All right Everybody! Listen your gorgeous tits up! I am having a Christmas giveaway for my lovely followers. If you start following me and wish to join in on the giveaway please don’t unfollow after the giveaway cause that’s just rude and a good way to get yo’ ass blocked!
when are people going to realize that the focus of bethesda games is the world and not the main questline (which only plays a small role in the full scope of the game)
when are people going to stop expecting every game to be a point A to point B plot-driven game
^ REAL FUCKING TALK
A lot of Bethesda games focus on exploration and character building. The main quests are just a way to give an event for your character to participate in, and guess what? THEY’RE COMPLETELY OPTIONAL. You don’t have to look for James when you leave Vault 101, neither do you have to jump into being a dragonborn the minute you get out of Helgen.
You find the coolest shit when exploring, and so much of the gameplay is shaped around how YOU want the character to look like, act like, fight like, etc.
"A smell. What kind of a smell, exactly?" Varric’s nose twitched sympathetically, mirroring a wrinkle on the bridge of Hawke’s nose.
"I don’t know exactly," said Hawke. "It’s just rank. Like the viscount’s fig tree when the fruits are green, along with the fertilizer. What do you think he’s doing down there?"
"Fertilizer," said Varric, and rubbed his chin with his eyebrows nearly touching.
"What’s with the dramatic pause?"
"Hawke, there could be a bomb in your basement. Or an army of dead templars dissolving in acid. Or, best case scenario, an army of mages preparing for rebellion. Have you thought about this before moving a templar-killing-renegade into your house?"
And so with Aveline and Fenris in tow, they approached the door to the cellars with their weapons at the ready. Anders had the only old key, but what was a lock to Varric?
"Did you hear that?"
"Sounded like a ‘squeak.’"
"Your lockpicks need oiling, Varric."
"You lot are scaring off anyone who might be hiding in there!"
Soon the door was opened, well-oiled hinges swinging apart silently, leaving them to stare into an ominously dark hallway, and the smell hit them like a tidal wave. Hawke was right. It did smell like a fig tree in full flower.
It smelled like a fig tree in full flower to anyone who never owned a cat.
On cloth-covered old sofas and the tops of dressers, on every surface high off the ground imaginable, on top of the newly opened cellar door, were fluffy, furry, bundles of cat. Their eyes flashed green in the dark, hundreds of them - no, thousands of them, too many to count - and among the sea of green there was one solitary pair of blue, brighter than the others, awash in spirit fire.
"Anders?" Said Hawke, tentatively. Then Hawke added, "love?"
"NO CAT WILL EVER BE SLAVE TO PEOPLE AGAIN!" Intoned the booming voice of Justice. "NO CAT WILL LACK FREEDOM OR LIVE IN A SACK! NO CAT WILL BE GIVEN AWAY AS GIFTS AS IF THEY WERE OBJECTS! ALL KITTENS WILL BE BORN FREE!"
Thus began the great feline revolution that led to the re-founding of the Inquisition, 9:41 Dragon, as penned by Varric Tethras, a dwarf -