Between adventuring in The Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion Remastered, I've been reading about nature. Did you know that alpha male chimpanzees need to be approved by their community's female chimps before leading? Or that some pigeons are likelier than others to influence where their flock goes? All of this is to say that hierarchy, the time-treasured system for telling others what to do, is the most natural thing in the world. It's no different in Cyrodiil.
During Oblivion Remastered's main quest, you're asked to find allies for Bruma before the city is besieged by daedra. The Imperial Council turns your request down, suggesting you ask the province's other cities for help. Sure, they have reasons for not sending troops, namely "being stretched too thin fighting against other Oblivion gates," but let's be honest: in the world of hierarchy, this is a textbook case of delegating something you don't really want to do.
Inspired by the Imperial Council's slipperiness, I realized that I've been leaving free labor on the table. There are a number of companions available to recruit in Oblivion, and you can travel with a bunch of them at the same time. For once, what if I let someone else – a gang of lackeys – do all the work? That, my budding middle-management brain reasoned, would just be enforcing a hierarchy. The most natural thing in the world.
Hostile takeover
My first port of call is Imperial City's Arena. I tend to ignore companions in Oblivion and Skyrim – they get in the way and make friendly fire a nightmare – so the Adoring Fan is still waiting for me here, despite it being several in-game months since I became Grand Champion. The day he's been waiting for has finally arrived: come along, my spikey-haired sycophant, and join your hero in saving Cyrodiil. Are you by any chance insured?
With my Number Two in tow, I travel west for a whistlestop liberation of Battlehorn Castle. The castle is besieged by bandits and in desperate need of rescue, while I'm in desperate need of somewhere to dump all of the loot I've acquired from closing Oblivion gates. Win-win! Five minutes later I'm the proud owner of Battlehorn Castle and – perhaps more important – its recruitable Men-at-Arms.
Having also convinced all of Cyrodiil's leaders to send soldiers to Bruma, now feels as good a time as any to test out my new minions. There's a small army of guards waiting to fight Daedra alongside the Blades, Emperor-to-be Martin, the Adoring Fan, and the security guard I've whisked from his day job at Battlehorn Castle. At this point Oblivion Remastered is struggling to run with the amount of people on screen, but I try to think positively – if even the game isn't ready for this many NPCs, Mehrunes Dagon won't know what hit him.
Three Oblivion gates spring up outside the city, each vomiting hordes of daedra onto Cyrodiil's finest. My FPS shudders into slideshow territory, so I wade in with a sword – lag or no, people will be mad at me if I roast their pals with fireballs – and get to work. Bruma's defenders swarm like rats, bringing down Storm Atronachs and arrow-peppered scamps through sheer numbers alone. Perhaps, I think in the pauses between frames, there's something to this companionship after all?
When I enter the final Oblivion gate, my trusty Man-at-Arms is right by my side, but The Adoring Fan is nowhere to be seen. This gate is on a timer – you need to close it before Mehrunes' siege engine can pass through to Cyrodiil – which means I don't have time to shepherd my knight through hell. Yet he manages to keep pace, helping tear through Spider Daedra and Daedroth until he's finally brought down in the final battle by a torrent of lightning. I squash the guilt – that's not a management emotion – and snag the Sigil Stone, closing the gate and saving Bruma.
It's a bittersweet victory. When I reappear in Cyrodiil, the Adoring Fan is still AWOL. I have to assume he's either buried beneath the corpses of guards and daedra littering the battlefield, or left behind in the planes of Oblivion. Either way, he's dead. But from watching Bruma's defenders fight like piranhas to bring down foes, I realize I've been playing with rookie numbers. If I want to play the executive game, I'll need more lackeys.
Recruitment phase
To replace my right-hand fan, I prioritize wrapping up the Oblivion Remastered Dark Brotherhood questline. I completed most of it whilst turning Oblivion into a tourism simulator, so within a few in-game days I'm already hunting for the Brotherhood's traitor in a basement-turned-murder den. Surrounded by mutilated bodies and a severed head on a platter, I'm given the fright of my life when the Adoring Fan silently appears in the basement with me. I'd like to say it was a happy reunion, but in truth I got such a fright that I reflexively slashed at him with my sword; then had to finish the job before he could run to the guards.
It turns out that it doesn't really matter that I killed the Adoring Fan, because he returns every few days to live and die by my side. By his second resurrection, I've expanded our operations significantly. Besides the Adoring Fan, I've recruited a Dark Brotherhood Murderer with the sense to keep distance with a bow – well away from my arcing sword and wildly irresponsible fireballs – along with another Man at Arms who, er, doesn't have that sense. I've also taken to Conjuration, which means there's often a zombie or skeleton pitching in too. The motley crew are surprisingly effective, and subscribe to Bruma's "pile on the same enemy at once" school of warfare.
Cyrodiil's Avengers are yet to face a real threat, but in the name of science, I plan to see if they can beat the Mage's Guild's big baddie Mannimarco without my involvement. This, in turn, would allow me to bring two wizard followers to the fold. That's growth! I'm even saving gold on healing potions, thanks to my lackeys taking all of the fatal hits for me. Sure, it means making the odd trip back to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary or Battlehorn Castle to replace a fallen subordinate, but every good business demands sacrifice. If this all sounds a little callous, don't worry: there are no labor laws in Cyrodiil to break! Besides – hierarchy is perfectly natural.
