Skyrim : Tales of Immersion

[Vulon]

Just the other day, I decided to start up yet another new character in Skyrim; a female dunmer, homeless and alone in a harsh, unforgiving climate. Using the random alternate start mod, frostfall, the winter edition of CoT, Interesting NPCs, and a number of other mods to boost immersion, I began an entirely new sort of journey. I had no lofty ambitions to speak of, no desire to seek out adventure, no great destiny in the waiting. I simply wanted to survive.

 

After creating my character, the screen flashed to white, and I found myself just outside of Rorikstead. It was evening. The sky was a dark hue of gray, and light snowfall further blanketed the simple town with the furnishings of winter. I immediately sought out and rushed to the nearest fire and warmed my hands, before making my way to the Frostfruit inn and spending what little coin I had on food and drink. I met an interesting young woman named Sonja who confided in me as I sat and drank my wine. She believed herself to be cursed, and had convinced herself that to leave the inn would spell certain death. I listened to her paranoid tales as I sipped the warm alcohol, and before I knew it, I had downed two bottles of wine. Left with only one septim (and a wine-induced buzz), I couldn't rest at the inn, so, anxious at the prospect of venturing into the cold, I made my way back outside and left Rorisktead, armed with naught but a flaming torch and the rags on my back.

 

Dredging through the snow for a couple minutes, ice coating my clothes and skin, I broke into a light run, hoping to warm myself as I sought shelter. Struggling to keep my footing as I ran up a snow-covered hill, the sound of a wolf's howling sent me into a desperate sprint that merely brought me face to face with at least five rabid Skeevers. Panicked, still clinging to my torch in one hand, I began to wail on the over-sized vermin, ending the rats with nothing but my fist. As soon as the skeevers lay dead, I noticed, for the first time, the shabby-looking hut before my eyes. Hearing another howl, closer this time, I ran into the hut in a moment of utter fear, only to find my senses overwhelmed by the scent that obviously must have belonged to the corpse of a Nord splayed stiffly across a bed.

 

Disgusted, I didn't even realize another individual occupied the hut until his voice snapped me out of my morbid fixation. He introduced the corpse as Lund, and, after a few moments of awkward conversation with the rather casual, congested sounding man, I realized this man must be like me - alone, cast off, and fighting just to survive. He admitted to keeping the corpse around just so the pungent smell fended off bandits and the like. The scent of decay didn't bother him, as it turned out...he had no sense of smell.

 

I, however, wasn't so fortunate. The corpse-stink was starting to get to me, and what little I had in my stomach churned with every passing moment. The man didn't seem to care when, in a dazed state of urgency, I stumbled across the room and sifted through Lund's material possessions, taking leftover meat, wine, and even coming across a few septims. I then took my leave, awkwardly venturing back out into the biting cold of night and, after a moment of composing myself, I resumed my light jog, determined to find a place I could rest my laurels. The notion of returning to the inn was tempting, but, thinking back to Sonja, I decided against it.

 

So I continued my trek across the frigid landscape, and for a while, there was nothing but myself, the snow, and the soft whirring of the wind. I paused to admire the aurora now spread across the sky -- something I had never witnessed in Morrowind -- when a heart-stopping roar sent my feet into motion before I even knew what had happened.

 

My mind screamed not to look back as I ran with all the spirit I could muster, but my eyes darted back nonetheless. Hot on my petite dunmer tail was a massive, vicious saber cat. I had no time to think or feel, only to run. I tripped and lost my footing as I desperately ran down a hill overlooking a river, injuring myself, but I couldn't stop. I jumped into the water and swam with every ounce of will left in my practically frozen body, pushing past the numbness freezing me to my core as the current fought against my efforts. I made it to the other side, and, not stopping for a moment, I continued to run. I ran and ran, trees and snow and rocks all blurring into one, but a single detail grew crystalline clear in the fog of white, green, and gray - I was approaching a road! Clinging to the sudden hope of making my way down this road and finding some sort of refuge from the raging beast, I continued running, but stopped and turned as I heard the sound of grunting and steel and roaring.

 

There was a lone traveler on the road, a man, who had stopped and was currently locked in a battle with the relentless creature, slashing at it as it swiped at him ferociously. For a moment, I felt my heart leap into my throat at the prospect of being rescued...only to find that hope suddenly and irrevocably shattered as the massive feline tore into the man, who crumpled into a heap in the snow. The cat turned and faced me, eyes shining with predatory instinct, and I turned and ran. Again. And I kept running.

 

I ran for some time before I realized something...I could no longer hear the beast behind me. Legs shaking, panting, I crept behind a rock, crouched, and dared to peek out...only to find myself staring into empty terrain. I had escaped death.

 

Too numb from cold and exhausted to feel any profound sense of euphoria brought about by not dying, I wearily continued my trek up the road until spotting an open shack. Extremely convenient. Not even thinking, I made my way up into the abode and immediately collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep sleep. Some nine hours later, the sensation of freezing suddenly woke me from my slumber. I rose from the sheets and found myself incredibly startled to find a Nord hunter calmly reading at the chair near the bed. He began to speak to me, and seemed nice enough (especially considering I had taken a prolonged nap in what I assumed to be his bed without any permission), but my mind was too frazzled from everything that had happened to reciprocate his attempt at small talk.

 

I stumbled back out into the snow, stumbling past another hunter, and continued on. I walked, teeth chattering, a plummeting sensation wracking my core as I suddenly felt very alone, vulnerable, weak, and foolish. Why didn't I just go back to the inn...?

 

There was no point in turning back to the hunter's shack. It was entirely open, and aside from the sheets on the bed, offered no resistance to the cold. I wasn't a Nord. I wasn't built for this province. To journey back to Lund's hut wasn't an option. I had come too far. My eyesight was beginning to fail as the wind picked up. I was forced to look down, a small smile forming on my face as I caught sight of a tiny fox running along the snow.

 

And then I saw it out of the corner of my eye, rising from between two trees near the edge of my vision. A bear. It let loose a roar that hit me like a punch to the gut.

 

It ran my way, and I turned and began to run, my legs quivering from the strain. I ran, weakly, praying to Azura frantically that this would not be the end for me. Azura cared for her followers, after all.

 

Perhaps it was one of the other Daedric princes, then, that heard my prayer. Because at that precise moment, I lost my footing, fell from far higher up than I expected, and felt nothing but confusion and, as my head slammed into rocky cliffside, saw nothing but black.

 

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That was the entirety of this poor girl's journey. It lasted for roughly an hour of gameplay, give or take. I won't be continuing her saga -- that's how she died, after all. Reloading a previous save kinda defeats the purpose of her adventure, in my opinion, as brief as it was. :P

 

My goal was to play Skyrim in a way I hadn't played it before. I really put myself in the shoes of this character. I legitimately felt anxious as beasts closed in on my defenseless avatar, and I was actually surprised when she died. The whole point of this topic, which I have thus far done a remarkably excellent job of avoiding altogether, is this - I'd like to hear from others who have deigned to play the game in an unconventional manner or really invested time and energy into making their experience as immersive as they possibly could. I believe one of the greatest aspects of TES is the opportunity to explore different types of individuals. Sure, we've all experienced the game as the Dragonborn...but there's something just as thrilling in playing the game as a beggar just trying to make ends meet. Well, maybe not in any conventional sense, but...you know.

It's often the smallest discoveries in Skyrim that feel the most profound, after all. Little details or random happenings that have the most impact.

Edited May 19, 2013 by Vulon

[Drohung]

I am glad to see someone else play for immersion! That makes me pleased. I've downloaded MANY mods to increase my immersion (Alternate start, Realistic Needs/diseases, graphics mods, Player Headtracking, and much more), and I always LOVE seeing someone else taking immersion seriously and having fun doing that. I usually play as an argonian, so immersive playing is fun. Also, it's annoying that you ALWAYS are the dragonborn. I threw that off on all of my characters just to experience different facets of Skyrim life. For example, my Morrowind argonian: http://fav.me/d643fog Nal-Taarim, is a Morrowind born (hatched) cartographer who traveled to Skyrim in order to finish a vast map of Tamriel. His varying tastes in food, personality, and want to map has made him a fun character to Roleplay as. And, like you, if my character dies, it's the end. Heh, one reason I don't dungeon delve... Nal-Taarim and I are both self-preserving. We both ignore adventure and focus on surviving. His past experiences have trained him in survival as an art, after all. The next character I'll play as is a wild argonian living in Falkreath Hold.

 

And immersion's even better when all your characters wear custom armor made by yourself and no one else!

 

You sure do write an interesting read, though!

[wolfgrimdark]

Not sure if this is what you mean .. but I am very keen on playing the game in an immersive and lore friendly way. My first character was a very typical Nord warrior named Ulfr Bjorn. That was with vanilla skyrim and I completed all content. I guess you could say he was my standard Dragonborn, although I role played him. My second character was more specific and I had a very small set of mods (only 7). His name was Varg the Reluctant Paladin and he was an Orc. He did none of the main quests. His entire focus was being a slightly different type of Orc (one that related well to the archivisit in the college). He became a reluctant Paladin in that he mastered the arts of Restoration and completed the mage quest line. However his main focus was serving Meridia and fighting vampires and other undead. He did all the Dawnguard content. He was level 45 when I retired him at the College and all of his content was around undead, helping the innocent/poor, and showing Skyrim that Orcs can be noble and honorable in different ways.

My third character, who I am playing now and will probably be my canon and favorite, is Kveldulfr Thunor Fenrirson (The Evening Wolf, Son of Fenrir, he who speaks with thunder) and his is heavily modded with my own custom mods as well as over 130 from Nexus - all of them based on visuals, textures, and immersion and keen on keeping lore and true to the atmosphere. He has a very elaborate story and very fleshed out. His lineage dates back to Atmora and a clan of Nords that followed a spirit of winter, wilds, wolves, and hunters.

Anyhow I will quote just one section I have on him from my website. I have custom mods that revolve around his role as a Son of Fenrir and a Wolf-Blooded. I play him as if he is really there, a mix of both myself and the persona that my character seems to be develping almost indepenetly of me in a way. The more I write and play him the more he defines himself. It is loads of fun and adds huge layers of immersion to the game experience.

Source: Classified Archives of the Thalmor War Council
Date: 4E 201
Author: Justicar Arkved
Category: Nord race referred to as the "Wolf-Blooded"
Persons of Note: Kveldulfr Thunor Fenrirson

http://home.comcast.net/~thunor/images/hosted/skyrim/wb1_sm.jpg

 

Wolf-Blooded: Most scholars have written off the Wolf-Blooded as mere folk lore among the lesser races, pointing out how the last record of them having ever existing is in the Late Merethic Era to around the time of the Night of Tears.

Our researchers, however, know that the reason they died out was in large part due to the extermination efforts of our ancestors. Since this was done in secret few records remain of the Wolf-Blooded race and their abilities. It was believed they had all died out when powerful magics bound their patron, the spirit Fenrir, deep into the heart Nirn long ago.

Like many legends and myths the origins of how they were created are not consistent and even our ancestors were not sure just what exactly they were dealing with. Many believe it was a powerful Daedra Lord, even though none of our investigations have resulted in any backing for this theory. The most commonly referenced theory is that their patron was called Fenrir, and that he was some form of nature spirit, a guardian of the wilds, wolves, and other canines. He was also particularly fond of the Nords and had a small cult following of them.

This nature spirit arose during the creation of Nirn, when the trickster, Lorkhan, died long ago, giving his life to create Nirn, and tricked the other Aedra into giving up their Divinity*. It is neither Aedra nor Daedra, but something different - a living embodiment of Nirn somehow created from the energies released in the making of Nirn ... at least that is one of theories we have come across.

Our records indicate that this spirit would often mate with a a mortal, often a Nord priestess of Kynareth. Their off spring were referred to as the Wolf-Blooded, and were almost always male. While they had few children they did live an immensely long time. They were strongly connected to the earth, and often became rangers, rogues, and hunters, usually with some latent talents for healing and nature related magic. The old scrolls indicated only two pure Wolf-Blooded mating together could reproduce another Wolf-Blooded, hence why their children were so rare. Their cults and followers were hunted fiercely by our ancestors as these abominations were an affront to the Divine. Records indicate they were also shape-shifters and able to take on the form of a giant wolf beast, part Nord and part wolf. They were also said to be immune to disease and mostly immune to all forms of cold.

http://home.comcast.net/~thunor/images/hosted/skyrim/fw_sm.jpg

 

While Fenrir is thought to be some form of nature spirit, and hence amoral, it is recorded he had a fondness for the Nords and the Aedra Kynareth. Hence those who follow him tend to be brutal and violent but also strong in loyalty and honor, with a sense of protectiveness for those they consider to be part of their pack. It is said Fenrir takes on the aspect of a giant Timber Wolf when in warmer climates but he prefers the cold north, and then he appears as a giant ice wolf with blue eyes. His offspring follow the same pattern and their appearence tends to change depending on the climate they are in if they are there for an extended period of time. In winter climates they are fair skinned, grey or white haired, blue eyed, and have a white wolf aspect. For warmer climates they will have brown/red hair, tan skin, and take on the appearance of giant timber wolves. It is said their offspring partake of the earth and sky – as they grow older so does their power and their size, nourished by the world itself. The men in particular grow massive in size, should they live long enough, often reaching 8 feet in height at the peak of their power. Yet for all their mass and size they are amazing agile and quick.

Another origin tale for Fenrir, and the Wolf-Blooded, speak of a lost Nord explorer who came across a giant frost wolf who came from one of the realms of Oblivion. He had been trapped by the machinations of one of the Daedric Princes. The Nord was able to free him, and in return for this favor, Fenrir let him drink of his blood. The tale indicates that the Nord's descendants became the Wolf-Blooded, and a cult grew around the worship of this spirit and his chosen ones. Another theory is that there was no such being and that it was only an aspect of the Daedric Prince Hircine that had appeared, bestowing his own form of lycanthropy on the Nord as a sign of his favor.

Suurootan, our top researcher, has done his own research and was unable to come up with anything conclusive. He tends to scorn the more fanciful theories and feels it might just be a powerful form of magic, possibly from Hircine or some other Daedra or Aedra, that was cast on a cult of the Nords who referred to themselves as the Wolf-Blooded. However he also indicated one rare scroll does provide some credence to the guardian spirit, based on a binding ritual our ancestral mages cast. It talks about a powerful spirit that appeared shortly after the Night of Tears in a fury and it was said that the spirit was bound a great cost at that time.

In regards to the present case of a rumored Wolf-Blooded appearing in Tamriel, Suurootan has found some proof that this may be the case. Kveldulfr Thunor Fenrirson (Kveldulfr Thunor, son of Fenrir) has many of the traits of a Wolf-Blooded and all stories, reports, and information gathered on him seem to point back this ancient race. The only thing lacking is an ability to shape-shift, but considering how hostile people are to werewolves he may be hiding this ability.

How, and why, one of the Wolf-Blooded has returned is unknown at this point. The best guess has to do with the binding on the nature spirit Fenrir weakening, and that he is trying to protect his people and land from the invading Dragons, the Vampire menace, as well as our own influence in "his" land. Thus we believe Kveldulfr may be one of his offspring, possibly resurrected from the past, or perhaps he has some of the blood of Fenrir in his ancestry and Fenrir is trying to awaken his abilities.

* In mer mythology, Lorkhan is called The Trickster, and the mer do not look kindly on him. They blame Lorkhan for tricking the other Aedra into giving up their divinity. This includes those who would become the Ehlnofey and thus the Aldmer/Altmer, who now blame Lorkhan directly for their mortality. Hence anything to do with Lorkhan, or men intermingling with the Divine, are considered an abomination and an insult to the Thalmor and most mer.