I’ve poured about 60 hours of game time into Skyrim so far and when I look back upon that time and reflect upon what I actually spent much of it doing, I… I start questioning my masculinity.
Alright, that’s not true. I’ve been questioning my masculinity for years, but Skyrim is making it worse.
See, I didn’t set out to be an alchemist – I find potions a bit of a fiddly, cumbersome faff – but I am predisposed towards hoarding and collecting, so if I find ingredients, I can’t help but pick them up. I’m currently carrying over 70 chaurus eggs and over 70 salt piles, among many other things.
But it’s not just collecting the ingredients themselves, it’s collecting their properties. I obsessively experiment, and won’t be satisfied ‘til I know all four effects of every ingredient in the game.
I rarely use the potions I make though. I sell as many as I can when I can, but my rate of production far exceeds demand so I just wander around with hundreds of the things for no particular reason.
But still… still… I cannot stop picking flowers and catching butterflies. They’re so pretty.