In the month of March I had such lofty ideals, as I often do. I said to myself “I really want to play Skyrim”, and I really did want to. I got the game downloaded, and as I sat through Brynjolf's iconic monologue in the ever-romantic horse-drawn carriage ride, a further intrusive thought emerged. I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t know why it appeared as I watched a man try to escape captivity and shortly thereafter get shot by...
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