posted
Here's a little bit of fluff inspired by an evening's playing of EQ and Cool Hand Luke. Hope you'll enjoy. This was part of something I did for my character's epic quest early on and it struck me with how ridiculous some things can be, and how they can move to the sublime.
Muffins for Pandor
The hobbit's worst fears were confirmed as he climbed the stairs of Hog Caller's Inn in search of Pandor, a dwarf that would set things right with the followers of Tunare for you. All it would take to get in good with those fine folks was muffins, all the muffins a druid could carry. Hobney's mentor and long-time friend, Halbern, had explained this little trick of fate to him, this way to set things straight with the powers that be, before setting out on a quest of epic proportions. Down the dimly lit hall, Hobney spied something that could barely be called a dwarf anymore. Four feet tall and closing in on 600 pounds, Pandor reeked of baked goods, powdered sugar dusted his tunic front and crumbs crusted his once proud beard. The sight almost put the tiny halfling off his second lunch, but a job was a job. Timidly, the hobbit walked down the hall, still not sure of what he was doing. Then the lone dwarf croaked out words from a parched mouth, "Muffffffinsssss.... more muffinssss..." Halbern had been here and the cupcake wrappers littering the floor were proof enough of the previous night's work. "I brought you more muffins, Pandor," Hobney whispered. "Hurry my child, bring me the dozen, before my hunger returns. Bring me the muffins!" "You'll put in a good word for me, a word with the children of Tunare?" Hobney asked as he sidled up beside the man. "Yes, just give me the baked goods!" And with that, the ordeal began. The dwarf had expected a dozen muffins at the most, the price for his influence was not high, but he'd never been fed by a hobbit before. Hobney had purchased as to his own appetite and then tripled it to be sure. His thoughts had turned to how much ale dwarves drank and how much bread it would take to soak up that veritable pond of alcohol. Chocolate muffins, blueberry ones, too, there were even cranberry and cornmuffins, poppyseed and the dreaded bran. A dozen dozen in all, and Hobney would learn as to why that number was called a gross. "We can do this man," Hobney said as he pulled the paper cup from the first muffin. "They've got money riding on this downstairs. No one thinks that you can eat them all. The gold will flow if you can win. They said that no man could eat this many muffins." "Aye, but I'm not a man, I'm a dwarf. By Brell I shall eat all the muffins!," Pandor bellowed, loud enough to be heard downstairs. Chocolate came first and they went well, the gluttonous dwarf stuffing them in his mouth as fast as his stubby, sticky fingers would allow. Next came cranberry. Hobney had planned it so the tartness of the cranberries would be highlighted by the sweet taste of the previous chocolate ones; the dwarf never noticed as he tore through these. Blueberry followed and the dwarf began to falter. "Milk, I must have milk," the dwarf pleaded, but to no avail. There simply wasn't time. "When we're finished, my little beardling, you can have all the milk you want, just keep eating... a bet hangs in the balance," Hobney whispered, unwrapping another of the muffins. "Eat, eat, my mighty friend!" The crowd from the tavern downstairs had come up to watch the ordeal or to guard their bets against unfair munching by both the dwarf and the hobbit. A noble high elf lady watched with fading indifference. A halfling cutpurse paused in her work to spy the proceedings, perhaps to nick a bit of snack if things did not work out. Three humans watched intently, vowing to serve on a missionary mission in Thurgadin if such a mighty feat could be accomplished. "Brell's bells, boy, you've brought baked goods beyond belief! I'll never finish them all," the dwarf cried in exasperation. Hobney motioned for one of the crowd to come forward and hold the box of muffins for the dwarf to choose from. Standing the dwarf up, the hobbit kneeled and began massaging the dwarf's mighty stomach, in the hopes that the motions would resettle the doughy muffin mass. It worked, for a time, and ten, twenty more muffins went down the stoneworker's gullet. Then, suddenly, it wasn't enough. Hobney rose and threw the dwarf's arm over his shoulder. "Walk with me as you eat," Hobney said, stuffing another muffin past the greasy beard and into the dwarf's mouth. The two trudged up and down the dim hallway, the dwarf consuming muffins and coughing up crumbs as the crowd began to cheer. Finally, the crate of muffins began to empty, the ordeal was coming to a close, but the dwarf began to falter again, stumbling in the mire of muffin crumbs and wrappers that littered the floor. "Downstairs, now!" Hobney cried. "Clear a trestle table and help me lay him on it!" The crowd rushed downstairs and a table was cleared. With help from a mighty warrior, the dwarf was laid out on the table, flat on his back, face to the cieling. Pandor's breath was labored, his skin was gray. He was at the end of his rope and it was obvious that here, just ten muffins shy, he wasn't going to make it. "Folks, what we have here is a failure to communicate," Hobney said as he looked around. "You need to let him know that you're with him, that you are riding this muffin train alongside him. Let him hear the love!" With that, the crowd (which now included folks and guards from outside) roared their approval. They were losing their money, but they were involved in an undertaking far beyond anything they had quested for in their short lives. Tales would be told of this night, songs sung, and possible muffins would be eaten in remembrance each year on this selfsame day. The dwarf nodded to the hobbit, he was ready, he would do what had to be done. He would bear up to the burden in the manner of his people's heros, he would soldier on. Hobney stuffed another muffin in the dwarf's mouth and then another. Strength faded fast from the dwarf and the halfling began to use his hands to work the dwarf's jaws. Ignoring the grease and crumbs, he reached under the mighty beard and helped the dwarf to work his jaws. "I'll work, you just swallow," the hobbit whispered into the dwarf's almost deaf ear. The gurgles and pops coming from the dwarf's midsection were audible, his girth had swelled to the point where it had sprung from underneath his belt. The mound of the dwarf's stomach was high, proud and quivering slightly. Hobney noticed, looking down the length of the dwarf's body that he could no longer see his friend's feet. It would probably be a while before Pandor could see them as well. A bet's a bet, and a quest is a quest, but this had gone beyond that to something more, something nearly religious. Somewhere in another plane of existence, Bristlebane and Brell were laughing and wagering among themselves, heavenly beer flowed and mortals struggled to achieve the impossible. Curious, Hobney reached down and thumped the dwarf's protruding belly. The sound, the same as made by a ripe watermelon, echoed dully through the tavern room. The halfling was now certain that the bet would be lost. Reaching into the crate, though, Hobney could not find another muffin. Not a blueberry, not a poppyseed, not even a jumjum muffin remained. Tears welled up in the small fellow's eyes, matching those of his new boon companion. "We did it, we did it," he whispered into the dwarf's ear. The dwarf's first reply was a low, rumble, a burp working its way up from below, and it was obvious that it had a long trip before it reached the surface. "Aye lad, that we did. Come back with more muffins in a month, just a couple of muffins for old time's sake." The crowd roared in excitement and the payoffs were rampant, the dwarf's supine body was showered with pieces of silver and gold. Beers were ordered all around and the dwarf remained on the table, wracked by misery and exaltation. Hobney took the moment to sneak out of the tavern and continue on his longer mission. A patron had followed him out and grabbed the small fellow's dark blue sleeve. "Pardon me, sir. Do ye think it's right to leave Pandor like that? How will he survive the night with such a weight of muffins in him?" "Bah, worry not, for I, sir, always save the bran for last!" And with that, Hobney opened up a gate and headed for Thurgadin to tell the tales of a dwarf who kept his cool and suffered through adversity, as well as to grab a light bite to eat, perhaps salad. For once, Hobney had no appetite for goods from the baker's oven.
posted
Are you talking about the Neriak Red Wine quest?
There's just something cool about being able to stroll through the dark elf city without fear as a High Elf. (without any illusions)
Posts: 7085 | Registered: Apr 2001
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posted
It's a faction quest for the followers of Tunare - not sure the details.
My first day of property class we read a case about a two people who claimed a fox pelt. Perosn A had roused the fox and was chasing it when Person B shot it and took the carcass.
The point of the case from a legal perspective is how owenrship arises. The first thing I thought when I read the facts was, hey, Person A agroed that fox. That's KSing!
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Basically, there are two different sets of druids in EQ, one set for the in-game diety Karana of the Storms and one set for Tunare, the nature mom.
To do the druid epic quest, you have to have a terrific faction with the Tunare druids. Easy if you start as a Tunare druid, but troublesome for the Karana ones. The groups aren't in opposition, just different races.
To improve your faction with groups, you can do quests and stuff and one of the easiest found was a beginner's quest in one of the starting cities. You just have to buy (or bake) muffins and take them to this little dwarf and give them to him. It's my guess that he eats them rather than stashes them away in a muffin vault somewhere, hence the story. Each muffin given bumps your faction up a wee lil bit. So, being the overachiever I am, I decided to fill up every inventory slot I had with stacks (20) of muffins and just turn them into him as fast as I could (four at a time).
As it went on and on, I got hit with how sublimely ridiculous it would be to see the dwarf choking down muffin after muffin while a wee hobbit kept force feeding him. I actually had to get up midway through the ordeal and go outside to laugh my fool head off. The story just flowed from there...
Posts: 2848 | Registered: Feb 2003
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posted
Lol! Dag, but couldn't the first one have ninja-looted it back?
Train party B! That'll teach him!
( I don't condone KSing, ninja-looting, farm hoggin', train makings or Dark Elf strip shows for plat... okay mebbe the strip shows now and then...)
Posts: 2848 | Registered: Feb 2003
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posted
It's very funny. I like stories about the absurdities in the game. There's a particularly good one about how shocked a Paladin is about camping the Frenzy in LGuk.
posted
Ahh, Hobs is a Karana druid and basically, the snooty Tunare followers (flighty wood elves) wouldn't give him the time of the day to start the danged epic quest until he did something to make them take notice of him. The epic quest gets you a pretty decent weapon with great in-game graphics (it's a scimitar that has little ethereal green maple leaves constantly flowing out from it... you leave a trail of floating leaves behind you when you run.)
By the way, I've heard that Pandor is doing well now and has fully integrated the Atkins Diet Plan.
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posted
If I can find it somewhere, I've got the story of Hobney joining the YMCA at the request of his wife, if you'd like to give it a read. Everquest laps over into real life and a hobbit tries to get into shape...
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posted
My Story There is a farm that lies between the Wizard Spires and the Druidic Circle in Northern Karanas. This is just a warning. The friendly farmers that dwell within are not as innocent as they appear. They are not quite evil, in an Iskaran or Dark Erudian way. They are, well, they are just mean. They are cruel and mean and wrong. Mostly they are wrong. Or, maybe, I am. I'll let you decide.
I was part of a group of daring adventures who traveled to the Karanas in search of monsters to slay. We quickly slew an oversized beetle, the size of a small elephant. Little did we realize that not all beetles are the same. The Scythe Beetle we picked on next was a much more deadly creature. It was more sociable, and invited several of his friends to dance with us in our blood party. By the time we finished with that battle we were greatly wounded and sorely in need of rest. Sir Render, our valiant Paladin spotted the farm mentioned previously. We limped our way to it.
We burst into the farm like the brave gang of adventurers we were. Monan the Barbarian was our loudest and quickest to enter. "Beer for the heroes! Now!" he ordered.
The farm folk looked up from their evening meal, neither surprised nor appreciative of our valiant efforts. There were eight of them, a grandfatherly old man, his daughter and her husband, and five children between the crib and marriageable ages. The grandfather just grunted loudly. "Close the door fool, your letting the bugs in."
Sir Render, our druid Flora Flowers, and I had already entered. Embarrassed, Vole, the gnomish rogue closed the door as he was bringing up the rear. Sir Render doesn't understand embarrassment. "You dare to challenge us. We have spent our blood in defending your lives from the plague of monsterous beetles that threaten you."
"Goblin droppings!" grunted the grandfather. The children at the table laughed. Even the father of the family struggled to hold back a snort. Only the mother looked ashamed at what the older man had said.
"What are you daring to laugh at?" demanded Sir Render, his face reddening slightly.
"Forgive my elderly father," began the mother. Visibly aware of our weapons and our destructive abilities, she tried to bring peace back into her home. She stood and seemed to invite us to her table as she spoke. "He has lived here long before the plagues that have descended upon us. He is set in his ways, and I fear after facing the scourges of Karanas all his life, fears little from humane and good adventures like yourselves."
"Don't be making excuses for me girl. These fools trampled the south field with their stupid heroics."
"I killed that beetle in your garden, little man." Yelled Monan. Actually, that is the only way Monan speaks. "Thanks to me there be one less beasty in the world. Who cares if I stepped on your weeds?" Once again, Monan forgot that the rest of our group helped kill that monster, and helped trample that field.
By now the old man had left his comfortable spot at the table, to limp his way up to the towering barbarian. Raising his cane, he poked on Monan's chest as he replied. "Those weeds you trampled were sprouting Barley plants."
"So what! I don't eat plants."
"Yeah," interjected Vole from the shadows, causing trouble as usual. "But boy do you drink them."
"I only drink Ale, Beer, and good clear water, when nothing better is around."
"And what, you big brainless boob, makes the ale you guzzle?"
"You can't confuse me. I make ale. I am brewer." He said proudly. He took our silence not as our shock of his lack of brains, but as our disbelief that he could actually brew. "I mix water and Hops, and uh Barley."
"And where does the barley come from when you make the ale," asked the mother of the family.
"Merchants." He said knowingly. Everyone paused at that one too,
"And where do you think the merchants get it from?" asked Vole, fighting hard to contain his laughter.
After a moment of confused silence from Monan, the old man started poking again, "They get it from us farmers, beetle brains. Every time you crush a barley plant, that's one less ale in the world."
I have never seen Monan scared before, but there was no mistaking the pale look, and trembling voice as he turned to Flora. "Is this true? Have I been ruining good baby ale?" Flora just nodded her head while trying to cover her face. Sometimes groups are not good to be associated with.
Suddenly Monan turned to the old man and dropped to his knees. "I swear, wise one, never shall my feet touch a growing field again. Nor will I allow my battles to endanger the sacred brew making plants so faithfully tendered by loyal folks as yourself."
A smile crossed the grandfatherly face. "Perhaps you should go out and guard the fields, and the baby ale." Monan was outside before the others could stop him.
Then again, none of us in the group much cared for Monan, unless there was something big trying to kill us.
"We apologize for damages done to your fields, but we were only trying to stem the flow of evil, and maintain order. Perhaps we saved the lives of you or your grandchildren by disposing of that beetle." Offered Flora.
"Look my daughter, another fool." Said the old man.
Flora blushed. "What do you mean?"
"Just like a Druid, to preach about the tenderness we should feel for dumb animals and such. Then you go and kill perfectly good beetles."
"The are giant beetles, an abomination to the natural order."
"They are not to blame for how they was born. So some priest crafted them. Kill the priest, but you don't have to hunt down the beetles. They fertilize my fields better than any cow I've had. They don't bite, unless you hit them first. My children are safer with them in the fields, then with wolves or bears or lions. Worst of all, the Griff-kin love to dine on beetles. They'll pass up my youngens to fill up on a fair sized beetle. Kill all the beetles and you move me and mine up on their menu. All you did was take a nice moving manure maker or Griffon fodder, and trample my field with it. Don't be expecting any thanks from me or mine."
"A balance must be maintained. Natures orders must not be thwarted by magical intervention." Flora began, rattling off litany and dogma.
"Yes dear," said the clan mother, as she went on about her business of placing food on the table. Only Vole had managed to work his way to the table, and he helped himself to a bowl of warm stew. The father of this family was the only one to notice, since it was his bowl that had been misappropriated.
Flora stomped her foot. "I am serious. Natural order must be maintained or else the whole world is lost."
"Order!" demanded the father, reclaiming his bowl. "Order? This is the natural order. The big giants will starve if they do not eat. They prefer to eat big things, like Griffins. If there are no Griffins, they will settle for us. Griffins are large. They want big things to eat, like giant beetles. If none are left, they will settle for us. The beetles are special creatures, harmless unless provoked or starved. What do they eat, to get their special glow? The eat wisps."
"That is the order of nature," responded Flora. "The large dine on the smaller. You cannot change that without effecting the balance of everything."
"Then why in blazes do you stuck up Druids put a bounty on the heads of the wisps?" asked the grandfather.
"What?" asked Flora.
"They are talking about Myrrella at the Gypsy camp." Responded Vole, between bites of bread. "Kill a wisp and you might get a Greater Light Stone. Give it to Myrrella and she gives you a druidic tome, which any fool can trade in for cash."
"Well, she's a gypsy."
"A Gypsy druid." Responded the mother. "She set up some kind of test for would be druids, and all she's managed to do is draw in every creepy adventurer on the continent to kill off innocent wisps, anger and starve the placid beetles, and upset the Griffs. She has totally ruined the balanced system here in the Karanas, and as far as I can tell, your druidic order approves."
Now I had heard of this gypsy, and had made a platinum or two in the light-stone trade. It never occurred to me that it was damaging the ecological balance of the area, but then again I'm only ½ elven. Flora was a full wood elf. She should have known, should have sensed the imbalance instead of helping promote it. "The druidic council would never condone…." Then she realized the truth. "but they have…" tears slipped from her eyes.
Sir Render, who had a thing for Flora, went to her side, but she pushed him away. "No, I must meditate on this." Immediately she ran out of the house and disappeared into the night.
The knight watched the love of his weekend disappear into the night. Angered, he turned on the farm family. "Have you no shame!" he demanded. "Have you no sense of right and wrong?"
"What have we done wrong? We only told the truth." Responded the mother. I noticed she had picked up a rather long knitting needle, and held it better than I held my sword.
"How many of you fool adventurers have any shame?" asked the grandfather. "I spent several years working on a harness for those giant beetles. If I could harness one, why we could farm this whole plain. It took every copper I had to build it, and more time collecting the leather than I can spare again. What were the results? The first night I captured and collared a beetle, some wonderful honorable idiot of an adventurer not only killed the beetle, but ruined my irreplaceable harness as well."
"I know that not all adventurers are honorable, "
"True. I greatly admire the ones who fight off the goblins, gnolls, and orcs that threaten my home. They risk their lives for a reason. They don't go running over my fields, looking for easy kills and easy money."
"He's right, you know," mentioned Vole, between mouthfuls of stew taken from one child's bowl. The child's older brother noticed, and gave him a swift kick in the furred shin. "All of us adventurers are simple scoundrels looking for a fast copper."
"You dare imply that I have no honor!" bellowed Sir Render. I noticed that Father Farmer had picked up the carving knife, and was holding it with due skill. Mother had her knitting needles out. Grandfather still swung his cane around. Even the eldest children were picking up their toys, a hoe and a sling, and began playing with them in an overtly non-aggressive way.
"These are but good simple people, my friend" I burst in, hoping to avoid the fight. This was most important since I doubted we could win. "They would never dream of questioning a knight's honor."
"Certainly not," added the mother. "But if in our humble innocence, we've shown you the error of your ways…."
By now Sir Render had gone from angry red to that wonderful purple one sees on cloudless evenings, when the moon is full and the sun is just setting.
"Peasants!" Render spat, as he tried to think of some argument.
"Better a hard working peasant than an ill mannered pretender to knighthood." Responded the grandfather.
"I…I….Aaahh…." screamed Sir Render, hitting a note that I thought only elvish soprano's could reach. He bellowed like a drunken dwarf, then regained his composer. "I do not need to stand here and be insulted!"
"Good. We didn't invite you in here in the first place." Responded the grandfather. As Sir Render turned to leave, the grandfather added. "Entering our home uninvited and unannounced, talk about ill mannered louts." The slamming of the farmer's door could be heard throughout the Karanas.
At this point I became the center of attention. Vole was lost in the shadows somewhere. As they stared I realized I was wounded, out numbered, and possibly out classed by this simple peasant family. I did what any bard would do. I smiled my most winning grin.
"Well?" asked the grandfather.
"Um" I responded wittily.
"Father," said the mother, coming to my rescue. "Let the bard alone. At least he can sing for his supper."
"I would be most happy to amuse and entertain your family over this evenings meal. Why I have memorized the greatest songs and most wonderous tales…"
"All right, the fool can stay. At least he admits being a fool. But here this music man, no songs of stupid adventures or troublesome adventurers. I won't be having you fill my grandchildren's heads with useless tales. I won't be having any stupid adventurers in my family"
I gulped. "Of course not. The love story of …."
"And no love stories!" added the father. "I don't want any love stories. My eldest girl is at that impressionable age. I don't want her pining away for some ninny like your armored accomplice because he winks at her. And if she were to ever run off with one of those fools, yours would be the second neck I'd ring, right after the boys."
I saw the cute young girl at the table look around nervously. Then I stood there, the chair awaiting me, my audience rapt with attention, and armed. All I had to do was sing a song that had no adventurers, no love, nothing bawdy either for this family. My list of songs is extensive, but what song doesn't fall in those categories? I did what any bard in my position would do. I shouted "Hill Giant at the Barn" pointed west, and ran out the door to the east.
I waited a few minutes for Vole to be ejected. When he didn't leave the house I got worried. Braving this dangerously insane farm family, I snuck up to the window of the farmhouse. I expected to hear Vole being thrown out of the house. Instead I heard him laughing.
"Too the end of the worst plague in the Karranas" he proposed. "Not the sickness, or the Griff-kin, or the beetles, but the worst of them all. Here's to the end of the plague of adventurers."
The whole family cheered.
"Now, tell me more of this beetle harness. I believe there may be more than a few easy coppers in that for all of us."
I left then. Vole was as beaten by those strange farmers as the rest of us. What do I mean by beaten? We all lost our occupations of choice. Monan gave up adventuring to take up a Hops farm and microbrewery in Halas. Flora renounced her druidic vows and has started the SCGA (Society for the Protection of Glowing Animals). Sir Render was so upset when he stormed out of the farm, he never saw the Griffon descending on him until it ripped his head off of his shoulders. And I have been overwhelmed by a frantic case of performance anxiety whenever I've tried to play for an audience that might contain farmers. I know its sounds silly, but I can't help but fear that whatever selection I choose will be innappriate. Then they will turn on me with their large, sharp, farming implements.
I almost forgot Vole. He gave up his carefree days of theft and stealth to go into business. He went into partnership with those farmers to make harnesses and carts. You've no doubt heard of his company, the Vole's Wagon Company. I know you've heard about the creatures that pull them, the classic Vole's Wagon Beetle.
And now you see what I was referring to at the start. Making you endure this entire story for that one bad pun, was just plain mean and cruel and wrong.
Posts: 11895 | Registered: Apr 2002
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posted
From well before the mudflation that came with Kunark... Back when lvl 50 was the highest level... When an SMR or duel Yaks were status symbols comes this story of the King Room in Live Side Guk...
The Ballad of the Fourteen Froggies by Blinkle LilStar (The Pixiest)
In from the tower the 14 frogs flew, and not just them but their little dogs too, Marbus nearly fell on the pull 'cross the land, we knew on arrival he'd used his lay hand, It was the only way he could have the power, to pull to the king from distant live tower, The party looked frightened... fretful and worried, as if we'd too soon be dead and buried, How can we survive this terrible crime? The enchanter said calmly, One at a Time.
The battle was fierce and the froggies were strong, were it not for swift Gormith we'd not have lasted long, Kalysta's pet helped us survive, I swear by itself it slew more than five, Selina selected which ones to burn down, with one mighty shot, they'd fall to the ground, Weena's swords danced as she sang mystic lyrics, Restoring our mana as health is by clerics, And Marbus lept into battle like a man insane, after healing from pulling this terrible train.
In the middle of the fight our clarity ran out, our mana was fading, our health.. not so stout, Near death and in panic Weena ran for the zone, but Gormith's quick heal showed she wasn't alone, The throne was a grave yard, the bodies defaced it, And the corpse of the priest had that cheap little bracelet, The battle was ending, the frogs had not won, All that was left was a zol... and a yun. Beaten and bleeding we finished them, then Marbus said, "Med! I'm pulling again!"
posted
*grins* great stories. Reminds me of turning in 754325406436 bone chips for Cabilis faction.
I would post the story of that quest, but it's really really long. Digging through my list of EQ writing to see if I can't find something appropriate. .
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