The Quest of Sir Harold

                Harold stood at the edge of the rickety bridge over the ravine. The Wizard had just asked him the passage riddle and Harold had no idea what it meant. This quest. This stupid quest. Another in a long line of pedantic and useless quests. “Go find the Staff of Ra,” or, “Seek the magic chalice of the undead,” or, “pick up my laundry.” All useless quests. Harold studied the jagged ravine face, the thrashing river running across the ravine basin and sighed.

                “So brave knight, have you an answer to the riddle,” asked the Wizard as he stroked his long white beard.

                “I’m thinking,” said Harold. The frustration clearly evident in his out of patience voice.

                Harold sheathed his sword and sat on a near-by rock. He took off the heavy armor helmet and brushed his fingers through his thinning hair. He wondered if there was a quest he could undertake for some potion to cure his male patterned baldness. Probably not. Or if there was, he’d probably have to fight sixty demon dwarves and a hundred amazons through some god forsaken jungle. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. The alchemist told him that there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. Just keep your helmet on, is what the alchemist told him.  

                “Do you need me to repeat the riddle,” asked the Wizard.

               

                The Wizard was impatiently tapping his curly toed shoe on the dirt path leading to the bridge.

                “Oh my gods, would you give a guy a second. Geeze. I mean, you’re a damn bridge wizard. This is your job. Do you have something more important to do,” shouted Harold.

                “As a matter of fact, my wife is having a little surgical procedure today and I’d like to be there with her so if you don’t mind, I’d like to move this along. You’re the fourth knight I’ve seen today so I’d like to hurry this along,” said the Wizard.

                Harold groaned. He stood from the rock he was sitting on and put his helmet back on his head. He stretched his back and twisted from side to side.

                “I’m sorry man. I know this is a pain. I’m not exactly enjoying this whole thing either,” said Harold.

                “Right, I know,” said the Wizard, “I get it man. You’re on a quest for some mighty magical something or other and were promised riches and women or eternal life or some other thing, right?”

                “Actually, I was commanded to find this dumb Rock of Ages. I don’t even know what it’s for and I only get to keep my job if I find it. Otherwise, it’s back to shoveling manure,” said Harold.

                “Ouch, that’s harsh,” said the Wizard.

                “Yeah, it’s ridiculous. But I’ve been doing this questing thing for like, 20 years so I guess I’m pretty good at it so…,” said Harold. “What’s wrong with your wife? If that’s not too personal.”

                “You know, you’re the first person to ask me. So thank you.  She keeps turning into a feral pig at the full moon. There’s another Wizard in Prairie Glenn South who said he could cure her. Thanks,” said the Wizard.

                “Oh, I know Prairie Glenn South. That’s a good little hamlet. Good school,” said Harold.

                “I just hope our Wizard Guild covers it. It’s not a great package but you gotta do what you gotta do am I right,” asked the Wizard as he shrugged.

                “For sure,” said Harold.    

                The wind howled over the ravine. sounding like the roar of a lion, bellowing across some distant savanna. A misty rain had started to fall. it pinged and dinged off Harold’s armor.

                “Listen man, I’m stuck on this riddle. Like, I don’t get it at all,” said Harold, “Can’t you just make an exception this time and let me cross the damn bridge?”

                “Sorry. I wouldn’t be a bridge Wizard if I just did that,” said the Wizard.

                Harold nodded. He’d expected nothing less. Everybody had their jobs and they just had to do them it seemed.

                “Right. Right. I totally get it,” said Harold.

                “I can maybe give you a clue,” said the Wizard. He winked and gestured to his left with his head.

                Harold looked over towards the Wizard’s left. There was a large mural painted on the cavern side. It was of a Wizard holding a glowing crystal ball, riding a dragon over an exploding volcano with a scantily clad princess dangling from the dragon’s talon. Harold studied the mural. He thought that it would look awesome on the side of his wagon. But he still didn’t get the clue.

                “Sorry. I’m really not getting it. And this rain is not helping at all,” said Harold.

                The Wizard shook the accumulating wetness from his flowing purple robes. He rolled his eyes and motioned again with his head towards the mural.  Harold looked again and just didn’t see it. The Princess was pretty hot though. He wondered who painted it. He wouldn’t mind getting a few more for his own personal enjoyment.

                “Yeah, still not seeing it,” said Harold.

                “I don’t think I can give any more of an obvious clue man. I mean, come one. You said you’ve been doing this for 20 years this should be easy,” said the Wizard.

                “You’re right. It can be easy,” said Harold.

                Harold unsheathed his sword and stabbed the Wizard straight through his heart. The Wizard grabbed Harold’s shoulder and looked into Harold’s face with shock. Harold pulled his sword loose and then chopped the Wizard’s head clean from his shoulders.  The Wizard’s body fell backwards into the ravine without fanfare or consequence.

                “Damn Bridge Wizards,” muttered Harold.

                Harold returned his sword to its sheath and started across the bridge. He made it to the other side and continued on his way towards the Doom Pits of Blumanthia.  He wondered to himself the whole way, if the Wizard’s wife would ever recover from her feral pig issues.