It’s been a month since I uninstalled Oblivion for the last time. It felt like saying goodbye to an old friend. The cruellest thing about removing this game is that you can’t just press one button and let the computer perform the euthanasia while you weep quietly and hug yourself; no, you have to delete your saved games manually, like some obscene finishing move. As my finger hovered over the Button Of Doom, I had a sickening sense of vertigo, as if I were teetering on the edge of an abyss. All those countless months of my life would be wiped out forever. My three characters were about to die, and I would be directly responsible for their demise. No one in the real world would ever accuse me of murder, but in my heart, I knew that I would wake up screaming every night for the rest of my life.

It’s better than Scunthorpe

Playing Oblivion always used to feel like going on holiday. This is a gaming concept I have never managed to adequately explain to my mother. You’ve played Oblivion, right? Remember your first footsteps through the misty forest as you made your way to Chorrol? Remember the creaking and whispering of the trees, and your first sight of a deer skittering through the undergrowth? It’s that kind of immersive beauty that makes a game special; it allows you to exist in the game, not just play your way through it. I was entranced. Much of the time, I just wandered around picking Viper’s Bugloss and sighing effeminately to myself.

Ironically, Oblivion does its best to undermine its own atmosphere with its dynamic levelling system. The more you level, the tougher the local fauna become, until you can’t sashay gaily through the forest without being pursued by nineteen homicidal minotaurs covered in tigers that have been set on fire. This is why Oblivion HAS to be modded in order to be played as it should. The best of the bunch was Oscuro’s Oblivion Overhaul, which rigidly set the levels of most areas and monsters, meaning that there were some places I didn’t dare visit until I was manifestly able to fuck shit up. This necessitated entire evenings spent increasing my strength by punching crabs. Holy Christ, did I punch some crabs. But it was worth it, because it allowed me to carry more than 100% extra wildflowers at any given time.

Dirty, dirty, dirty

This is someone else’s dream character. I can’t show mine, because I

KILLED HER OH GOD I’VE KILLED HER

I upgraded my PC twice to play Oblivion on the highest settings. I took days off work so that I could level up, and ate nothing that couldn’t be microwaved in less than six minutes. Stagg Chilli was a particular favourite, though the resultant protein content of my urine often made me shiver in fear. As I grew more socially withdrawn, I took solace in the clammy arms of in-game perversion, upgrading my three female characters with a slew of face and body replacements, until they had become expressionless pneumatic supermodels with dead, beautiful eyes. Oh yes: for the lonely man, Oblivion was a festering sink of depravity. Remember that necrophilic elf apothecary in Skingrad? Phwooooar, eh? Phwooooooooooar.

What I was doing was sick and wrong. I see that now.

So, last month I got rid of the whole lot. Goodbye Jauffre, with your shiny head and disturbing monotones. Goodbye Shadowmere, my faithful horse; I’m sorry I repeatedly knocked you unconscious and stored items inside your body. And farewell to my bevy of buxom beauties; those three playable ladies who, thanks to my guiding hand, embodied all of the most noble female qualities: huge breasts, frequent nakedness, and gratifying silence.

I don’t deserve to have real sex with a lady.

Filed under: Gaming nostalgia