Life, eh? Who needs it? Grumpy bus drivers refusing to even consider stopping for you - despite that fact that they've been cackling wildly at your flappy-armed galloping in the rear view mirror for yonks. (Bye bye pay cheque!). Growing optimistic that you can catch the next red block, only to discover that - to your face crippling disappointment - it's out of service. (Bye bye sanity!). Jumping on the next bustling bus during a sun-soaked summer's day, only to fathom that the one remaining seat lies in disturbingly close proximity to a collection of cocky chavs. (Bye, bye Sony Ericsson!). Come to think of it, with the exception of Christina Aguilera's curvaceous comeback (there 'ain't no other man', don't you know!), there's been nothing much to set this jaded journalist's world on fire of late. Miss Tweedy's tied the knot. The local offy's cranked up the price of milk. And to add inexplicable insult to injury, I coughed up my 'ludicrously tasty' bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes upon realising that the particularly pricey milk was indeed, six days old...

In these times of woe and despair, you'd usually run for a big tub of chocolate ice cream whilst rummaging beneath the seriously sticky sofa in search of the TV remote - habitually consoling yourself with the likes of Jerry Springer reruns or perhaps a spot of GMTV when things get really bad. But not anymore. Times are changing. No longer are we confined to the monotonous lives we are forced to lead. Games are growing up, discovering the captivating qualities of cosmetics and passing their driving tests in order to take you to places you've never seen, touched and experienced before. With the Gatesy-Gang™ beating their chests like gorillas, snorting at the competition whilst clawing ravenously to secure those exclusive killer applications, gamers drowned and eventually suffocated in a pool of pompous claims.
"The zen of gaming!"
"Unprecedented audio and visual experiences!"
"Gaming so compelling that it'll feel like a lucid dream!"

Hell, the majority of lazy launch titles didn't so much take you to new avenues of gaming as simply retread grey haired ground in such a manner that your heart literally sunk - plummeted even - at the mere reminiscing of the 280 notes you shelled out ever-so-willingly at launch. Did Need For Speed: Most Wanted really do it for you? How about Madden? That was awesome! Ooh! Ooh! And let's not forget Tony Hawks' 'epic' 'boarder, eh? That really pushed the boundaries! [But let's not forget the likes of Perfect Dark Zero, Kameo, Dead or Alive 4 and Condemned, which are all at least a little next-geny! Defend-Ed]. No. They were merely starter courses to the main meal, the McFly to the Guns and Roses of this world and the milk accompanying your chosen cereal (eugh, milk!). But not anymore. Ladies and gentleman, shut the windows, bolt the doors, disconnect the phone, dump your girlfriend via text message (it's okay, you have an excuse - you disconnected the phone, remember?), wish your friends well, raise the bus driver a deserving middle finger, paralyse the offy owner and push him off a cliff (bear with me here!) and draw the curtains with considerable haste. Welcome to the real next gen. Welcome the zen of gaming. Welcome to Oblivion.

So without further ado, let's move onto the tasty stuff. Bethesda's labour of love initiates in an environment not too far removed from that darkened, airless, rotten-cabbage-smelling gaming hole you know as your bedroom, where sleepless nights, self-loathing and wearing nothing but Rebel boxers are ever so common (Stop laughing! 360 games are really expensive! You think I can afford Calvin Klein undergarments these days, big-shot?!) But I digress. It seems you're imprisoned. Left to wander around solemnly in a decidedly dingy room, the stench of urine reaching putrid levels, the torchlight casting its mild amber glow throughout the guard-governed corridors, as a spirit-breaking ray of white light streams through the rusted steel bars of your cell, taunting you of the sprawling world that awaits your blessing (and no, I'm not still talking about your bedroom!)

With nothing but a urinal pot, a selection of diseased bones inhabiting the corner of your cell (which you've nabbed for safe keeping) and a ray of hope to call your own, you'll begin to question both your existence and the more important matters in life. Who am I? What am I? Which member of Girls Aloud is the hottest? Thankfully, you can resolve the former two with relative ease, with Oblivion boasting enough customisation options to make pop princess Madonna blush in mild embarrassment. But there're no 99 Flake-like bras here, that's for sure. Changing your name to something that simply exudes 'cool' (I suggest something with the letter 'x' for ultimate effect), tinkering with those abs and carefully concluding on which race to settle for takes more time than you'd think - after all, you don't want to spend the next fifty or so hours in the company of a boring old fart, do you now? Of course not. You want to wield humongous hammers, sport pink beards and scare the hell out of Tamriel residents. Better pick the Orc, then - although the usual RPG guff is present and correct - so you'll still be able to fulfil those Redguard, Nord, Breton and Dark Elf fetishes, you sick little being, you. And, yes, each class boasts individual abilities that you'll learn to mould around your style of play. That said, you'll never feel restricted as to which style you should play to and. with enough persistence, you'll be able to nurture a perfectly rounded combatant to take on all corners. As for the latter, it's obviously Cheryl. Although opposing opinions will be greatly appreciated (i.e. burned to a cinder) upon sending a postcard to the usual address - that's Acegamez at... [Snip! Ed.]

Revelling in your new-found Orc glory, life seems somewhat more bearable and that ray of hope ever so slightly closer. "My! You're an ugly one," babbles a potty-mouthed inmate in the opposite cell. "But then, all Orcs are..." he mutters, as if utterly oblivious to your bulging biceps and almighty abs. Racism?! In a videogame?! You'd better believe it. Oblivion thrives on this concept of characterisation and wit - it's what nudges Bethesda's beast above and beyond its already fantastic forerunners, with a game world that feels far more 'world' than 'game', while also moving the narrative development along at a leisurely, often invisible pace, so as not to bog you down with a mind-numbing array of cut scenes. That said, should you choose to study Oblivion's narrative, you'll find that it is, as with all RPGs, 'richer' than a gold encrusted gift box of Thornton's chocolate truffles. Delish'!

Subsequent to the verbal bashing, you hear a collection of faint, yet somewhat panic stricken voices echo throughout the cold and devilishly bitter air. "What's he doing here?!" bellows a perplexed woman with a plethora of guards at her side. "This cell is supposed to be off limits!" she howls. The cell door swings ajar, when who but Emperor Uriel Septim of Cyrodiil (voiced by none other than Trek veteran Patrick "Picard" Stewart! Hurrah!) walks in, with an expected air of pride, yet a certain hint of fear in his twinkly eyes. "You are the one from my dreams..." he grumbles, with a wise, assured tone. Err, gee this is kind of awkward. I'm very flattered, Pat - I loved you in Star Trek, but I really don't swing that way! Seemingly taken back by the answer, Pat (also known as the Emperor, but hey - it is Patrick Stewart, people!) yanks on a nearby lever, opening a secret door in the process. Yes. A lever. Leading to a secret door. But wait a moment. REWIND! I've been locked away in this God forsaken hellhole for how many years? And I didn't spot the bloomin' lever?! Maybe the inmate's right... Orcs really are stupid.

Following the (probably) heartbroken Emperor, a guard orders you to stay put. Darn it. Now you'll never get out alive. But wait, what's that noise? Sounds like scratching… claws of some sort... I wonder if... Smash! Mutant rats obliterate the sewer wall and start nipping chunks out of your leg. What to do?! What to do?! Get them off of your leg, obviously! It's only then that you pause for thought and realise that beneath the guise of a well structured and believable plotline, Bethesda is secretly pulling the strings backstage in order to teach you a thing or two about the world of Oblivion, introducing you to some of its complexities in a digestible and entertaining form. Think I've been nattering on about the plot for yonks? Well, I haven't. And neither have Bethesda. The urinal pot and diseased bones? You've learned how to steal items. The customisation menu? You've unknowingly made the biggest decision in the game; a decision that affects the way Bethesda's world operates around you, how certain characters feel towards you and how successful your character is with the ladies (well okay, I made that last one up!). The ill-mannered inmate? You've learned Cyrodiil's social hierarchy and just how rich a world Bethesda have lovingly crafted. Patrick Stewart? Stellar voice acting. And the mutant rats? You've managed to get to grips with a superbly simple Condemned-esque combat system (yep, there'll be none of that archaic hit and miss Morrowind nonsense to tarnish the exposition here, thank you very much Bethesda). And you know what? You didn't even realise. That's the magic of Oblivion.

With a mere tap of the right trigger, those rotten rodents bite the dust, dropping faster than Jordan's knickers at the sight of, well, anything that moves. From here on in, you're taught the ways of lock picking, sneaking past goblins in order to pickpocket them before bumping them around the noggin with whatever comes to hand, interacting with the environment by pushing decayed logs onto unsuspecting foes, learning to defend yourself against hordes of zombies (yes, zombies!), choosing the odd class option here and there - all while mastering the art of conjuration, which is just as straightforward and accessible as anything else Oblivion leisurely enlightens you with. Emerging from the cobwebbed catacombs and into another dusky chamber, those familiar voices become apparent once more. It's Patrick Stewa... sorry, I mean the Emperor! The nearby gate slams shut somewhat suspiciously. "Protect the Emperor!" roar the dutiful guards, as cloaked antagonists flock to the vicinity like peckish alley cats to a fine piece of haddock. "With the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied," murmurs the Emperor, instantly frail at his unfortunate fate. Upon handing you the Amulet of Kings, the Emperor is slain - his dying words resonating throughout the rest of the journey that lies ahead: "Find Jaufree, and together, shut close the jaws of Oblivion."

And so it begins. The largest, most attention-craving thing to come out of a games studio since Steve Ballmer discovered the joys of the megaphone. "Oblivion! Oblivion! OBLIVION!" In fact, if this review were larger than King Henry the Eighth munching on a big ol' piece of pork, there'd still be regions under those big, wobbly man-boobs that remain unexplored. Sadly in Oblivion's case and thankfully in the former's. You see, Oblivion is MONSTEROUS!!! (Hence the caps lock and unnecessary quantity of exclamation marks LIKE THIS!!!!) And although the initial hours may come off feeling a trifle linear and decidedly disciplined - Bethesda's brute soon blooms into the engrossing, shock-tastic, free-form experience that gamers salivated for back when Oblivion was merely a glint in Bethesda's collective eye, and when Morrowind - the series' ambitious predecessor - reigned supreme. "Shock-tastic?!" you slur, bemused by my apparent state of Adjective Deficiency . That's right! In all sincerity, it really is the only way to describe Oblivion, a game with more shocks than an inept electrician, more 'surprise surprises' than Cilla Black and more jaw-dropping, aesthetically pleasing moments than a Pussycat Dolls 'music' vid. Purrrrr.

The biggest eye-opener ensues as you emerge from that foul, cruddy crypt; bleached white light beams down onto the cobbled floor as you observe picturesque postcard blue skies, dense arrays of elaborately constructed trees and ancient ruins, complete with sixteen square miles of sprawling hillsides so luscious that you almost expect Julie Andrews to burst onto the scene in an almighty ballad. Almost. The hills, however, are indeed alive with the sound of music, with a delightful, sweeping orchestral soundtrack playing its soothing melody as you observe Tamriel's wildlife. Sparrows flutter overhead and vicious slaughterfish splash around in the gorgeously rendered lake whilst nipping at your thighs. And no. Your eyes don't deceive you. That really is a deer. A deer? A female deer! [You're fired! Ed.]

In fact, it's somewhat ironic that despite Oblivion being lauded for its beguiling sense of freedom, you'll be rooted to the spot, grinning like an OAP with a lifetime supply of Tetley, at the sheer breadth and beauty of it all. But a journey of a thousand miles (well, okay... sixteen!) must begin with a single step. So, off you go. It's only then that you're in for the biggest shock of them all. Discovering just how free you are. Where in the name of The Nine do you go from here?! Do you traverse the lake, heading for the ancient ruins, only to be plunged into a funereal labyrinth with the vague promise of treasure, weapons and experience? Do you cater to your curiosity, setting out for the campfire in the distance, unknowingly trespassing on the property of a bandit who now wants your head displayed at the end of his mace? Or do you follow your trusty compass in search of Jaufree in the main quest line, namely liberating Tamriel of malevolent portals to the otherworldly plane of Oblivion?

Choice. It's the foundation upon which Oblivion was conceived. Every decision you make will undoubtedly weave a new path, scenario and consequence, casting an experience that really is individual to each and every gamer that uncontrollably falls entranced to Oblivion's charming spell, perhaps predominantly due to each quest amassing in narrative and spiralling out of control, resulting in an experience more flexible than the aforementioned Pussycat Dolls. Nice. Take, for instance, the Thieves' Guild. Turns out that the entry requirement necessitates a heated battle against the wannabe thieves, to steal, and return with, Amantius' diary. With the compelling unpredictability of each and every quest that Oblivion cooks up, the rules occasionally have to be broken, as you watch your previous plan of action rendered useless - and you'll feel like a tactical genius as you dream up new ways to go about the quest on the spur of the moment. To quote the previous example, do you scout around the Imperial City, coughing up dimes in return for information about the whereabouts of the diary? Or do you play it safe, waiting for the opposing thieves to complete the dirty work, as you lurk in the shadows clutching a dagger in your sweaty palms, remaining hopeful that they'll waddle along with the stolen goods? But wait! Competition rules state that you can't kill! Darn. What now? Never you worry your little head about that! Sure, you can't kill in order to pry the diary from their deserving hands, but who says you can't steal it? Awesome!

You could easily draw parallels with the likes of Lionhead's Fable, but each of Molyneux's quests appear somewhat restrictive and decidedly linear in comparison to Bethesda's next-gen offering. The way in which you tackle each quest is entirely up to you. There certainly won't be any ickle tots to sway your conscience between right and wrong, or to enquire whether you'd 'rava be smashin' fings,' that's for sure. Oblivion grants you the tools to fabricate your own story, path and personality, learning from your mistakes as you go. Killing = bad. Stealing = wrong. Follow these imperatives and you'll remain an upstanding citizen throughout the course of the adventure. Well, if that's what you wish, anyway. Want to forge the path of a psychotic killer with an acquired taste for blood? Then the vampiric underworld of the Dark Brotherhood may be just the ticket. Want to live the life of a devious pickpocket? Then the Thieves' Guild might be right up your artful alley. Want to elevate those conjuration skills in order to paralyse residents and push them off cliffs? (Told ya!) Then the Mages' Guild just might be your cup of herbal tea. But sometimes it's just fun to smash things, right? Then say hello to the Fighters' Guild, where you'll be carrying out odd jobs for the community whilst keeping residents' minds at rest from demonic beasties by way of combat. Oh, so much combat!

Perhaps that's why the towns are so darn gorgeous? Not a chav in sight. Not a crisp packet as far as the eye can see. Not an ill-received marketing exploit to be found. Just a beautifully cohesive, meticulously sculpted world within which to lose yourself for hour upon hour on end. The quests? Rich. The side-quests? Aplenty. And the possibilities? Endless. Bethesda's every promise has been made a reality, precipitating such a rich and lifelike experience in the process. NPCs roam the streets and towns of Tamriel on their 24-hour life cycles, thanks to the much-hyped Radiant AI. And while this enriches the experience - bringing Oblivion one step closer to the dizzying world of the MMO - perhaps the most striking aspect of this system is the fact that it remains as invisible as Jade Goody's intelligence, hence raising the immersion-o-meter substantially. Heck, even common courtesy plays a role in Oblivion's everyday affairs! Unsheathe your weapon before talking to the residents of Tamriel and they'll hold you in contempt, responding in minor sentences and monosyllabic grunts! Ha! Would you believe it?! All of these little intricacies aid the immersion, promptly pulling in you into Bethesda's wonderful world by the collar, like an exotic dancer does at a sleazy strip joint.

Wonderful it may be, but the oddities spew forth thick and fast - and you'll begin to realise that the aforesaid Radiant AI isn't quite as radiant as it may have initially seemed. Civilians engage in some rather peculiar conversations, usually giggling uncontrollably about a member of town as if they'd known one another for years - only to close the topic babbling "Why am I even talking to you?! I can't even stand you!". Wha?! What just happened? It was all going oh-so very well! Heck, on my travels I spotted a lizard-like Argonian inexplicably crawling back and forth across a wooden bridge and into a nearby Cheydinhal inn. Wha?! Not to mention observing a guard slaughtering - and quite rightly so - a deceiving bandit, only to watch the vapid guard drop to his knees, rest his hand on the freshly-eliminated crook and mumble "Hmm... still warm. There's a killer around..." before searching the area for suspicious beings. "Err...but Mr Guard? That was you...". Eugh, never mind. Either that's a glitch, or they've done a great job with the schizophrenic psychopath portion of the AI.

No! Wait! Don't go! It's only correct to assume that such a grandiose, ambitious and shock-tastic (yes, it's back!) experience like Oblivion would inevitably fall victim to its own hyperbolic promises. And for the most part, Bethesda's hype machine was nigh on flawless, with Oblivion ruling the majority - if not all - of the stat-smitten RPGs with an iron fist, halting them in their level-boosting tracks with a nifty paralysis spell before pushing them off the nearest cliff top. The thing is, Oblivion has many bothersome blemishes that no amount of next-gen Neutrogena is able to clear up. And while Bethesda's bewitching beauty has looks to make even the most cold hearted of gamers go all gooey inside, there's no denying that such beauty comes at a price - Oblivion stutters like a nervous Gareth Gates, breaking into a sweat at the mere thought of multiple NPCs, sprawling landscapes and more polygons than a pack of cheese Doritos. That said, it's nothing to send you into a Quake 4-esque seizure, and Oblivion peerlessly remains illustrative of the 360's gobsmackingly gorgeous capabilities.

Such mastery of the Jolly Green Giant's box-o-tricks simply hasn't been witnessed anterior to The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion's arresting beauty. It seems almost a crime to bring this review to a closure when it appears that there's always something else to say if you take a gander under those big, wobbly, man boobs. (But hell, I really don't want to see my Crunchy Nut Cornflakes for the second time today!). Y'see, Bethesda's undertaken a side quest of its own, levelling up since 1986 in order to conjure "The quintessential RPG of the next generation". Some may bemoan the odd graphical blips and AI inadequacies that such a monumental experience would inevitably unearth, but Oblivion remains, at heart, Bethesda's merging of raw ambition, inimitable artistry and an unadulterated passion for gaming. Oblivion is literally riddled with ye-olde RPG tradition, yet its accessibly, truly freeform approach will appeal to old hands and those yet to experience the unbridled joy of carving a new life alike. And without trying to sound too much like a Butlin's PR, there really is something for everyone here. "Unprecedented audio and visual experiences?" Check. "Gaming so compelling that it'll feel like a lucid dream?" Of course. "But the zen of gaming?!" Well, I'm yet to see how it can get any better...

Reviewed by Ricky Lee Staines for AceGamez (All Rights Reserved).