Why I Don't Enjoy The Elder Scrolls Games A Personal Confession
It's a confession that feels almost sacrilegious in the gaming world, a digital heresy whispered in hushed tones: I don't enjoy The Elder Scrolls games. For years, I've tried, truly tried, to immerse myself in the sprawling landscapes, the intricate lore, and the promise of epic adventures that define this legendary franchise. I've listened to the countless tales of others who've lost themselves in Tamriel for hundreds, even thousands, of hours, forging their own destinies and becoming heroes (or villains) in a world brimming with possibility. I've watched friends and colleagues alike become utterly captivated by Oblivion, Skyrim, and Morrowind, their eyes alight with the thrill of discovery and the satisfaction of hard-won victories. And yet, despite my best efforts, I've always found myself on the outside looking in, a perpetual tourist in a land that never quite feels like home.
My Journey (or Lack Thereof) Through Tamriel
My journey with The Elder Scrolls began, as it likely did for many, with The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. The year was 2011, and the hype surrounding Bethesda's latest open-world RPG was deafening. The trailers showcased stunning vistas, dragons soaring through the sky, and a vast, seemingly limitless world ripe for exploration. I was captivated. I purchased the game, eager to join the ranks of the Dragonborn and carve my own legend into the annals of Tamrielic history. But from the moment the cart rumbled towards Helgen, something felt off. The character creation, while initially exciting, quickly became overwhelming. The sheer number of races, each with their own unique attributes and skill bonuses, felt less like an invitation to personalization and more like a daunting exam I hadn't studied for. I agonized over my choice, poring over online guides and character builds, desperately trying to optimize my digital avatar for a journey I hadn't even begun. This is where my first mistake started, and most importantly, it should have been where I admitted my enjoyment for the game had died. The freedom was, paradoxically, paralyzing.
Once I finally stumbled out of the character creation menu and into the world, the scope of Skyrim was indeed breathtaking. The snow-capped mountains, the lush forests, the ancient ruins – it was all undeniably beautiful. But the beauty felt… distant. The world felt vast, yes, but also strangely empty. I wandered aimlessly, picking up quests from random NPCs, each task feeling strangely disconnected from the others. There was no central narrative thread pulling me forward, no compelling reason to care about the plight of the people of Skyrim. I was a hero without a cause, a Dragonborn without a purpose. The combat, too, felt clunky and unsatisfying. Swinging my sword felt less like a dance of death and more like flailing a pool noodle in slow motion. Magic was equally underwhelming, lacking the visual flair and visceral impact I craved. I persevered, determined to find the magic that everyone else seemed to experience. I followed the main questline, battled dragons, joined the Companions, and even dabbled in the Dark Brotherhood. But nothing clicked. I felt like I was going through the motions, ticking off boxes on a checklist rather than embarking on an epic adventure. Skyrim didn't grab me, and I felt guilty about it.
Later, emboldened by the success of others, I attempted to delve into The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, hoping that perhaps a different setting or a more focused narrative would spark my interest. Again, the initial hours were promising. The vibrant world of Cyrodiil was a welcome contrast to the bleak landscapes of Skyrim, and the main quest, with its impending Daedric invasion, felt more urgent and engaging. But the same issues that plagued my Skyrim experience resurfaced. The world, while visually appealing, felt strangely artificial. The NPCs, with their stilted dialogue and uncanny valley faces, failed to elicit any emotional connection. The quests, while often creative and varied, felt like isolated incidents rather than pieces of a larger, cohesive narrative. And the combat, while marginally improved over Skyrim, still lacked the fluidity and responsiveness I desired. After I poured a few dozen hours into Oblivion, my interest waned, and I abandoned my quest to save Cyrodiil, much to my own frustration. The Elder Scrolls game Oblivion did not hold my attention, and this made me really question if the franchise was one that I could enjoy.
The Weight of Expectations and the Fear of Missing Out
Part of my struggle with The Elder Scrolls stems from the sheer weight of expectations surrounding the franchise. It's impossible to enter these games without being bombarded by tales of their legendary status, their unparalleled scope, and their ability to transport players to another world. The pressure to enjoy them is immense, and the fear of missing out on a cultural touchstone is real. I've spent countless hours reading forum threads, watching gameplay videos, and listening to podcasts, all in an attempt to understand what makes these games so special. I've dissected the lore, studied the mechanics, and even tried role-playing different character archetypes. But the more I try to force myself to enjoy The Elder Scrolls, the more elusive that enjoyment becomes. The comparison to other open-world RPGs is almost inevitable. Games like The Witcher 3, with its compelling characters, morally grey choices, and emotionally resonant narrative, have raised the bar for storytelling in the genre. The combat in games like Dark Souls and Monster Hunter offers a level of challenge and depth that The Elder Scrolls struggles to match. And the sheer density of content in games like Red Dead Redemption 2 creates a sense of immersion that Skyrim and Oblivion, in my opinion, do not replicate. Perhaps my tastes have simply evolved, or maybe I'm just not the right audience for this particular type of open-world experience. But the constant comparisons only serve to amplify my disappointment.
The fear of missing out (FOMO) also plays a significant role in my persistent attempts to engage with The Elder Scrolls. The gaming community is a social one, and shared experiences are a big part of the fun. When everyone is talking about their adventures in Skyrim or their exploits in Oblivion, it's hard not to feel like you're missing out on something special. I've seen friendships forged over shared experiences in Tamriel, and I've witnessed the camaraderie that develops within online communities dedicated to these games. I long to be a part of that, to have my own stories to share and my own memories to cherish. But forcing myself to play a game I don't enjoy in the hopes of gaining social acceptance is a fool's errand. True connection comes from genuine shared interests, not from manufactured enthusiasm. I feel like a fraud talking about the game with my friends, or online, since it is a game I don't enjoy. I can never get behind the constant love for the games in the franchise and feel I have to lie to get by.
Embracing My Disinterest and Moving On
After years of internal debate and numerous failed attempts, I've finally come to a difficult but necessary conclusion: I don't enjoy The Elder Scrolls games, and that's okay. It's a simple statement, but it carries a weight of self-acceptance and liberation. It's okay to not like a popular thing. It's okay to have different tastes than your friends, your colleagues, or the internet at large. And it's okay to admit that a game, no matter how beloved or acclaimed, simply doesn't resonate with you. This realization has been surprisingly freeing. I no longer feel the need to force myself to play these games out of obligation or FOMO. I can finally release the pressure to conform and instead focus on the games that truly bring me joy. There are countless other worlds to explore, countless other stories to experience, and countless other adventures to embark on. The gaming landscape is vast and diverse, and there's no shortage of titles vying for my attention. I don't need to spend my time and energy on something that doesn't make me happy. This time can be better spent trying new games, replaying games I love, and finding other new experiences in the large world of gaming.
This isn't to say that The Elder Scrolls is a bad franchise. Far from it. The games are clearly well-made, and they've brought immense joy to millions of players around the world. But they're simply not for me. And that's a perfectly valid perspective. Taste is subjective, and what one person finds captivating, another may find dull. There's no objective measure of fun, no universal standard for enjoyment. The beauty of gaming lies in its diversity, in the sheer variety of experiences it offers. There's a game out there for everyone, and it's perfectly acceptable to admit that The Elder Scrolls just isn't mine. So, I'm finally putting my adventures in Tamriel to rest. I'm hanging up my Dragonborn helmet, sheathing my sword, and closing the book on this chapter of my gaming life. It's time to move on, to embrace my disinterest, and to seek out the worlds that truly capture my imagination. And who knows, maybe someday I'll revisit The Elder Scrolls with fresh eyes and a different perspective. But for now, I'm content to let others bask in its glory while I explore the countless other wonders that the gaming world has to offer.
Final Thoughts
Ultimately, my journey with The Elder Scrolls has been a valuable lesson in self-awareness and the importance of embracing one's own preferences. It's a reminder that it's okay to be an outlier, to deviate from the norm, and to forge your own path in the vast and ever-expanding world of gaming. I'm grateful for the experience, even though it didn't lead to the outcome I initially hoped for. It's helped me to better understand my own tastes, to appreciate the diversity of the gaming landscape, and to prioritize my own enjoyment above all else. And that, in the end, is what gaming should be all about. This whole experience has taught me a lot, and while the Elder Scrolls franchise has not landed with me, there are countless other games that have. The most important takeaway is to not be afraid to drop a game you are not enjoying and to not be afraid to go against the popular opinion.
In closing, I encourage everyone to be honest with themselves about their gaming preferences. Don't force yourself to play something you don't enjoy, and don't be afraid to admit when a popular game just isn't for you. There's a whole world of gaming out there waiting to be explored, so don't waste your time on something that doesn't bring you joy. Embrace your unique tastes, celebrate the diversity of the gaming community, and never stop searching for the games that truly resonate with you. The best adventures are the ones that are authentic, the ones that reflect your own individual passions and preferences. So go forth, explore, and discover your own gaming destiny – wherever it may lead.
