hefty tome.Eugal must really love the Nine Divines,Boris figured, but not being a godly man himself, he no longer saw the potential for friendship and let himself out.
As the days progressed, Boris had a couple more adventures in Chorrol. He solved a burglary in Castle Chorrol, and finally got to meet the famous Reynald Jemane, who askedhimto go to Cheydinhal to get to the bottom of this doppleganger mystery. What was he, an errand boy?As if.Boris brusquely wished Reynald a good day, and went back about his Chorrol business.
As he was about to set off for another exciting day of chopping wood, Boris was approached by Dar-Ma’s mother. Her daughter had not returned home after a delivery. Well, that didn’t sound good to Boris at all, and being the kind of local work that Boris thrived in, he agreed to search for her. After a short trot on a borrowed horse, he reached the dilapidated dwelling of Hackdirt.
The people there were unfriendly and strange, yapping about something called The Brethren. A fishy man gave him a key and told him where to find Dar-Ma, who was being held for nefarious purposes. After a (thankfully) brief trip through a cave accompanied by a constant eldritch howling, Boris found the Argonian and freed her.
Dar-Ma said they had to return to Chorrol, but despite her urgent tone, she began strolling lazily through Hackdirt without a care in the world. Thankfully, she returned home unharmed. Her mother was overjoyed to have her back and thanked Boris profusely.
Fancying himself a folk hero, Boris returned to Castle Chorrol to see if the Countess would be kind enough to sell him property. Alas, the good Countess would rather a more famous individual own the vacant Arborwatch by the Great Oak. Not seeking a life of fame and glory, Boris resigned himself to living at The Grey Mare for the foreseeable future.
Perhaps this is all he could expect from life. A warm fire, a cosy bed and hearty folk. Not so bad really, is it? He spotted his friend Valus enjoying a cold mug of ale by the fire. He quite fancied that himself but imagine how surprised he was to discover that the inn’s proprietor Emfrid sold onions, rather than anything alcoholic. Ah well, he sat back down. Enjoy your pint, Valus.
