The Humble Indie Bundle is the post-scarcity economist’s wet dream. In the age of effortless copying, it is the most innovative and consumer-friendly approach I’ve yet seen to selling digital content. You pay what you want to, from $0.01 to $10,000 (some gaming philanthropists actually approach the upper extreme). In return, you get a digital package of usually good and sometimes-incredible games from independent studios.

Every summer there is a week or two, usually after the end of internships and before the start of the school year, for which nothing is planned. It is during this time that I inevitably plunge back into binge-gaming, desperately marathoning any Games of the Year I missed out on due to school-time business.

The stealth genre is one that game developers ought to approach with caution. Stealth-centered games are difficult to execute well, and it isn’t difficult to understand why. Any proper stealth game has to balance its genre’s three core gameplay concepts: waiting, sneaking and acting. Getting the equilibrium between the three can be difficult, and it varies from game to game: the Hitman series emphasizes the waiting aspect, and most of one’s time is spent gathering information and artfully setting traps (although one can choose to forego these elements and play instead a mediocre shooter).

I should start with an introduction. Hi, my name’s Noah. I’m the RC of the second floor in Stearns, which, by the way, is a substance-free community. I consume alcohol. My residents know this – I told them on the first day I met them – and they seem to be okay with it. I made them a promise that I would strive to create the community they wanted, and that I would never bring any sort of negative attitude back to their living space. Some of my residents drink, and I expect them to do the same. I still consider myself part of the Stearns community, part of the substance-free community.

Dovahkiin. Dovahkiin. For the past month and a half, this word has been haunting my mind. When I go to class and when I go to sleep it races through my thoughts, and pops into my head at times when it has no right. In my residence hall I see it scrawled on dry-erase boards and bathroom mirrors. And on the calendar in my common room under November 11, there it is written: Dovahkiin. Dovahkiin.