Listen to fans of Bethesda's fantasy RPG series wax rhapsodic about past deeds in Tamriel, and you might expect celestial horns to accompany the latest Elder Scrolls game. Perhaps the heavens should celebrate: Skyrim deserves every last note of jubilant fanfare. This is the kind of game you miss meals for, and have restless dreams about.

Two centuries after the events of Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, the wintry lands of the proud Nord people lie divided by civil war. As if the slow burn of human conflict weren't bad enough, dragons now swoop through the skies, hellbent on razing all of civilization. There's but one cause for hope: you are Dragonborn, able to devour the very souls of the overgrown lizards you defeat.

Your destiny may be determined, but how you achieve it is yours to decide. After you choose a species, gender, and name, Skyrim thrusts you into a visually sumptuous world that boasts far more than mere surface detail. Not everyone is overtly at war, but subtle conflicts permeate every layer of society, from religious disagreements and cultural divides to racial prejudice and even drug abuse. You might align yourself with any of a diverse array of factions, from the leaderless do-gooder Companions to the deliberately treacherous Dark Brotherhood.

Such details are more than extraneous renaissance faire backstory: they're the wellspring of every quest. From the main storyline's hunt for Alduin the World-eater, through side quests for artifacts and social standing, all the way down to minor "miscellaneous objectives," every action sheds new light on this perpetually troubled world and your place in it. In most RPGs, fame and fortune are their own hollow rewards. When you pilgrimage to a mountain peak or plunder a fortress in Skyrim, such trinkets are incidental; you're looking for answers. What are you, what must you do, and how may you do it?

Such questions will draw you ever deeper into the world, and there's little room for pacifism in the pursuit of buried information. Luckily, you're an adaptable sort with no class system to weigh you down. Equip your choice of shield or weapon to each hand, then whale on foes with quick strikes and charged attacks. Bind one of a multitude of magical spells to one or both mitts, and you can unleash fire or ice, or even wrap yourself in supernatural armor.

The flexibility of this combat system is outstanding, and fighting feels fantastic, whether you’re creeping in the shadows and backstabbing the unwary, piercing necks with arrows, or braining beasts with maces. Handily, a "favorites" system lets you mark preferred gear and powers so you can pause and switch equipment without navigating nested menus. Even when you're sorting through loot, the interface never gets in your way. (Just one gripe: occasional slow-motion deathblow animations — clearly borrowed from the V.A.T.S. executions in Bethesda’s own Fallout 3 — seldom line up properly, and feel awkwardly staged.)

All of your actions directly affect your character's development, both in and out of combat. Whenever you pick a lock, cast a spell, connect with a weapon, or absorb a blow, your skill in one of 18 disciplines will rise. There's no reason a dedicated swordsmen can't blast an enemy with electricity, and even shadow-hugging thieves can heal hired companions.

Each new level also rewards you with a perk point to spend in one of the 18 skill trees tied to those disciplines. You can make blocks more effective, learn to pickpocket equipped items, and even disintegrate damaged targets. You probably won’t grow powerful enough to down a Draugr Overlord with a single blow, but you'll steadily grow into a badass no matter how you play. Becoming a force to be reckoned with is at least as satisfying as the multitude of carefully crafted narrative loose ends.