Avowed's dialogue can feel more like a tabletop RPG than Baldur's Gate 3's, but in a totally different way

It's my latest RPG fixation, but when I first started Avowed, I had a dialogue-shaped bone to pick with it. Exploring the Living Lands as a Noble Scion, dutifully loyal to her master and country, I enjoy selecting my background-specific dialogue options whenever there's a chance to throw my weight around to intimidate lesser countrymen – Inquisitor Lödwyn and her snooty soldiers of the Steel Garrote included. But the seemingly pointless skill-based dialogue selections baffled me as soon as I realized that, well, they didn't seem to do much.

It confused me to no end. As a wizard, largely stat-dumping all my points into essence-boosting Intellect and Constitution for added health, I never seem to "fail" a dialogue in a meaningful way by not choosing a skilled reply. It led me to question the mechanical purpose of attributes in conversation: if skills can't give you a higher chance of success in conversation, why have them there at all? But 18 hours into the game, I've finally realized that attributed dialogue is just part of the role playing fantasy – and it's a lot more D&D than I'd taken it for.

Breaking the surface

It took me some time to learn how Avowed's dialogue and skills systems overlap – or rather, how they don't. Unlike in Baldur's Gate 3, where simply having proficiency in a given skill gives you the upper hand in succeeding a dice check in conversation, Avowed requires a given amount of attribute points to even attempt a skilled response. However, when I discovered that skill doesn't net you more or less out of the proceedings, I flippantly decided to just stop using them.

The annoyance started the first time my Avowed protagonist communicated with The Voice in her head. Immediately, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I know I spend most of my time waxing lyrical about Baldur's Gate 3, but with both The Emperor and Cyberpunk 2077's Johnny Silverhand getting cozy in my cerebral cortex this past year, I'm growing weary of the RPG brain-buddy trend. However, when the Envoy experienced a flashback to the time of the Godless, a glimpse into a past life, it changed everything.

With each reply to The Voice's curious, prying questions, I was laying my own foundations. Yes, I was a leader once upon a time, but what sort of person was I? How did I treat my followers? What legacy did I wish to leave? And how did they mourn my passing – if at all? It felt like I was creating a D&D character, only backwards – I was essentially choosing my background midway through a campaign. I was already some eight to 10 real-time hours into Avowed by the time this flashback happened, and to be honest, the game still hadn't quite gripped me. I had no real attachment to my Envoy, no clue nor care as to what her life was like pre-Aedyran influence shaping her into the polite yet intemperate mage initiate I knew her to be. It dawned on me that I hadn't been playing as the Envoy, but through her.

It was somehow a revelation that my Avowed character was not some two-dimensional heroine with mushrooms on her head. Answering The Voice's questions painted a picture of my Envoy's background, but that was hard when I hadn't even considered one for her at all. Which is probably why, until that point, I'd struggled to connect with her.

Lesson learned

Just like that, a switch flipped in my brain. It was a cognizant choice; I simply altered my perspective of the game and how it wanted me to play it. All I had to do was accept a simple, honest truth about how Avowed's dialogue truly works: skilled responses aren't there to add winning conditions, but to add depth to your own story. Rather than imbuing this character with imaginary traits, I could forge them for myself. Rather than view dialogue choices as means to various ends, they could be narrative opportunities. I've carried this intention with me into the twilight of Avowed's second act, being more daring and passionate with my role playing choices than ever before.

I gravely misjudged everything Avowed was trying to be – and I'm incredibly sorry for it. RPGs are not a monolith, though after playing so many, I forgive myself for forgetting that. As a creature of habit who loves to replay the same games over and over, it's all too easy to fall into a pattern of comfortable expectation, accidentally blurring the boundaries between one game. Challenging those expectations is rarely as easy as falling for them – I had no idea what to make of Cyberpunk at first, but after breaking my bad habits, I grew to love it.

The same has happened for Avowed. Decisions are equally as important here as they are in all the best RPGs, but unlike some I've played more recently, I don't feel as policed by my dialogue choices. Instead of worrying what the outcome of my words might be, I can lean into my character wholeheartedly and take some time to really role play in a role playing game. It's something I rarely think about unless I'm playing a tabletop RPG, but that space to breathe life into your character in a way that's meaningful to no one but you alone is an incredibly important one – and honestly, maybe Obsidian has ruined other RPGs for me. For a short while, at least.

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