The Game Boy: Things I Can't Do in Skyrim

Skyrim is utterly staggering. There's just so much of it. So much to see. Some much to discover. So much stuff. Predictably, everyone on earth can't stop playing it, and all of society has ground to a screeching, swerving, slow-mo-exploding halt. And when people aren't playing it, they're gabbing on about it incessantly. “I did this, I did that, I kissed a dragon and I liked it.” I get it. You can do things. You want a cookie? I want a cookie. Cookies are pretty great. Where was I? Oh, right: I think it's time for a change of pace. So here are roughly a billion things I can't do in Skyrim.
I can't create spells – Previous Elder Scrolls games actually offered the option to whip up your own acts of absurdly powerful wizardry. In Oblivion, I once made a custom fire spell so powerful that I'm pretty sure it was eventually declared the canonical beginning of Fallout 3.
I can't spare my enemies – I love that enemies in Skyrim sometimes opt not to immediately charge in your direction, screaming wildly and nearly choking to death on their own disgusting mouth foam. It makes the world feel exponentially more authentic. And I also appreciate that enemies sometimes attempt to yield and hobble away on their broken kneecaps that I broke by breaking them. So of course, being an honorable guy, I attempt to let them off with a grievously gushing warning. But then – like clockwork – they say, “No... it can't end like this” and start tickling my vital organs with their pitiful feather strikes again. So I strike back.
I can't use my shouts when people are around – So there I was, watching the sun rise outside a small settlement, when a dragon flew overhead. “All right,” I figured. “I could use some light morning exercise.” The dragon landed for our little pistols/city-obliterating-flame-cannon at dawn duel, but suddenly, a crowd of guards (and a horse, for some reason) surrounded him as well. Oh well, though, the more the merrier, right? Overwhelmed, the dragon tried to take off. Reflexively, I unleashed a basic stun shout, dropped him like a sack of flame-spewing potatoes, and drove my blade through his face. Hooray, victor-- wait, what? I was still taking damage. I turned to see that the entire crowd was attempting to slice me into dragonborn sashimi. And also the horse, for some reason.
I can't stop using my imagination – Modern game design's become unrelentingly fixated on the idea that you can't leave a damn thing to the imagination. That's unfortunate, because imagination's a huge part of the reason I've become so invested in Skyrim's world. For every random bout of cave-spelunking or vampire slaying, I find myself dreaming up motivations and storylines for both my character and my enemies. Sometimes, I do it without even noticing. For instance – without spoiling too much – my character became a werewolf, and I found myself strongly identifying with his fatally feral alter ego. Whether it was the werewolf-hunting Silver Hand or a woman (who I initially rescued!) who professed to being part of an organization that dabbles in werewolf homicide, my character developed a no-mercy policy. “...vampires, werewolves – anything impure blah blah blah,” she concluded, listing off her faction's preferred targets. “Oh, well, isn't that just a shame,” I thought to myself. Then I tore out her throat.
I can't train a dragon – Which is lame, because I even watched this movie that showed me how!
I can't get Lydia to STOP LEAPING IN THE WAY OF MY FIRE AARGH DAMN IT – Skyrim's companion AI is bad. So, so, so bad. It's like some random troll is Lydia's secret lover, and she's diving in slow-motion to take a bullet for him. And. She. Won't. Stop. Ever. So yes, now I travel alone.
I can't stop despising the interface – “OK, so I just press Tab and then... wait, no, I meant Escape. Or maybe Q. And then I just click on... huh? Why'd the whole menu go away? And when did I pick up 47 mudcrab shells? And why am I carrying... Adolf Hitler himself?” Then it turns out that it's an episode of the Twilight Zone. Only it's not.
I can't kill children – It's Bethesda standard policy, after all. Oh, you already knew that? You tried? You monster.