Biggfella 728

Hear ye, hear ye, gather 'round ye varlets and knaves, for I shall sing a tale of woe and folly, a ballad of a game called "Overwatch"! A pox upon its very name, for it doth be a concoction most vile, a jester's mockery of knightly deeds and true combat! Firstly, mark the heroes it doth exalt! Forget thy swords and lances, thy shields and steeds, for these "champions" fight with contraptions of smoke and steel, flinging bolts of fire and ice like sorcerers gone mad! A knight clad in plate and mail they call "Reinhardt," yet he wields a hammer fashioned from a blacksmith's nightmare, as loud as a dragon's bellow and unwieldy as a drunken troll. And a maiden fair named "Tracer," swifter than a fleeing goblin, blinks through time like a cursed fool, leaving confusion and chaos in her wake! The battlefields, those fair lands once graced by jousts and noble charges, are now stained with neon glow and holographic banners. Villages of thatched roofs are replaced by glittering monstrosities of glass and steel, fit only for dragons to hoard their ill-gotten treasures. And what of the objectives, ye ask? Forget ye the glory of capturing a keep or rescuing a damsel, for these merry warriors squabble over payloads of metal and fight to escort carts laden with… naught but baubles and trinkets! A plague upon their "ultimates," I say! With a press of a button, these knaves unleash powers akin to dark magic, summoning meteors from the sky and warping the very fabric of reality! A pox upon their teamwork, too, for instead of forming lines of steel and charging to the heart of the fray, they huddle like frightened sheep, peppering the enemy with bolts from afar! Nay, this "Overwatch" be no game for true warriors! It is a pox upon chivalry, a mockery of valor, and a blight upon the fair land of gaming! Let us cast it into the fiery pits of forgotten fads, and yearn for the days of true heroes and noble battles! So say I, and so say we all!