As I stepped into the vibrant world of Avowed in 2025, the Living Lands unfolded before me like a forgotten tapestry woven with secrets and treasures. The air hummed with ancient magic, and my inventory quickly swelled with an eclectic mix of items—each whispering tales of battles past. But it wasn't long before I realized that true adventure demanded more than just exploration; it required savvy coin management. 🏰 Every expedition began and ended at the bustling merchant stalls, where I learned that selling the right items could turn clutter into fortune. Holding onto unwanted gear felt like hoarding dead leaves in a storm—pointless and burdensome—so I embraced the art of the sell, transforming my pack into a well-oiled machine of efficiency. It all started in Paradis, where I met my first vendor, a wily fellow with eyes sharp as obsidian shards, and from there, my journey to wealth began.

One of my earliest lessons was that not every weapon deserved a place in my arsenal. In Avowed, character builds are as flexible as molten glass, allowing me to morph from a spell-slinging mage to a sword-wielding warrior on a whim. I settled into a dual loadout: a trusty sword and grimoire for quick skirmishes, and a massive greatsword for brute force. That left bows, pistols, and daggers gathering dust—orphans in a crowded armory, unwanted and unneeded. Selling these off wasn't just practical; it was liberating. Each sale freed up space and earned me Skeyts for essentials like potions or that next unique item I'd been eyeing. For instance:

• Weapons to Sell: Bows, pistols, daggers (if not in your build)

• Why: They don't fit dual loadouts and can't be upgraded easily.

• Profit: Turned into funds for better gear or consumables.

This approach felt like shedding an old skin—uncomfortable at first, but ultimately refreshing.

Next, I discovered gems and other loot items—pure 'money with extra steps' as the inventory screen labels them. These glittering trinkets, scattered in chests or on tables, were as abundant as forgotten stars in a dusty attic. I'd scoop them up during quests, but they served no purpose in crafting or enchantment. Selling them immediately became my go-to move. At the next merchant stall, I'd unload them for a flat rate, using the Skeyts to stock up on travel essentials or save for rare finds. Here's a quick comparison of loot items to prioritize:

Item Type	Where Found	Sell Value	Why Sell
Gems	Chests, tables	High	No use in crafting
Common trinkets	Ambient loot	Medium	Only for money
Food scraps	Scattered areas	Low	Better consumed

This habit turned every dungeon crawl into a treasure hunt, where even the smallest gem could fund my next big purchase.

Armor was another goldmine for sales. As I delved deeper into the Living Lands, I experimented with heavy, medium, and light variants. Heavy armor offered solid defense but felt like wearing a mountain—clunky and restrictive of my essence resource. Light armor, though flimsy, granted bonus effects and freedom, so I stuck with that. Any armor that didn't suit my build was dead weight. Selling it off cleared my inventory and padded my purse. I remember finding a set of heavy plate mail after a tough fight; it was impressive but useless to me. Off it went to a merchant, and the Skeyts funded a potion stash that saved my life later. 🛡️

Clothing followed a similar path. Unlike armor, it couldn't be upgraded, and its effects were subtle. I once held onto a pair of suave boots just for their looks, but transmogrification meant I could keep the style without the item. Selling excess clothing was like pruning overgrown vines—necessary for growth. Some enchanted pieces fetched decent prices, so I'd bundle them up and trade at vendors. This strategy kept my inventory lean and my funds flush.

Finally, I learned to maximize profits by upgrading unwanted gear before selling. Basic equipment had low value, but enhancing it with common materials—like those I didn't need for my main weapons—boosted its worth. It wasn't a massive jump, but it was smarter than selling raw materials separately. For example, I'd pour extra iron or leather into a spare dagger, turning it from scrap to a modestly valuable item. Selling it felt like polishing a diamond—a small effort for a brighter payoff. This approach funded my quest for unique weapons, making me feel like a true master of the market. 💰

Through all this, I realized that Avowed's economy mirrored life itself: sometimes, letting go brings the greatest rewards. By focusing on sales, I transformed from a hoarder to a wealthy adventurer, ready to conquer the Living Lands with a lighter pack and a heavier coin purse. The journey continues, but now, every step is paved with smart choices and golden opportunities.

As detailed in Polygon, the evolving strategies for inventory management and item sales in RPGs like Avowed reflect a broader trend in modern game design, where player agency and economic decision-making are increasingly emphasized to enhance both immersion and replayability.