Some adventurers boast a girl in every port, an ally in every guild, and an arrow in every knee. In my playthrough of The Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion? Not so much. I sit in Olav's Tap and Tack, supping a delicious ale, surrounded by the gentle bleats of its clientele. They're all sheep, you see. Even Olav—poor, innocent Olav—is nothing more than flesh and wool now. You see, I looked upon a forbidden tome, learned its secrets, and now the entire population of Cyrodiil is sheep.
I lose count of the number of times I've played Oblivion. I know Patrick Stewart's opening spiel by heart, I've closed more Oblivion Gates than most people have had hot dinners, and I've modded it for plenty of those playthroughs. But I don't think I've ever had more fun than by learning the incantations bound within the 'Fun With Magic' spellbook. The mod responsible, simply named Hilarity, teaches you a plethora of chaotic spells with which you can unleash havoc upon the poor citizens of Tamriel. I mean, you could go after the Daedra, but where's the fun in that?
You sheep rather soundly for a murderer
I installed Hilarity with the best intentions. I thought it would be particularly funny to run into the heart of an Oblivion Gate and emerge completely unscathed, every demon within transfigured into ovine form. But I didn't make it that far.
My willpower was bent, and I succumbed to temptation. I'll be honest, I didn't even make it out of Edgar Vautrine's Discount Spell Shop before turning the innocent Breton into a woolly mammal. Sorry, Eddie. No hard feelings, right?
Before the sun had dipped below the horizon, all of the Imperial City had been polymorphed into sheep. No guards could stop me from stealing whatever I wanted, for cloven hooves cannot draw swords. Knee-high shopkeepers glumly looked on through rectangular pupils as I plundered their wares.
I was having great fun by this point, imagining poor Calindil and Aurelinwae desperately trying to shout for help as I took my pick of their items. I envisaged their shock as all that came out of their mouths were gentle bleats. The horror as they turn to each other and realise they're both sheep. I was giggling just at the thought of it. But my hubris quickly came back to bite me.
My journeys outside of the capital were fruitful. Not only does the spell transform the target into a sheep, it removes any hostility.
I guess sheep are naturally docile creatures and the developers didn't consider the creativity of modders when writing the scripts for ovine behaviour. A combat encounter on the road? Sheep. A horde of goblins? Turn one into a sheep, and the rest will turn on it instead of you, for some reason. A particularly creepy Ayleid ruin, filled with monsters and angry adventurers? Sheep, sheep, sheep. I left all alive, albeit transformed.
I may have missed out on some loot, but I hadn't encountered anything game-breaking yet. Sure, I'd transformed the head of the Mage's Guild into a sheep and figured that the quest was softlocked as a result, but I was already more powerful than him anyway. He was impotent against my attacks, and is now fated to bleat alone in his study evermore.
Heartaches by the numbaaa
I'd sheeped the Imperial City and left many other towns baa-rren.
The Emperor was spared an ovine affliction due to the fact I could only learn the modded spells once I reached the Imperial City proper, but the rest of the main quest's cast had no such luck.
I'd sheeped the Imperial City and left many other towns baa-rren. Next on my list would be to tame the Daedra plaguing Tamriel and shepherd in a new age of peace and prosperity for Cyrodiil. That is, until I arrived at Weynon Priory.
I was careful here. I didn't turn a single monk into a sheep until after I'd received instruction to find Martin in Kvatch. Such is the genius of a great Mage. The problem was that after I received the quest, I turned my magic hands upon the worshippers. Sue me – it's funny! A priory run entirely by sheep! You could write a sitcom about that. They could wear little priest robes and– you get the picture. But this is where my adventure started to unravel.
You see, after you close the Oblivion Gate in Kvatch and save Brother Martin from the invading hellspawn, you have to go back to the Priory before heading to Cloud Ruler Temple. Having forgotten this detail, I could progress no further.
Jauffre was still there, bleating some kind of plea for grass or an end to his misery or both, but he could not tell me that the Amulet of Kings had been stolen and therefore I could not progress the quest.
That's how I find myself here, in the Tap and Tack, drowning my sorrows surrounded by ewes. I've closed dozens of Oblivion Gates, turned mighty beasts into harmless herbivores, but my vision of a peaceful world is fruitless. It all feels a bit pointless now that I've locked myself out of helping Martin Septim follow his destiny. He's a sheep now, too – when I realized what I'd done, I got frustrated and cast the spell at him. Is it bad that I can't even tell which is him and which is Jauffre?
If you, too, want to cause maximum mischief with minimal magical might, I'd recommend flicking through the pages of Fun With Magic. But before you get trigger-happy with the old Sheep Polymorph, consider your actions. You could summon Titan Ogres instead, probably with less devastating effects. The thunderstorms you can conjure are something to behold, too. But the most powerful spells are often the most simple. And, as I have come to find out, the most lonely.
Check out all the upcoming Bethesda games we currently know about once you're done laughing at my misfortune.
