All's Faire

This is an idea for a quest that I've had for a long time. I had originally submitted it to a writer at the Quest Generator so that I wouldn't have to write it myself, but it's been almost a year now and the writer still hasn't gotten back to me, so I'm taking matters into my own hands.

Ordinarily, I'd tell you all what the quest is about, but in this case, that would ruin the thrill of the quest. Let's just say that the series deals with a mysterious fair that pops up near Ardougne, and that things aren't quite right with the carnies. Since I'm writing this series as a story, rather than a step-by-step guide, it might take a while for me to get each part up. Hopefully, I should have the prologue up today, but I can't guarantee anything.

I'm intrigued by the obvious spelling mistake in the title.

What! You mean he planned that? I thought he was just an idiot!

Acknowledgement: Many thanks to 3mpty for the tips on Notepad and how it helps the formatting.

Ardougne is, like most cities, reasonably populated. No matter what your fancy, you can probably find at least one person within the walls that has what you need. There’s your usual slue of shopkeepers, selling everything from pots to shields; the many drunks inhabiting the local pub; the men and women who make up the majority of the town; the guards who work so hard to keep crime out of the fair city; and, naturally, there are the vagabonds and layabouts that infest the corners of roads and seem to have nothing better to do than laze on some boxes, drinking, laughing, and making merry.

It was a gang of these vagabonds who thus accosted me whilst I was making my way through the streets of Ardougne. My travels had brought me this way, and I sought to refresh myself with a loaf of fresh bread and perhaps a little trinket to remember the town by (I had thought a cheap jewel, or else a fine pelt might do). On my way to the marketplace, which was conveniently located in the center of town, I passed by a crossroad and was whistled at by a pack of four ne’er-do-wells.

They were the sort who had come into money (whether through their own work or not) and now saw it as their purpose in life to squander this money away in the most irresponsible manner possible. Their clothes were gaudy, their hats absurd, and their manner insolent. They called me over, first insulting my armor, then insulting my hair. I thought it best to entertain their childish wants, lest I never get a moment’s peace while eating my bread.

“What do you want?” I called to them. I did not venture back towards them, lest their request be so utterly foolish I could not help but leave.

“Ah, kind sir,” the leader of them replied. “What we want is a very peculiar thing indeed.”

“Positively strange,” a second one chimed in.

“Yes,” continued the first. “For the first time in our many years on this corner, we have found ourselves with a lack of things to do. We’ve run out of people to pester.”

“Guards to gab at.”

“Men to mock.”

“You see, we’re in a rather pitiable condition.”

I was not impressed by their list of achievements, but felt that it was in my best interest to get them out of my hair as soon as possible. “Very well. What do you want me to do? Give you something fun to do?”

The lead vagabond scoffed and looked at his three companions, each of whom had a nasty smirk on his or her face. “That’s the catch, though, isn’t it?” he replied. “Fun is such a subjective little thing. Your idea of…fun might not be the same as ours.”

The man’s cronies nodded enthusiastically. I couldn’t help but feel that I was being made fun of. “So how in the name of Saradomin could I possibly help you?!” I cried.

“Bert here,” the man said, gesturing to a small, nasty-looking fellow on the back box, “has thought of a good way to make sure that we get something fun to do. Take a walk up to the Flying Horse Inn, up in the northwest, and ask every man in th-”

“And woman,” piped up the lone woman vagabond.

“And woman in there what their favorite thing to do is. Write it all down on something. Charcoal, blood, whatever suits your fancy. Once you’ve got the list, come back to us and we’ll start going through the thing. Even if they’re not all fun, at least it gives us something to do for the rest of the day.”

“And what do I get out of all this?” I asked. “Surely there must be some reason why I’d want to help you.”

The lead vagabond tipped his ridiculous top hat at me and winked. “’Course, guvner. You get to spend the day with us! Now, that list, if you please.”

I didn’t particularly want to help this band of ragamuffins, but I also didn’t want them and their friends mugging me as I tried to leave the city. Besides, spending all day having “fun” couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

The Flying Horse was as disreputable a place as any, obviously containing hidden secrets that would make your blood curdle as soon as hear of them. I wasn’t bothered by that, though. My mission was clear: interrogate the locals and see what was fun. I stopped at the bank on my way, perused through my meager possessions, and found a pathetic lump of charcoal and an old scrap of papyrus to write on. With my materials in hand, I entered the bar.

“’Ello mate!” boomed a drunk sitting at the table by the door. “Buy us a drink, eh?”

I politely shrugged the man off, but thought better of it. Perhaps he would be willing to divulge his fun secrets if a beer loosened his tongue. I bought the man his drink, and he downed it eagerly.

“Thanks, mate. Haven’t had a drink on the house for ages here.”

“Sure. Now, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Eh? Fun? Far as I’m concerned, best thing to do ‘round these parts is make a little moonlight moonshine. Got all the necessaries set up by some bushes ‘round the fields up north. Drop by, eh, and I’ll give ye a pint.”

I thanked the man for his generosity and scribbled down that making bootleg alcohol was a thoroughly enjoyable affair. The barman was my next target, but he refused to tell me anything unless I helped him out behind the bar. He gave me a list of drinks the bar served (some of which were obscure combinations I had never heard of) and told me to serve a few customers while he went to go take care of some errands.

Five or so people came and went before the barman returned, and once he learned of my good work, he informed me that nothing gave him more pleasure than scaling the outside of the windmill north of the city. I thanked the man for his time and continued to gather information from the remaining pub-goers.

After a few minutes of fruitful labor, I had a smudged and stained list of five things that the vagabonds could do: Make bootleg alcohol, scale the outside of the windmill, go fox hunting in the Owl’s Forest (which I had never before heard of), mine for ore (naturally, this had been provided by a dwarf), and fight a ridiculously powerful monster without weapons. With list in hand, I left the pub and went to find the vagabonds who had so eagerly demanded these ideas.

I find pasting it into Notepad first and then onto the forums seems to fix the problem. There's hidden formatting on text that you don't always notice and Notepad doesn't do formatting, so it gets rid of it all. Or... on Microsoft Word and in the themes just click Clear Formatting.

Thanks for the help, 3mpty. Unfortunately, my version of Word doesn't seem to be able to clear formats, and putting the thing on notepad gets rid of all my tabs (which is a pain, since I can't tab over on here). I'll just leave it as is unless it gets really annoying.

But there are no tabs on here... are there?

No, there isn't...and it bothers me.

So why does removing them intentionally bother you if they won't appear anyway.

Because I have to manually go and put five spaces at the start of each paragraph if I want tabs (which I usually do). I'm getting used to it on here, but whenever I write stories and stuff, I'm obsessed with the tabs.