Round and round in the expanding whirlpool, the chaos of the game sweeps us away.
One gamer can’t hear their fellow gamer over the commotion. That’s because the team leader is yelling through their drink-stained lips, spouting, “That’s what your mom said last night, get shrekt!”
Amidst this virtual battlefield, growls of the Xaurips resonate as an Aedyran envoy hurls insults of a variety heard only in the golden days of Xbox Live. They’re spinning, shooting, never pausing to adjust their aim. By the time the battle wanes, they’re exhausted, with arms like lead, nearly coated in their equivalent of mom’s spaghetti from the Living Lands, had they not braced themselves against such madness-driven vertigo.
Yet, stopping isn’t an option. The allure of loot, victory dances, and the ever-vulgar teabagging keeps them going. Back at their base of operations, they fine-tune their beloved arquebus, fantasizing about the day it will be adorned with the most garish custom designs imaginable. They reflect on their journey here – a quest marked by a playstyle engineered for maximum obnoxiousness, with allies who probably despise them, worshipping the gods of all things extreme.
Memories drift back to when they first laid eyes on an exceptional arquebus being sold by a merchant in Fior Mes Ivèrno. As they lovingly caressed it, they marveled at its resemblance to a Barrett 50 Cal—a perfect hybrid of blunderbuss and sniper rifle to leave adversaries in disbelief as bullets ripped through them, even as onlookers mocked the chunk of enchanted wood obscuring much of their face.
“I’ll show them what this wood can do,” they muttered. Even as a diminutive woman with vibrant purple hair rejected the cliché of playing as a typical macho hero. In those early days of Avowed, they faced numerous challenges, learning quickly that striking the right distance from melee attackers while frequently turning away from foes is crucial. They even figured out how to pace their arcane spins to sync with the lengthy reload time, often just a fraction shorter than the time it took to complete a single pirouette, saving precious seconds.
Yes, they died often. Relied heavily on their companions’ aid. Felt the burning disapproval of a deity that frequently derailed their thoughts with talks of higher meanings. No matter. All these measured poorly against their desperately failing kill-to-death ratio. Defeats were suffered without excuses like lag to blame. But hope persisted, as did their determination, unfazed by not initially being the best in the digital realm.
Drawing inspiration from the notorious Faze Clan, persistence became their mantra, slowly but surely honing their skills. Battles stretched on for ages but soon, those missed shots turned to decisive blows, with headshots firing up that tantalizing sound of a hitmarker, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of unkempt teenage rooms. They were breaking the molde, shooting stars in their own galaxy.
With confidence finally found, they decided to take on bounty hunting with style. In this world crafted by Obsidian, they chose to embrace a classic New Vegas approach—to partake in self-enhancing brews and slay mighty creatures like Old Nuna, a legendary bear. Armed to the teeth, they marched off blasting a wild combo of Eminem’s top tracks and nostalgic Minecraft song parodies to amp up their actions.
This was a moment they wouldn’t let slip away like those fleeting chances in life. As they entered the bear’s cave, brushing off blood as mere debris, they consumed every edible morsel and drink stashed away for such an occasion, launching into reckless firing so chaotic that it would give Danny DeVito pause. They executed a daring dance of explosive violence, flinging lead with the precision of a master dancer on a mission.
Old Nuna was taken down first—less from skill, more from it being an easy target—eliciting screams of triumph about capturing the moment on camera. Head there, they turned their attention to mushroom foes, now mere nuisances to be swept away. Celebrations commenced with their triumphant ritual, synchronized to Thomas the Tank Engine’s merry tune.
Returning to Fior with a victorious swagger, they basked in the attention of animancers and thrilled crowds. They demanded recognition and reward, cheekily requesting loot box treasure as compensation. But the bounty master denied such indulgence.
Undeterred, they leaned secretly, miming dramatic precision, to hurl audacious insults over feigned grievances, reveling in the shock of onlookers. It didn’t matter. Their path was laid out. Strength would build from here.
An awakening of sorts looms, heralding the rise of incredible skills and mischievous flair among the Avowed’s finest. Energized by mountain dew and sheer willpower, they move forward, as impressionable as any rebel who ever posted in the wrong territory.
