Morrowind, however, remains the least constrained of the two. Plot-dependent characters can’t be killed in Oblivion; in Morrowind, the quest line can be broken – a small text box alerts you to the fact – and you’re still free to remain an adventurer. Towns aren’t separated from the outside world by a loading screen. Aspects that could never be held up as sleek game design are nonetheless powerful: character dialogue – apart from passer-by soundbites – is never spoken, instead metered out via rich clumps of text, and conversation strands are far more profuse than those of Oblivion.
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The reward is that, within the bounds marked out, you’re truly free to roam, to muddle, to amble, to be lured from the path of one quest by another, to play out a great number of bespoke adventures that may only ever exist in your head; your trawl of a given dungeon will be your own story, and no one else’s. Even exploration is an experience in itself, and isn’t about hoovering secret tokens or soaking up completion percentages.

The island of Morrowind that exists on the disc can be threadbare and tenuous, but be undeniable and persistent in your mind. Also, even on Xbox, it’s a game that throws up snapshots of austere, worldly beauty, where sunrise and landscape conspire against any shortcomings to provide a memorable montage; again, these moments feel personal in a way few other adventures can match.