Conquering Avowed’s Most Toxic 360 No-Scopes: Just Another Sunday for Me

As the chaos swirls ever wider, players find themselves at the center of a gaming storm. Amidst the noise, the team leaders barely hear one another, drowned out by the unmistakable voice of a party leader yelling at maximum volume, crumbs of Doritos and droplets of Mountain Dew sprayed with every mocking jibe: “That’s what your mom said last night, get wrecked!”

In the game’s frenzied battlefield, the shrieks of injured Xaurips mix with an Aedyran soldier’s taunts, unleashing a fury reminiscent of the peak madness of Xbox Live days. The player spins and fires without pause, showing no sign of aiming. By the end of this session, they’re exhausted—knees shaky, arms tired, and armor that would be slick with imaginary mom’s spaghetti, were it not for their practiced resilience against such dizzying feats.

Despite the chaos, they just can’t walk away. There’s treasure calling their name, celebratory dances to perform, and, above all else, fallen foes to humiliate. Back at camp, they meticulously enhance their faithful arquebus, dreaming of one day decking it out with the most ostentatious skin imaginable. They muse on the absurd journey that brought them here: a path intentionally paved with mischief, traveling with companions who likely don’t share their enthusiasm for bowing to the whims of garish deities of Competitive Gaming.

It all started with buying a high-quality arquebus from a weapons dealer in Fior Mes Ivèrno. As they admired it, it reminded them of a Barrett 50 Cal, the prime choice for taking out opponents in the most obnoxious way possible. It offered the perfect balance of intimidation and style, even if their face was obscured by an impractical hunk of enchanted timber.

While dealing with foes like Captain Tago in Avowed, our player scoffed at being underestimated due to their choice of avatar—a small woman with bold purple hair, far removed from the typical muscle-bound hero. Initially, mastering Avowed was an uphill task, demanding quick thinking and careful positioning to outmaneuver enemies while successfully wielding the arquebus, timing each reload with precision to avoid costly errors.

Countless defeats taught them hard lessons, often relying on allies to save the day. Yet, the shame lay not in the displeasure of their philosophical deity, but in their lackluster kill-to-death ratio. Determined not to be a fool blaming lag, they watched their K/D ratio ruthlessly mocking their progress. Their aspirations were undeterred, even if they needed more time to sharpen their skills.

Determinedly channeling the spirit of the Faze Clan, they refused to surrender. With each drawn-out battle, as encounters stretched for over ten minutes, their aim improved, and hit markers began appearing more frequently. Each successful shot added to the tally, bringing a thrill akin to breaking through a mold, the grime of a gamer’s bedroom stripped away as they found their groove.

Eventually, confidence blooming, they decided to chase bounties with flair. In true RPG style following Obsidian’s legacy, they opted for a wild approach—mimicking New Vegas and setting out with enough supplies to conquer a bear named Old Nuna. With air horns ready to deafen, they ventured into its ancient hiding place, accompanied by an eccentric playlist blending Eminem classics with Minecraft parodies.

Seizing the moment, they embraced their chance, never faltering (oh), with just one shot not intended to be wasted. Entering the lair, sporeling blood on their gear, they consumed food and drink in preparation before unleashing a reckless barrage that could summon even Danny DeVito’s attention. Each shot rang out with laser-focused satisfaction. Old Nuna tumbled first—its sheer size making it an easier mark—eliciting an uproarious cheer that reverberated beyond the game: “Mom, get the camera!” The subsequent battle with sentient mushrooms was won amidst triumphant chants.

Their return to Fior was marked by an outrageous spectacle: setting off air horns in a chaotic, buoyant reinterpretation of a Rick Astley tune. They claimed their bounty, only to facetiously request an endless supply of loot boxes from the baffled bounty master.

In a parting jeer, they leaned in close, mockingly pretending to hit record, and sharply quipped: “Right, I’ll tell you what, Valian. You don’t sound Aedyran. Go Fior yourself and slink back to whatever dank hole you hailed from!” As they departed, delighting in the shock of the gathered crowd, they felt the confident swell of a player coming into their own.

Transformation was coming. The nascent era of the Avowed 360 no-scope player was dawning—a destined revelation. With mischief woven into their being, they swaggered towards Thirdborn, as if charged by an energy drink-fueled epiphany.

Inquisitor Lödwyn had just made the mistake of picking the wrong neighborhood to challenge.