A missive appeared upon my desk-top. A message? Perchance a video of kittens frolicking with machetes? Mayhap a jest unlike any I have ever read? Nay, a dire summons it was, for my liege lord did request my presence!
To my feet I leapt, scattering the crumbs of my lunch about like the hordes of naughty-dom before a mighty charge! I rounded the cubicle and found a gaggle of persons before me. They dispersed at my thundering approach with many a high-pitched shriek more befitting the mouths of girl-children than the lungs of stalwart men.
As I entered the great stretch of land that bordered the Isle of Writers, a co-worker I did pass.
“Hey, Jason?” he said, a hand raised as if with a question or perchance in a high-five, yet I paid him no mind and gathered myself for the last stretch.
At last I was there, at the cubicle of my lord, whom I called ‘boss.’
“You summoned me, o signer of paystubs?”
“Uh, yeah. I need you to go talk to Bruce about getting the collection objective finalized.”
“A quest!” I said. “A summons to battle! Never fear, for I shall complete this task ‘ere the sun doth set!”
“No,” my boss did say. “Just talk to him. Don’t threaten him with a drubbing or behead his action-figures. Just ask him about the objective.”
“But I have heard tell of the prowess of this Bruce. Surely, a clash is nigh!”
“No,” he did say again. “It’s not a quest or a labor or an epic adventure. It’s just talking. Just talk to him.”
“Huh?’ I did say.
“Just- oh fine.” My liege did motion me in close. “’Tis a mission,” he said. “A mission most secret.”
“Aye,” I did answer.
“Find Bruce the . . . uh . . . Coder and talk with him about the collection objective. Return with his answers to me. But,” he said, holding up a hand. “Offer no violence, for Bruce is timid and will not speak if threatened.”
“A mission!” I said. “Have no fear, this task will be done!” I paused. “Yet, where may I find this Bruce?”
“He’s over by Stan.” My boss did sigh at my blank look. “If you venture towards the Land of Kitchen, but swerve east at the Pit of the ummm Bathroom, you will find him nearest the window.”
“I will ride forth without delay!” I said, turning to go.
“Great,” I heard my boss to utter, as my quest began.
Later: Part II
Showing posts with label quest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label quest. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Monday, June 30, 2008
Pet the Wolves!
If you happen to read my blog with any regularity (and I apologize if you do), you may remember that a couple months ago, I announced I had grown tired of WoW and was going to stop playing.
Well, I’m back.
Basically, I was bored and needed something to play. FreeCell, as much as I love it, was not doing it for me. So, I dusted off my Blood Elf Paladin and hit the road with a vengeance. Well, as much vengeance as a Protection Pally can (Fights take forever, as I don’t do much damage, but on the plus side, I’m nigh unkillable).
So, in my travels through the lands of Azeroth, I came upon a wounded Tauren warrior who asked me to aid him. I obviously said ‘yes,’ as I’m a virtuous paladin (and I needed the xp). He then spun a tale about diseased wolves and asked me to murder a bunch of them in order to ‘help’ them.
Which brings me to the subject of the blog: Why is it that whenever ‘nature is out of balance’ or ‘the wildlife is stricken with some disease’ the answer is to slaughter double-digits worth of animals?
“The animals of this region have been infected with a terrible disease! Please, oh mighty adventurer, help us heal the land!”
“Of course! Would you like me to deliver medicine, inoculate some of the animals, or even hunt down those responsible?”
“Ummmm, no. Just go kill 20 Limping Wolves, 10 Suspicious Badgers, 7 Myopic Snakes, and 27 Enraged Meerkats.”
“. . . . why?”
“’Cause I asked you too?”
“But will that actually solve the problem?”
“Well, no.”
“Are you even a Druid?”
“I took a correspondence course. Plus, I really, really hate animals.”
I realize that ‘kill X of Y’ is an easy quest and it works wonderfully in terms of an MMO. However, I would really like to see a quest where I got to be nice to the wildlife (as vicious as it is). I want a quest where I need to deliver picnic baskets to bears or ‘Pet 20 Wolves’ rather than just maiming and killing them all the time. It would, at least, be a nice change of pace.
Granted, in return I’d like them to stop attacking me all the time, but there you go.
Cheers,
-Jason
Well, I’m back.
Basically, I was bored and needed something to play. FreeCell, as much as I love it, was not doing it for me. So, I dusted off my Blood Elf Paladin and hit the road with a vengeance. Well, as much vengeance as a Protection Pally can (Fights take forever, as I don’t do much damage, but on the plus side, I’m nigh unkillable).
So, in my travels through the lands of Azeroth, I came upon a wounded Tauren warrior who asked me to aid him. I obviously said ‘yes,’ as I’m a virtuous paladin (and I needed the xp). He then spun a tale about diseased wolves and asked me to murder a bunch of them in order to ‘help’ them.
Which brings me to the subject of the blog: Why is it that whenever ‘nature is out of balance’ or ‘the wildlife is stricken with some disease’ the answer is to slaughter double-digits worth of animals?
“The animals of this region have been infected with a terrible disease! Please, oh mighty adventurer, help us heal the land!”
“Of course! Would you like me to deliver medicine, inoculate some of the animals, or even hunt down those responsible?”
“Ummmm, no. Just go kill 20 Limping Wolves, 10 Suspicious Badgers, 7 Myopic Snakes, and 27 Enraged Meerkats.”
“. . . . why?”
“’Cause I asked you too?”
“But will that actually solve the problem?”
“Well, no.”
“Are you even a Druid?”
“I took a correspondence course. Plus, I really, really hate animals.”
I realize that ‘kill X of Y’ is an easy quest and it works wonderfully in terms of an MMO. However, I would really like to see a quest where I got to be nice to the wildlife (as vicious as it is). I want a quest where I need to deliver picnic baskets to bears or ‘Pet 20 Wolves’ rather than just maiming and killing them all the time. It would, at least, be a nice change of pace.
Granted, in return I’d like them to stop attacking me all the time, but there you go.
Cheers,
-Jason
Friday, March 21, 2008
A Quest: Part 2
I moved to stand beside a tall man with dark hair. “Hail and well met, fellow adventurer!” I cried (yet not too loudly). “What noble quest brings you to these hallowed halls?”
He made no answer, becoming suddenly engrossed in a pamphlet. Likewise, the woman to my right began texting vigorously, her thumbs darting like short, fat snakes. Strangely enough, it seemed that all the patrons of the DMV near me became quickly consumed in their own matters, leaving me to wait in silence.
At long last, the numbers upon the wall matched mine own and I marched proudly to the open window, my paperwork in hand.
“Greetings, aged crone!” I called out.
“What?” replied the person behind the window, whose nametag read ‘Bruce.’
“It is no import, person of indeterminate gender! I have ventured forth from the lands of Redmond at behest of the most noble DMV to register my pickup!”
“Right. Do you have the paperwork?”
“Absolutely! Allow me to-“
“Just hand it over.”
I do so, though the tone of this ‘Bruce’ leaves much to be desired. Bruce commences to input the necessary data, his or her fingers dancing like drunken, wrinkled elves upon the keys.
“What’s the make of your vehicle?”
“Why, it was forged in the Unending Fire by the master smiths of Great Nippon!“
Bruce gazed evenly at me for a moment, a brow arched to suggest either a deep understanding of my words or to subtly suggest he knew not of what I quoth.
“I don’t have an ‘Unending Fire’ option,” he finally said.
“Most strange! I would have thought that all lands were known in the great halls of the DMV!” I made a sweeping gesture, which narrowly missed hitting a small woman of Asian descent at the window nearest mine own.
Bruce did rub his or her eyes. “Perhaps you could tell me the name of the smith who forged your pickup?”
“Of course!” After a brief consultation with my paperwork, which bore many strange and foreign words, I found the name I sought. “Toyota” I answered proudly. “A name most befitting a truck of such stature!”
“$63, please.”
My checkbook I did open, to reveal a check which bore a picture of kittens sporting merrily with a ball of string. Upon this I scrawled the required amount, which I slid to Bruce of Indeterminate Gender. More arcane devilry happened behind the window, as Bruce’s fingers flitted upon the keys. At long last, a machine unlike any I had beheld did spit forth a piece of paper, which Bruce slid to me.
“There you go, sir. You’re registration is updated.”
I held the paper up to the light, so that I could better behold the runes inscribed upon it. “Truly, a most portent spell must be inscribed upon this parchment! How, pray tell, would one such as I gain access to the magic it holds?”
Bruce did sigh, a mighty sigh that did fog the window betwixt us. “Put it in your glove compartment. It’s your proof of registration if you get pulled over.”
“Verily, a most potent enchantment indeed!” I bowed. “Many thanks, Bruce of the DMV! May you one day learn in which restroom you belong!”
Bruce did smile. “Please go.”
“To work!” I cried and leapt for the door. Outside, a cool breeze blew across my countenance and I felt suddenly renewed, rejuvenated, refreshed and other words beginning with ‘R.’ I realized I had finished the Quest and gained valuable experience.
“Ding!” I shouted, before dashing towards my most noble pickup and whatever new adventures awaited.
Cheers,
-Jason
He made no answer, becoming suddenly engrossed in a pamphlet. Likewise, the woman to my right began texting vigorously, her thumbs darting like short, fat snakes. Strangely enough, it seemed that all the patrons of the DMV near me became quickly consumed in their own matters, leaving me to wait in silence.
At long last, the numbers upon the wall matched mine own and I marched proudly to the open window, my paperwork in hand.
“Greetings, aged crone!” I called out.
“What?” replied the person behind the window, whose nametag read ‘Bruce.’
“It is no import, person of indeterminate gender! I have ventured forth from the lands of Redmond at behest of the most noble DMV to register my pickup!”
“Right. Do you have the paperwork?”
“Absolutely! Allow me to-“
“Just hand it over.”
I do so, though the tone of this ‘Bruce’ leaves much to be desired. Bruce commences to input the necessary data, his or her fingers dancing like drunken, wrinkled elves upon the keys.
“What’s the make of your vehicle?”
“Why, it was forged in the Unending Fire by the master smiths of Great Nippon!“
Bruce gazed evenly at me for a moment, a brow arched to suggest either a deep understanding of my words or to subtly suggest he knew not of what I quoth.
“I don’t have an ‘Unending Fire’ option,” he finally said.
“Most strange! I would have thought that all lands were known in the great halls of the DMV!” I made a sweeping gesture, which narrowly missed hitting a small woman of Asian descent at the window nearest mine own.
Bruce did rub his or her eyes. “Perhaps you could tell me the name of the smith who forged your pickup?”
“Of course!” After a brief consultation with my paperwork, which bore many strange and foreign words, I found the name I sought. “Toyota” I answered proudly. “A name most befitting a truck of such stature!”
“$63, please.”
My checkbook I did open, to reveal a check which bore a picture of kittens sporting merrily with a ball of string. Upon this I scrawled the required amount, which I slid to Bruce of Indeterminate Gender. More arcane devilry happened behind the window, as Bruce’s fingers flitted upon the keys. At long last, a machine unlike any I had beheld did spit forth a piece of paper, which Bruce slid to me.
“There you go, sir. You’re registration is updated.”
I held the paper up to the light, so that I could better behold the runes inscribed upon it. “Truly, a most portent spell must be inscribed upon this parchment! How, pray tell, would one such as I gain access to the magic it holds?”
Bruce did sigh, a mighty sigh that did fog the window betwixt us. “Put it in your glove compartment. It’s your proof of registration if you get pulled over.”
“Verily, a most potent enchantment indeed!” I bowed. “Many thanks, Bruce of the DMV! May you one day learn in which restroom you belong!”
Bruce did smile. “Please go.”
“To work!” I cried and leapt for the door. Outside, a cool breeze blew across my countenance and I felt suddenly renewed, rejuvenated, refreshed and other words beginning with ‘R.’ I realized I had finished the Quest and gained valuable experience.
“Ding!” I shouted, before dashing towards my most noble pickup and whatever new adventures awaited.
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
A Quest: Part 1
‘Twas but a fortnight ago that unto me a quest did come. It appeared as if by magic in a box, of which only I possessed the key. Upon gazing upon the sealed envelope, my heart did soar, for I knew adventure awaited inside.
Upon opening the envelope, I did find a missive addressed to me from a place called the DMV. Registration was required, lest my vehicle, a noble pickup of few dents and possessing a good radio, be declared remiss in the eyes of the law.
“Huzzah!” I shouted, startling the portly gentleman to my left, as he himself gazed upon his letters. “At last,” quoth I. “A quest worthy of one such as myself!” The gentleman edged away, yet I pretended not to notice.
“Huzzah!” I shouted again, noticing the Value Pac of coupons. “Dungbutter!” came next, as I opened my bill of credit, yet that is another story.
To my supervisor I did fly the next day, with news of my quest. “Steve!” I did cry. “To the DMV I must go!”
“Please stop shouting,” he replied. “Fine, just shoot me an email.”
“Verily! It shall be in your inbox in mere moments!”
An email was drafted, nay, forged, and sent forthwith to Steve the Managerial, so that he knew well my plan. And then I was off, descending by elevator into the very bowels of the parking garage where my pickup did wait, gleaming primer-gray in the darkness.
The engine sparked to life with the turning of the One True Key. Four cylinders whined in unison, like a gang of children begging for sweets, and I was off. Many miles were driven, many gears shifted, many songs sung off-key. At long last, I arrived at the DMV and maneuvered my truck betwixt the lines of parking, and then securing my paperwork, exited with a joyous cry.
Across the lot I bounded, upon the sidewalk I leapt, past the mailbox I galumphed, and found myself before the DMV. “Catnuts!” escaped my lips, for inside the fortress waited a veritable throng of fellow adventurers, each clutching a numbered slip of paper.
I entered, reminding myself to speak softly in this most sacred temple of bureaucracy, lest I offend the gods that dwelt there. I secured for myself a square of paper, upon which was inscribed one-hundred-and-three in bold red letters. The eldritch display upon the wall read merely fifty-eight, so I steeled myself for a long wait, yet knew the rewards for such a lengthy quest would be great.
Return later, as the adventure will continue anon!
Upon opening the envelope, I did find a missive addressed to me from a place called the DMV. Registration was required, lest my vehicle, a noble pickup of few dents and possessing a good radio, be declared remiss in the eyes of the law.
“Huzzah!” I shouted, startling the portly gentleman to my left, as he himself gazed upon his letters. “At last,” quoth I. “A quest worthy of one such as myself!” The gentleman edged away, yet I pretended not to notice.
“Huzzah!” I shouted again, noticing the Value Pac of coupons. “Dungbutter!” came next, as I opened my bill of credit, yet that is another story.
To my supervisor I did fly the next day, with news of my quest. “Steve!” I did cry. “To the DMV I must go!”
“Please stop shouting,” he replied. “Fine, just shoot me an email.”
“Verily! It shall be in your inbox in mere moments!”
An email was drafted, nay, forged, and sent forthwith to Steve the Managerial, so that he knew well my plan. And then I was off, descending by elevator into the very bowels of the parking garage where my pickup did wait, gleaming primer-gray in the darkness.
The engine sparked to life with the turning of the One True Key. Four cylinders whined in unison, like a gang of children begging for sweets, and I was off. Many miles were driven, many gears shifted, many songs sung off-key. At long last, I arrived at the DMV and maneuvered my truck betwixt the lines of parking, and then securing my paperwork, exited with a joyous cry.
Across the lot I bounded, upon the sidewalk I leapt, past the mailbox I galumphed, and found myself before the DMV. “Catnuts!” escaped my lips, for inside the fortress waited a veritable throng of fellow adventurers, each clutching a numbered slip of paper.
I entered, reminding myself to speak softly in this most sacred temple of bureaucracy, lest I offend the gods that dwelt there. I secured for myself a square of paper, upon which was inscribed one-hundred-and-three in bold red letters. The eldritch display upon the wall read merely fifty-eight, so I steeled myself for a long wait, yet knew the rewards for such a lengthy quest would be great.
Return later, as the adventure will continue anon!
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