The chaos was unraveling, swirling wider and wider. One follower couldn’t catch what the other was saying, all because the group’s leader couldn’t help but bellow out amidst sips of Mountain Dew and munches of Doritos, delivering a tasteless joke and shouting for a virtual takedown.
Nearby, the Xaurips roared in a mix of pain and anger. Meanwhile, an Aedyran envoy retaliated with a kind of fervor that hearkened back to the heyday of Xbox Live, spraying shots wildly without even pausing to aim. By the end of the skirmish, they were exhausted, their armor weathered yet spared from any mishaps—thanks to an unexpected knack for enduring vertigo.
Yet stopping wasn’t an option. The thrill of the fight was irresistible, with loot to seize, victory moves to flaunt, and a ritualistic end involving fallen foes. At the camp, they tweaked yet another enhancement onto their favored arquebus, envisioning a day when its exterior would be emblazoned with the most garish custom design imaginable. They mused over the unlikely journey that had taken them to this unapologetically obnoxious play style, complete with companions who probably despised them and unfathomable devotion to the wild gods of mainstream gaming culture.
It had all begun when they snagged a top-tier arquebus from the weapons dealer in Fior Mes Ivèrno. It caught their eye resembling the powerful Barrett 50 Cal—a masterpiece for unleashing chaos in the most outrageous way possible against foes who mocked their appearance, largely hidden by a blocky wooden mask.
“I’ll show you what this can do,” they whispered, intrigued by the weapon’s potential, despite being a slender figured woman with vibrant hair—the polar opposite of the generic beefed-up characters often seen. The early days in Avowed were challenging, full of learning curves. They soon grasped the importance of keeping distance from tough melee opponents, realizing that timing was crucial since their arquebus took slightly longer to reload than one of their spins, prompting them to adjust their pace and avoid unnecessary spins.
Defeat came often. They leaned heavily on their comrades to rescue them from sticky situations and felt the disdain of a deity whose lectures on philosophy echoed in their mind. Yet, they paid no heed to that. It was the abysmal K/D ratio that stung. Even amidst these trials, hope lingered, refusing to fade, their resolve as unyielding as ever.
Channeling the energy of seasoned gaming clans, they persevered. Gradually, their prowess improved—even during marathon encounters lasting over ten minutes, their hits became more consistent, marked by the occasional red skull indicator when a headshot landed, hinting at a budding mastery. Relying on raw determination and teenage bedroom nostalgia, they were turning into a force to be reckoned with—a trailblazing shooting comet breaking the mould.
Soon, they were ready. Tackling bounties with audacious 360 no-scopes became their new endeavor. Choosing a fitting opponent was effortless; after all, this was an Obsidian RPG. So, they opted for a bold quest reminiscent of New Vegas—taking mind-enhancing substances to face a fearsome beast. Named Old Nuna, their adversary lurked within an ancient grotto. Energized by an eclectic playlist blending Eminem’s classics with iconic Minecraft parodies, they set forth, air horns in tow.
The moment was theirs. They wouldn’t let it slip away, determined not to squander their opportunity. Inside the cave, smeared with sporeling battle scars, they consumed every item within reach and launched into action with wild abandon. It was chaos, a whirlwind of bangs and turns, echoing across echoes of hot lead dancer, powdered with Cheeto dust and unyielding revenge. Sure, some shots went awry, but the important ones hit home.
Old Nuna, easily the largest target, fell first thanks to sheer size more than anything. “Oh my God! Someone get this on camera!” they yelped, as virtual fedora-topped avatars winked and dissipated in a celebratory display of hit markers and enigmatic symbols. Then, they cleared up the tougher yet elusive sentient fungi, concluding with a triumphant victory jig synced to the Thomas the Tank Engine theme song.
Upon returning to Fior, animancers stared, not least because they orchestrated a tune from fifty odd air horns—it was a disgraceful remix of Rick Astley’s hit. Seeking a bounty reward, they cheekily inquired about trading it for endless loot boxes, only to be denied.
Leaning close to the bounty master, they mimicked hitting “record” and mockingly sneered, “You tedious little Valian. You don’t have the Aedyran accent down, so scram. Get back to whatever corner of obscurity you crawled from!” Then, they strode away, reveling in the aghast reactions of the crowds. It was irrelevant. The path was set—a future poised with ever more adversity and bettered skills awaited.
A revelation was anticipated. The noir of Avowed’s expert marksmanship twirled into view.
A formidable presence, having finally arrived, slouched forward, clutching an energy drink-drenched understanding.
Inquisitor Lödwyn had ventured into unfriendly territory.
