Exploring the Depths of Avowed
Finding my rhythm in Avowed took some time, but the moment I transformed my imperial envoy into a stealth-mage assassin—akin to a ‘Dishonored’ build—the adventure through the Living Lands became truly captivating. The game offers a rich tapestry of distinct biomes, each adorned with dungeons and caves, alongside a plethora of side quests. Engaging with this visually stunning fantasy world from a first-person perspective, with a spellbook in one hand and a sword in the other, has rekindled memories of my explorations in Tamriel throughout the Elder Scrolls series. While Avowed may be simpler and smaller in scale, it serves as a welcome diversion, especially after a 14-year hiatus since the last installment of Elder Scrolls.
As I delve deeper into Avowed, however, I’ve begun to notice some imperfections in its portrayal of a vibrant, living world. These subtle cracks reveal the artifice behind the game, prompting me to appreciate it as a unique entity with its own design quirks, rather than viewing it through the lens of Bethesda’s expansive universe. Yet, this realization has also heightened my awareness of the elements that made the Elder Scrolls worlds feel so alive.
My friend Robin has passionately voiced similar sentiments, particularly regarding the ability to pilfer goods from merchant stalls without any repercussions. This lack of consequence undermines the illusion of a bustling world. Coupled with the rigid animation loops, it creates a peculiar scenario where one can approach an NPC meat vendor, seize all the meat while they are ostensibly curing it, and they will continue their task as if nothing has happened. The inability to provoke NPCs or disrupt their routines leaves them trapped in their roles, devoid of any dynamic interaction.
Interestingly, I encountered a moment where an NPC chastised me for rummaging through her backpack, yet I could persist without facing any consequences. This oddity led me to ponder that if Avowed provided a narrative justification for such petty thefts—perhaps by emphasizing my status as an envoy of the empire tasked with combating the Dreamscourge—it might lend some coherence to the world’s lack of responsiveness. While I don’t advocate for every RPG to adopt a fully dynamic AI system like Oblivion or its spiritual successor, Kingdom Come: Deliverance, a touch of reactivity would significantly enhance the immersion and investment in the game’s narrative.
It’s essential to recognize that Obsidian’s RPGs tend to prioritize story over the emergent gameplay that Bethesda is known for. As a mid-sized studio juggling multiple projects, Obsidian’s approach is understandable. However, this is not groundbreaking territory; even in the 90s, titles like Baldur’s Gate 2 and Planescape: Torment managed to create lively worlds with NPCs that reacted to player actions. More recent titles, such as The Witcher 3, have also implemented basic routines and consequences for player behavior, reinforcing the idea that some level of interactivity is foundational to the RPG genre.
While there is much to appreciate about Avowed, playing it has unexpectedly reignited my nostalgia for Bethesda’s flawed yet magnificent fantasy realms. The humor found in the endless quirks of Skyrim and Oblivion often overshadows their remarkable capacity for immersion. These games rewarded curiosity—often of the criminal variety—with appropriate NPC reactions, and their flexible frameworks accommodated a wide array of character archetypes, from thieves to serial killers.
Perhaps I am influenced by the fact that my formative gaming years spanned from 2002 to 2011—a period marked by the releases of Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim. During this time, reactive RPG worlds were integral to my teenage gaming experience. As I reflect on the absence of such elements 14 years after the last Elder Scrolls game, I find myself yearning for that sense of freedom and consequence that defined those earlier adventures.
