The Tale of Woefarer II: An excerpt

His feet, then knees 
sank into the loam 
as if he or it were 
made of mist. With 
a barbarian shout, 
he sprang antlers 
from his forehead 
and grappled, clung, climbed 
his way out of the trap. "Nothing 
will delay my quest!" he stormed, 
his face aping the thundercloud pout 
of a toddler. His enemies, since 
there had never been many 
of them (he had never
been any good at 
making enemies) fled. 
He strode forth, his 
resolve as fluid and coursing 
as ever. There before him, 
he stopped. The object 
of his quest. What the hell
was it? "This better not 
be one of those quests 
where you have to go 
on another quest to find 
out the secret of the thing
you got the quest 

before," he warned. 

Thus warned, he set about 
figuring out how to pick 
this thing up and transport it 
back to the quest-giver. She 

would know.
She was wise. "Damn it!"
she cried. "What the hell
is that?" "Uh," he explained,
lamely. "The object

of the quest?" 

No.