Quest for Glory: The Fanfic

I needed another project to take my mind off the failure that was Reaver Saga. Then I realized I hadn’t done a QFG fic in a LONG time, and that I never did any games besides the fourth. Hence, a fic about the first.

Since QFG is not the most well-known series out there, I doubt many will read this, but here goes.

Quest for Glory: The Fanfic
Part 1: No Experience Required
By d_Galloway

Prologue: The Curse

A long time ago, in a world called Gloriana, there was a land known as Spielburg. It was indeed a beautiful land, a valley nestled between towering, snow-covered peaks. Although the only pass into the valley was often covered in the winter, and the land had occasional monster problems, the people were nonetheless happy and content with their lives.

Control of Spielburg was given to the local Baron. At the time of this tale, the Baron was Stefan von Spielburg, a kind ruler who helped the land by clearing the monsters, guarding the pass, and helping keep the local brigands under control. He had two children: a teenaged son named Barnard, and a young daughter named Elsa. The Baron was happy, and thus was the land.

In one day, that all changed…

A small squad of knights approached the fog-covered mountainside, the vegetation around them rotting as they drew closer. The captain raised his hand, and the soldiers stopped.

“Have you heard of this witch?” whispered one of the knights. “They say she’s an ogress!”

“I heard she turns men into frogs,” whispered another. “And not only that…she eats them!”

“Sometimes she doesn’t even transform them! She just eats them whole!”

“I hear her hut is alive, and crushes men she doesn’t think are worth eating!”

Finally the captian motioned forward. “I will have no more of that chatter! She is a mere witch, nothing more. She must be driven from the land!” The knights reluctantly followed the captain, until they reached a ledge on the far end of the mountain. A crooked wooden fence, constructed entirely from wooden stakes, human skulls, and pieces of flesh, stood in front of a straw hut, apparantly resting on giant chicken feet. Near the fence, outside the hut, stood a hunched creature, barely resembling anything female, its purple skin covered in warts and boils, its eyes slanted and misshapen, its fingers long and bony. It was hunched over a large cauldron, stirring its steaming contents with a large bone.

The captain dismounted his horse, slowly approaching the creature. He reached into his pockets and removed a scroll, bearing the Seal of Spielburg. The captian’s eyes remained locked on the monstrosity as he unfurled the document and started reading. “Baba Yaga! By the authority of Baron Stefan von Spielburg, you are hereby banished from Spielburg forever!”

Baba Yaga didn’t even lift her head. “Tell your Baron I have no intention of leaving! I rather like it here!”

The soldiers started to back their mounts, as the captain, enraged by the lack of respect given to him by the ogress, grabbed a rock and threw it at the cauldron. The projectile slammed into the liquid, splashing its contents about. Baba Yaga stopped, and slowly turned to the soldiers, the sky darkening as she turned. The horses reared up, dropped their riders, and raced away from the scene as quickly as possible. The captain realized he had made a terrible mistake…

“My Mandrake Mousse!” cursed Baba Yaga. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to FIND a mandrake?!” The captain just stood there, frozen in terror. “First that Baron tries to steal my home, and NOW he ruins my lunch! HE SHALL PAY!”

The eight-year-old Elsa von Spielburg sat on one of the courtyard bench, watching the strapping fencing instructer and her older brother train. Her eyes were planted on the teacher, analyzing his every movement, his every pose, his every strike. Her brother, meanwhile, was barely able to remain standing, his scrawny body unable to match the physique of the instructer. Finally, Barnard fell, gasping for air.

“That is enough for today,” said the instructer. “I would recommend you start practicing, your majesty.”

Barnard climbed to his feet, humiliation etched across his face. “I will do whatever I want, you…peasant!” He grabbed his sword and marched off, enraged at his defeat.

The instructer turned to the smiling girl. “My lady, what are you doing here? You should be inside with your father!”

“But it’s so BORING!” said Elsa. “I really want to be with you!”

“…I know what you want, Elsa,” said the sword master. “You want me to teach you.” Elsa nodded excitedly. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I cannot do this. It is not a woman’s place to fight!” Elsa hung her head sadly, as the instructer went on with how a woman should just marry and have children; preferably boys.

The gatekeeper, Karl, marched on the battlements above the castle gates, paying only slight attention to the ground in front of him. Suddenly, he saw a guard captain standing at the gate, his eyes half-closed, his body pale, his face twisted.

Karl cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hold on! I’ll open the gate!” He pulled a nearby lever, and the portcullis lifted itself, allowing the captain to slowly stumble inside. The instructer grabbed the captain’s shoulder, and started to mention a missed lesson, but was thrown aside with a single swipe. Elsa raced to the downed swordsman, helping him raise his upper body back up. The guards at the castle front door tried to stop him, but the captain bashed their heads together in one quick motion, and smashed the doors open.

The magnificent throne room, filled with suits of armor, stained-glass windows, finely-masoned stone walls, red carpet, and gold-trimmed throne, fell silent as the captain entered. Stefan von Spielburg, a handsome young man with a finely-trimmed moustache and finely-tuned body, rose to his feet, the guards surrounding their leader.

The captain stopped moving when he was only fifteen feet away from the Baron. He pointed a finger to the stunned Baron and spoke, in a voice that was far from human. "You, who have tried to drive me from this land! You shall pay for your insolence!

“Thrice I curse thee,
Thrice shall I pain thee.
First, thou shalt lose your most precious love,
Next, thou shalt lose your most pathetic lug.
Last, thou shalt come to see
That this land shall wither and seeth!”

The captain started laughing at his horribly-bad poetry, as if he was possessed. Suddenly, his body started to turn black, armor and all, and slowly poured out onto the ground. Soon, he had completely melted into a black pool on the ground, leaving only frightened and confused men.

(to be continued)

I’ve never played QFG, but I’d really like to. Still, I’ll check this out anyway. :slight_smile:

Is it avalible as free/abandonware anywheres?

Unfortunately, Sierra (or Viviendi, as they are called now) are complete bitches about abandonware, and shut down any sites giving either their games or their copy protection away (fortunately, only QFG4 used copy protection). I had to download the games using Kazaa (my QFG Anthology disc is shot to hell). In other words, sorry.

Ah well…perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to find a copy of said anthology somewhere.

Plus, I think the team what did the Adventure Game Studio remakes of the first two King’s Quest games are working on one of QFG2. Which would be nice. (Don’t have a link offhand, sorry.)

Okay, I need to select a class for the main character. So, if anyone is reading, choose:

  1. Fighter (can use the broadsword and shield, can wear chainmail armor, do more damage in combat, clumsy oafs, cannot use magic)

  2. Wizard (uses daggers and spells, can attack from a distance with magic, cannot commit serious physical activity)

  3. Thief (can throw daggers and break into houses, can sneak and pick locks, cannot fight very well, cannot use magic)

Normally, I would say thief, for obvious reasons, but I have played the QFGs myself, and I know later the game is slanted more toward fighters later.

So, if you are only doing the first game, thief. If all the games, fighter.

Hmm… Fighter for Paladin possibility…

But I so much prefer Wizard puzzles.

Wizard. And make way with the puns.

WAIT WAIT, what about the absolutely hilarious ways to die!?

My vote goes to wizard.

Chapter 1: Graduation


On the eastern side of the Spielburgian mountains sat the village of Willowsby. Although noticibly smaller than most of its surrounding settlements, Willowsby was nonetheless a…well, rather drab and boring town. Monsters rarely bothered it, kingdoms never fought war there, and it wasn’t even placed on most maps. These facts, combined with the lack of any REAL businesses and occupational opportunities, made Willowsby one of the most boring places on Gloriana.

That is, until the letter came…

The hero of our tale sat on a boulder outside the village gates, his eyes scanning the dirt road leading out. His short blonde hair blew slowly in the wind, his brown jerkin and pants freshly-cleaned, his white shirt sharing all the dirt of the fields. He just sat there, waiting impatiently for something to come.

Finally, he saw a horse race down the road, ridden by a middle-aged with a large sack. When he was within five feet of the young man, our blond-haired hero pounched onto the sack, ripping into it like a rabid dog into fresh meat. The poor man had no choice but to jump off and run for his sweet life. Finally, our hero removed a large package from the sack and ran from the seen of the crime.

Once on the far side of the village, in a notch between a wall and a pile of rocks, our hero tore into the letter, pouring its contents like a flask of water. After the usual ads for longswords and love amulets, he reached what he wanted: a rectangular piece of paper saying,"

“This Certifies that (inelligible) is a Graduate of FAMOUS ADVENTURER’S CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL FOR HEROES. This document certifies the recipient in regards to dragon-slaying, princess-rescuing, and world-saving.”

“Finally!” he shouted. “My ticket out of this town!”

Willowsby’s tavern also doubled as an adventurer’s guild, for those traveling heroes who found themselves in Willowsby for no reason. A few stuffed bears and birds were placed about, along with a small bulletin board listing job openings and rewards, but besides that the buildings was the usual vomit-covered, foul-stenched bar found in almost any town, village, or city.

That night, our hero sat at the bar, drinking mugs of ale with some of the locals. “So now I’m a cerrtified hero,” said the hero. “Soon I’ll be able to get out of this town.”

“And then what?” said one of the farmers.

The hero shrugged. “No idea. I was thinking of going to WIT, maybe getting a degree there…”

“You mean the Wizard’s Institute of Technocery?” laughed one of the farmers. The others quickly joined in the laughter. “Why not run for King while you’re at it?!”

“Why be a hero anyway?” said another farmer. “The only monsters nearby are in Spielburg, and NOBODY wants to go there!”

The farmers continued laughing, while the hero withdrew from the crowd to a lonely corner, beside the bulletin board. Then his eyes caught a single want ad:

“WANTED: Hero for the Land of Spielburg. Inquire at Spielburg Castle. No experience required.”

Our hero’s eyes lit up when he saw the “No experience required” part. He raced out of the tavern, completely unnoticed by the laughing patrons.

The next mornig, an hour before sunrise, the hero walked his way out of the village, along the long road leading to the Spielburgian mountains. In addition to his clothes, he wore a large backpack, filled with two weeks worth of food rations, a money pouch with a few gold and silver coins, a dagger tucked into his belt, and a red cape worn just for the extra heroic flavor. Also tucked into his belt was an extra scroll, which had come with the graduation package. In his excitement, he had neglected to read it.

The travel along the forest was uneventful; the few monsters that dwelled nearby were not bothering with the road this time of year. After a week of travel, he reached the mountains, their imposing figures dwarfing the small figure before them. Nevertheless, our hero started his slow climb across the mountain face, the rocks covered in fresh winter snow.

Like everything else so far, the journey was uneventful. The road was covered in snow, but no monsters were hiding in wait, anxious to consume the young blond wanna-be hero. Finally, nearly five days after he started his trek, the young man sat on a ledge overlooking the Valley of Spielburg. Filled with renewed vigor at coming so close to his goal, he started down the path leading into the valley.

After only a few steps, he found himself flipping around in the air and landing hard on his head. Slowly returning to his feet, he saw the culprit: a small, ice-covered rock. His mood turned sour, his mind filled with unmentionable rage. He grabbed the rock and threw it against a nearby wall of snow.

A low rumbling was the first thing he heard, followed by the sliding of snow and rock. Before he could even mutter the words, “Oh crap,” the avalanche had swallowed him whole, forcing him down the side of the mountain.

(To be continued)

I’m going completely nuts here, but I’m imagining [DELETED FOR SECURITY REASONS] getting revived by the Great Will of the Macrocosm whenever he gets killed.

Chapter 2: The Sherrif of Spielburg

After nearly an hour of digging, the hero emerged from the mountainload of snow, cold and bruised but otherwise okay. He staggered from his near-grave, his lungs gasping for air, his eyes watering, his muscles strained. After several seconds of near-collapse, he reached into the pile and pulled out his pack. Most of its contents were still inside, although some rations and the Scroll of Immortality were buried under the snow higher up in the mountains. Also, the acalanche had done more than thrown the hero around; it had blocked out the entire pass. There was no way to leave the valley.

The hero let out a deep sigh, then started down what remained of the path. What wasn’t covered in snow was nearly consumed by plants; apparantly, very few now travelled through Spielburg. After a few minutes, he reached the walled town of Spielburg. Its exterior matched the sorry state of the rest of the valley; apparantly, people had long since stopped caring for the town’s appearance, as the walls were now blackened and crumbled by layers of moss. The town’s wooden sign read, “Spielburg,” and even it was splintering and disintegrating against the passage of time. With a heavy shrug, the hero stepped through the gates and into the town proper.

Upon entering, he quickly noticed two figures on a small porch, one standing, one sitting. The sitting one was an older man, dressed in his finest lederhosen, smoking from an ornate wooden pipe. His partner was a Goon, dressed in lederhosen far too small for its enormous figure. The yellow-skin, fanged creature was busy playing with a strange yo-yo, its simple mind transfixed on the object. The hero caught a glance of the rest of the town, catching sight of a fruit stand operated by a young woman, the local adventurer’s guild (far larger and more impressive than the one in Willowsby), an old woman resting in her rocking chair, an evil-looking shop, and a small building next to the two called the “Hero’s Tale Inn.”

His curiosity satisfied, he made his way to the man and the goon. The old man nodded in acknowledgement. “Welcome to Spielburg. Good thing you got here before the avalanche. Awfully early for them this year, isn’t it?”

The hero rolled his eyes. “Yes…real early. By the way, who are you?”

“The name’s Schultz,” said the man. “I’m the town’s sherrif.” He motioned to his companion. “This, by the way, is Otto von Goon, my deputy.” The Goon simply grunted. “So, what brings you to Spielburg?”

“I’m here to inquire about this…” The hero pulled out the want ad and showed it to the sherrif.

The man smiled and shook his head sadly. “I should have known. We’ve had a lot of wanna-be heroes lately. Most of them never make it past their first goblin.” He reached out his hand. “Can I see your credentials?”

The hero handed him his diploma. The sherrif looked the document over briefly, then returned the papers. “I won’t lie to you; this is really no job for newcomers.”

“Just WHAT happened, anyway?” asked the hero. “Did a dragon capture a princess, or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” said the sherrif. “Why would a dragon capture a princess? Besides, we haven’t had dragons for decades. It’s like this: ten years ago, an ogress named Baba Yaga came to the valley…”

“An ogress?”

“A female ogre, idiot!” shouted the sherrif. "They’re nowhere near as tall or strong as an ogre, but make up for it with powerful magic. Anyway, she decided she wanted some mandrake one day, but mandrake only grows of cursed graves. So, she did the logical thing and cursed the entire graveyard. Even now, you can’t go there at night without some ghost sucking the life out of you!

“Anyway, after about a month, the town got sick of her, and so did the Baron, Stefan von Spielburg. So, he sent a company of knights to deal with her. Unfortunately, one of them threw a rock into her Mandrake Mousse…”

The hero raised his hand. “Let me guess. She was very serious about her cooking?”

The sherrif nodded, then continued. "She wiped out the company within seconds, then placed a spell on the captain’s body. It just jumped up, walked back to the castle, and recited some kind of curse at the Baron.

“A year later, his daughter was out playing around the corner of the valley, when a winged creature swooped down, snatched her, and flew off before anyone could react. Three years ago, the Baron’s son dissapeared during a hunting trip. The Baron just lost the will to live after that; the monsters in the valley kept breeding and expanding, since the Baron did nothing to control their numbers.”

“…I think I get it, Schultz,” said the hero.

“It’s more than that,” said the old man. “The valley’s been under attack for months by a band of Brigands. Normally, they aren’t a real threat, but ever since Baba Yaga’s curse, they’ve practically taken over the valley. The thieves’ guild is operating at full strength, and a kobold wizard has taken over a cave to the northeast, killing anyone who gets close. Well, good luck on your quest, hero!”

The young man gulped as the full force of his quest was presented. He had to defeat an ogress, stop a kobold wizard, defeat an army of brigands, learn what happened to the Baron’s children, and finally break a curse. His only thoughts were, “Why the heck didn’t I take up farming?”

(to be continued)

Chapter 3: The Town of Spielburg

The hero started down the right street, towards the Adventurer’s Guild. The first thing to strike him was a loud snoring, followed by a loud sniffing, followed by a loud meowing, followed by a loud snoring again. When he was just outside the guild door, he saw the source at last: an old lady, dressed in a purple dress and white shawl, loudly snoring from her rocking chair on her porch, along with her cat. The hero thought about petting it, but could sense something very wrong and evil with it, and backed off.

The next thing to struck him was a strange feeling of being watched. He looked straight up, and jumped back as he saw the giant eye staring at him from the wall of the nearest shop. Curiosity overtaking him, he entered the shop, his senses suddenly heightened by the mixture of essence and candles, his eyes stained by the darkness and dismay of the shop. Strangely, there was no sign of a shopkeeper; behind the counter was only a gargoyle-like creature and a large crystal ball, filled with a strange purple-brown smoke.

Cautiously, the hero approached the counter. “Hello?” he shouted. “Is anyone here?” When he reached the counter, the creature stirred to life, as the smoke suddenly erupted from the crystal ball. With a loud explosion, the gas transformed into the form of a female faerie, tall and imposing, her gaze cold and demanding. “Can I help you?”

The hero was more than a little startled. “Uh…what kind of shop is this?”

“This is a place of magic,” said the faerie. “I am Zara, the proprieter of this building.”

“So…you sell magic?” said the hero. “Do you know how to get to WIT?”

Zara looked at the hero with ever-growing contempt. “Your impatience is unwarranted and pointless. To enter WIT, a magic user must have mastered at least eight spells, and found an entrance to WIT on their own. And before you ask again, there is none here. I can tell you don’t have enough to pay for my spells, so you had best leave.” The hero spun on his heels and raced out of the shop, Zara returning to her crystal ball the moment he reached the door.

(to be continued)

…God, progress is slow. I’ll try to update tomorrow.

Rather than disturb the old lady and her pet from hell, the hero decided to make his way to the old Adventurer’s Guild at the end of the street. The double doors let out a loud squeak, followed by a louder screech, as their rusty hinges were pushed into a position untouched for years. Inside was a quant little lodge, lit by a large window and a roaring fireplace, and adorned by various suits of armor, weapons, and the severed heads of monsters, including the dangerous dragons, and the extremely rare Antwerp. At the far end was a bullitan board, on which were posted various documents listing quests and rewards. Beside the board was an old man, dressed inthe same suit of Lederhosen that the sherrif was, snoring soundly in his old rocker.

First, the hero made his way to a table at the southern end of the hall, on which rested the log book, holding a record of the many adventurers that had come and gone before. The hero leafed through the book, reading about the adventurers of the Baron, the Sherrif, and the guild master. They spoke of a battle against a dragon, the slaying of an army of goblins, and the many difficulties present in defeating the horrible Antwerp. His reading complete, he signed his own name in the book, indicating his own intentions of becoming a hero.

Finally, he approached the board. He was only a few steps away when he heard the guild hall master snort, and awake. “Well, young man, how are you?” he asked.

“Not bad,” said the hero. “What happened to the hall, anyway?”

“It’s been a long time since we had adventurers,” said the old man. “The brigands and monsters have been killing off most of the young ones. That shopkeeper is the closest thing we have to an adventurer, and all he does is daydream of being one!”

“I take it the curse has something to do with this?” asked the hero.

“You’re right,” said the man. “Ever since Baba Yaga cursed the Baron, things have been going downhill. The brigands have gone from a bunch of punks to a highly trained force, although they leave the town alone for some reason. The monsters have been growing fiercer, the graveyard is a literal deathtrap, and my-” The old man fell asleep again, leaving the hero to examine the board.

Most of the messages were very old. The most recent was a request for help locating a missing ring for the healer, with a reward of a couple gold and two healing potions. There was also a reward for the safe return of Baronet Bernard von Spielburg of 50 Gold, a reward for the return of Elsa von Spielburg for 50 Gold, a reward for the capture of the Brigand Leader and Warlock, worth 50 gold each. And finally, there was the reward of 50 gold and the title of “Hero of Spielburg” for whoever broke the curse of Baba Yaga.

Now satisfied, the hero left the guild, and continued down the streets.

(to be continued)