Ronan Kelly
The gates of Oblivion swing both ways for the release of the remastered forbidden middle child. However, the question that remains on everyone's mind is... Can we thank Bethesda for releasing a game that no one asked for? The answer... we can and we will.
“I'm pretty sure Oblivion's release gave us like a 10-20% haircut on daily revenue.” — Todd Howard, Game Director for Bethesda Game Studios.
No announcement. No teaser. No thirty-second cinematic narrated by a gravel-voiced Nord. Bethesda just dropped it. Out of nowhere, on April 22nd, 2025, the remaster of The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion appeared across storefronts like a glitchless miracle. No leaks, no countdown, just 4K Cyrodiil ready to install. Within a day, over 4 million players had stepped through the sewers of the Imperial Prison and into the sun-drenched landscape of the Gold Coast. For a moment, it felt like the world collectively said: "Wait, Olivion’s back?" It’s easy to forget how odd Oblivion was when it released in 2006. It wasn’t quite Morrowind. It wasn’t quite Skyrim. It was the uncanny middle child. Like its predecessor, it was changing the norm, unintentionally hilarious, and unpolished in that way early 2000s open-world RPGs were (we can thank passion-driven game design and crunch time for that). Like a fixer-upper house, the bones were strong and primed for action. Underneath the cartoonishly potato-faced NPCs and infamous audio compression artefacts, sat one of the most ambitious fantasy RPGs of its generation. Bethesda bringing it back now, of all times, is the equivalent of hearing your old school bandmate became a platinum-selling solo artist. Everyone knew the talent was there, but all it needed was the right studio to dive.
Morrowind had the diehard loyalty of purists. Skyrim had the numbers, the memes, and the modding scene that could, and still does, resurrect it every year like some ungodly and abhorrent Daedric ritual. Oblivion, meanwhile, has always had this identity crisis. Critics loved it, players enjoyed it, and yet when it came time to list some of the best Bethesda games, it was always the third or fourth pick. The remaster corrects that. The remaster doesn’t just slap a filter on top of the old systems and call it a day. Virtuos, the company, handed the task of remastering Oblivion, reworked lighting systems, rebalanced mechanics, adjusted audio quality, and subtly modernised the UI without losing the clunky charm. You still walk into a town and see a pointy-haired elf speak with their neighbour about mudcrabs, but now their voice isn't squashed into a tin can and their beautiful golden quiff is scattering rays of light, delightfully across your screen. Commonly, remasters fall into two camps: museum pieces or Frankenstein monsters. Either they’re too faithful, preserving iconic flaws out of fear of backlash and risk behind considered a waste of time or too old to play, or they rewrite the source so aggressively the spirit gets lost and the game risks losing the majority of its potential audience. Oblivion Remastered threads the needle scarily well. It’s not trying to pretend it was perfect, and it still isn't. It’s saying: Hey, remember this? It was weird. It was funny. Let’s do it again.... but with less crusty textures.
Something important to remember is this: Bethesda didn’t do this out of charity. This wasn’t an act of love for the community or a gift for the oldest fans. It was a perfect blend of timing, simple marketing, and weaponised nostalgia. The games industry in 2025 is still reeling from project shutdowns, studio closures, layoffs, and increasing scrutiny over the recent slew of unfinished game releases. Taking the less-travelled path and spontaneously spending millions to remaster a decade-old game during all that nonsense? That’s not just a remaster, it’s a statement. And the market noticed. Oblivion Remastered hit 4 million players in 24 hours. That’s not just impressive, it’s a gut punch to every publisher out there doubling down on battle passes and rotating shops, scraping the last ounces of monetisation from their dwindling fanbases. What this remaster proved was that players are still hungry for complete experiences. No engagement loops. No drip-fed content. Just a world, a weapon, and a way forward.
It should be noted that this wasn’t a cheap project either. Remasters at this scale aren’t just about god rays and subsurface scattering. There’s QA. There's audio cleanup. There’s animation cleanup. And there's modern accessibility options to be added. Bethesda and Virtuos would have had to coordinate cross-platform compatibility, relicensing for music and voice work, and quality-of-life updates that play well with both newcomers and veterans. This was a full-scale production, made all the more impressive by how quietly they managed to do it. Whispers and leaks were few and far between. What it also shows is Bethesda’s keen understanding of how to reframe its legacy. Fallout has taken a hit in reputation in recent years. Starfield split audiences. But Oblivion? That’s an untouched relic, preserved in the minds of players as the middle child, not necessarily the best, but definitely the most experimental. Re-releasing it now lets them remind players that Bethesda was, still is, and will for a long time be a leader in open-world storytelling.
The release of Starfield in 2023 to a resounding "boo" from fans, certainly must have pushed Bethesda to reconsider what it's fans are wanting from them. Starfield was a sci-fi RPG akin to "The Outer Worlds" from Obsidian Entertainment, infused with base building and resource management from Fallout 4. All in all, it wasn't very successful, and fans seem to agree that Bethesda is better suited to fantasy settings. According to sources, Oblivion was in development for 4 years, which means that it was being developed alongside Starfield. With Starfield crumbling, failing to meet expectations, it's likely that Bethesda was relying on Oblivion's remaster to provide the company with much-needed revenue. Interestingly, though, it's not revenue to make up for Starfield but instead for The Elder Scrolls: VI, which has been in development for at least 6-7 years. For years, the internet has collectively been meme-ing about TES: VI since its announcement trailer in 2018. It's doubtful the game has been abandoned, and considering how well the Oblivion remaster was kept under lock and key, the game likely has a been a major revenue leech for Bethesda, while still being kept on the down low. So with Oblivion's success, we can cheer its mighty return and smirk silently at the true purpose behind it as fuel for the fire.
Oblivion's remaster doesn’t change the landscape of gaming. It doesn’t start a new genre or spark a tech revolution. But it reminds us of what AAA once meant: ambition, scope, and charming jank. It’s a love letter to the past, but more importantly, a demonstration that the past still has a place in the present, if it’s handled with care. This remaster wasn’t just a win for Bethesda; it was a win for every player who felt like the old style of games had been forgotten. There’s no battle pass. No pop-ups begging you to check out the in-game store. Just quests, distressingly close-ups of NPCs, and that one guy in the Arena who always tells you he’s gonna rip your spine out. Oblivion was always a little broken. But in a time where polish often comes at the cost of personality, it’s refreshing to play something that still has a soul. And this time, it does not come with horse armour. Thank. Arkay.
With the vast majority of AAA games fighting for 4k resolutions, subsurface scattering on every character, and ray tracing that would make a solar physicist blush, we continue to witness indie developers enjoying record-breaking profits by releasing small but captivating passion projects that prove the games industry is not dying, but evolving.
“The AAA industry has a lot of momentum and inertia, but it’s not where a lot of interesting things are happening.” — Gabe Newell, co-founder of Valve
The fundamental reality of the games industry is that a long as money is to be made, companies will rise to take their piece of the pie. In the case of the games industry of 2025, we are experiencing the middle of a massive wave of companies closing studios to insulate profits and offset costs. Over the past 10 years, we have witnessed many AAA franchise games move towards a live-service business model and an associated surge in the viability for developers to obtain and retain jobs within these corporate megastructures. While this was initilly received with sceptical interest from many players within the test environment games, and as many games began to adopt the new model, a distaste began to grow amongst first time players who joined communities and gamesseeing that the beginner experience began to be filled with short experiencesthat lead directly to features that were locked behind paywall
One of the most infamous experiences of this is the live-service game Destiny 2 by Bungie. Destiny 2 is an MMORPG that boasts a swath of content for players to experience. However, after freeing itself from its Activision buyout, Bungie began to push harder on its monetisation, and it is passing off its new players from its free content to its paid content. New players are immediately slammed with pop-ups preaching season passes, DLC content, dungeons, raids, and more, with each with the intrusiveness slowly pulling back to quests that lead to pop-ups or spontaneous emails claiming that players have "unlocked" the ability to buy merchandise from their store page, bungiestore.com. Call of Duty has, at the time of writing, nineteen titles within its series. Each COD has built upon its predecessor in a small way, with graphics or mechanics making small leaps between each title in ways that are noticeable by its players, who subject themselves to the same controls, maps, mechanics, and experience for hundreds of hours on end. Many of its player base have played and will play the next title without knowing what it is because of the trap it has created. Because of FOMO.
"FOMO", the Fear Of Missing Out, is the engine that powers the live service industry, with many games like Call of Duty and Destiny 2 having features that call upon the fear of missing out on something exciting and new because you didn't play at a specific time. Once you are hooked by a game, it is hard to resist justifying $50 price tags for DLC and unlocks, with each subsequent purchase becoming easier and easier to justify. Drip feeding new weapons or content to players allows for you to stretch your game into a live service model, keeping players playing and allowing you to push more monetisation on them. Even if every nine players hate this greedy business style, statistics determine that you will experience an increase in the number of in-game purchases from the 1 person in 10 who is willing to make a one-off purchase. However, more players voice distaste with this than contend with it. Even with players resisting this, several companies have seen remarkable success from this, such as Ubisoft with their Assassin's Creed franchise, with cosmetics providing unique effects on the player experience. Armour sets come with buffs or builds built into them that allow players to dominate the game and make their overall experience less dependent on 100% exploration. The desire to succeed has plagued games since the days of Pong, and with companies foaming at the mouth to push more monetisation, the only people to suffer are the players. And speaking from experience, FOMO is a hard trap to escape from.
Among Us, Lethal Company, Phasmaphobia, Stardew Valley, and Undertale, are just some of the few games made by rogue indie developers that brought success like no other in recent years. While games like Call of Duty, Assassin's Creed, and Mortal Kombat can stand proud in the Hall of Game History for the might monetary empires they have built, so rarely do they inspire waves of nostalgia and repeat play sessions years past their heyday. As much as we hate to admit it, games such as these spoil with time and feed off their own earliest incarnation's nostalgia to continue their franchise. However, there exists a fascinating experience where a completelyunknown game designer or studio appears from the void, spends 4-5 years workingon a side project for which they have little faith will succeed in anycapacity, after which they produce a game of such unfathomable quality, thatall it takes is a single online influencer making a video about it for it tosuddenly dominate the entire gaming sphere for months. Among Us, which was released in mid-2018, is the most well-known example of this, having reportedly generated $86 million in revenue since its release. Among Us was developed by the same studio that made the beloved flash game series "HenryStickman", Innersloth, with an ardent team of ~6 people.
Games like Among Us seemed to have become more prominent with the advent age of influencers, where just like these spontaneous success stories, single individuals can amass an immense following seemingly overnight. These influencers exist across almost every discipline and media possible, including most prominently games. Influencers such as Mark Fischbach, known online as Markiplier, have a following in the hundreds of millions and can act as catalysts for success for almost any media through any medium. This time in history, where companies no longer exist as the pinnacle of stardom, has allowed said stardom to be within the grasp of almost anyone, and more importantly, providing the opportunity for mass market manipulation through parasocial connections. In short, people trust influencers more than advertisers and are more inclined to try something if an influencer they like promotes it. This is the exact relationship that allows games like Among Us to be catapulted into stardom, and at the same time allow companies to pay influencers to shill their product to much greater success than traditional forms of advertising. It is a dangerous ouroboros of parasocializing and mass market manipulating. But it cannot be denied that it has resulted in some amazing gaming experiences for those who cannot trawl through the wasteland of the internet for hidden gems.
Lethal Company, Undertale and Stardew Valley are prime examples of indie games that rocketed to the heights of financial and cultural success. Lethal Company was developed by a single developer using the game engine Unity. It is developer, Zeekerss, who previously developed games on the game creation platform, Roblox and eventually transferred to Unity when the limitations of the platform became too much. Lethal Company did not have a game design document — a common document in game development which provides a high-level overview of what the game will be like. The game was slowly developed by Zeekerss over several years and was used as proof of skills for their time spent learning Unity. From a humble test project to international success, Lethal Company will exist in the minds of those who played it for years to come, and most assuredly will inspire many a nostalgic storytelling and spontaneous play session. Lethal Company is not alone in its notoriety. Undertale and Stardew Valley share an almost identical story, or at the very least a similar success story. Spontaneous, international success, followed by a firm seating in the Hall of Nostalgia for a time gone by.
Every game die... except for the original Doom. It seemswherever a screen can exist, people will endeavour to run Doom on it, no matterhow illogical it to see it. A strong and hearty shout-out to Twitter User"Foome" who managed to run the entire game of doom off the screen ofa pregnancy test. My congratulations to you and yours.
In all seriousness, every medium dies at some point. Every movie will eventually stop being watched, every book will eventually stop being read, and every game will eventually slip out of the consciousness of gamers, never to be played again. The quality of these media is directly correlated to the amount of time it will take to be forgotten. Even if Call of Duty #54 releases, its predecessors will be long forgotten in the minds of those who played them. However, in rare cases, the feeling of certain mechanics, or the memories shared through the lens of Call of Duty between friends, will be remembered forever as long as there are people to remember them. However, those original games will no longer be played, whether that is due to changing tastes or technological limitations. Even if the name Call of Duty persists, the memory of what it once was will be forgotten.
The games that are remembered for a long time are not the fifth game of a series, nor a sequel or prequel. The games that are remembered for a long time are games that had enjoyable mechanics and facilitated enjoyable and fun experiences. They are not the games; they did the same thing as their predecessors and attempted to nickel and dime their players. They are games like Among Us, Lethal Company and Stardew Valley, as well as Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 (the original). They have amazing mechanics and facilitate the experiences that make gamers enjoy them. Among Us ruined friendships in the funniest ways possible by pitting friends against friends with cartoon gore. Lethal Company was a terrifying, cel-shaded experience with spatially affected proximity-based voice chat that muted your friends’ distant screams. And Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 had some of the best maps and guns for one-v-one, snipers only, quickscope only, duelling of the 21st Century. These games are memorable because they focused on the fun of the experience first and dealt with the how and why later. The passion required to make these games still exists in the games industry, but due to the nature of a profitable industry, those who have the money to facilitate these games also seek to damage the experience by monetising it. The irony of which is that in most cases, they must monetise these games to the most immoral level because it costs so much to make from the start. For the indie games, however, the cost is the time it takes to make them and people who must compromise of their own future, sanity and mental health to risk making a game they cannot know will succeed. No genuine success story is without genuine compromise.
So, when a game that we love, can no longer entertain us in the manner it has before, it begins its death. There will be no organic resurgence of interest in that game. It will sit as a memory in our minds and will die a peaceful death. It is only natural for us to long for the nostalgic days of old, when these games existed. But memories are fragile, and they lie for our safety. They do not tell us the whole truth of the experience, because as technology changes, our tastes, and limits change. And if you ask any person who had a game they loved like these games if they have or would play again, they will tell you that they have or will not. The stories of these nostalgia-driven play sessions are stories of confusion, disappointment, and sadness. The controls are clunky, the graphics are bad, and the experience is weaker than you remembered. The games you once played have not changed a bit, and yet they are the not the same time they once were. The reality is that you changed, not the game.
Games in 2025 sit at a crossroads. The greed that spawned from the success of the live service format has hollowed out the experience of playing AAA games. And yet, the light at the end of the tunnel is that once every blue moon, a single person or a single team puts out a game of passion that takes the world by storm, and we get to experience a game of true majesty, before retiring back to our expecting AAA experience. While I do believe that concept stands on its own, the more honest reality is that we never changed. We had "bad" games that we still played when we were younger. We had "great" games that we loved playing when we were younger. And we had animosity towards the quality of games at that time. But we still demanded better. We still voted with our wallets, we still listened to the advice of friends, we still booed the bad and cheered the good, but most importantly, we still wanted better. So, if this essay is to stand for anything, it is this... Nostalgia is a weapon with two handles, one for you and one for them. So never let yourself believe you deserve less.
