Weed Quest: Tristan's Legend

Part one of the legend

WEED QUEST

TRISTAN’S LEGEND

Prolouge:Long ago, there lived a brave adventurer names Tristan. Now, Tristan was no ordinary adventurer. He was from a tribe of “Herbenaries” or, warriors that could be hired if given the right herbs. These herbs would vary between usage, but the strongest of the strongest Herbenaries would only work for the most prestigious herb.These mercenaries would work only for Marijuana, a plant with unimaginable powers for the mind, body and spirit, but there was one plant that was the most precious. The “Flower of Isis” a Sacred herb with incredible effects. It was a miracle that grew from only the richest soil and the water which was derived from the tears of gods. Tristan was among these top ranked Herbenaries, and one day, He received a single bud of this magical plant. It increased his entire physique and his thought process. It even healed his wounds and cured his and small diseases. It was a feeling like no other. So Tristan stopped being an Herbenary and decided to go looking for this plant of his own, hoping to bring home burlap sacks of the herb. This is where Tristan’s quest begins…

  

 Tristan walked into a nearby tavern where he hoped to round up a group of warriors that were strong in both muscle and heart, but he didn’t find that at all. He was greeted by the “WOW” of an obnoxious youngster who stood up to Tristan’s jaw (so about 5’11), had coffe brown hair,and a body that looked like the boy was a scarecrow with skin.

    “You’re Tristan the Herbenary, you’re so cool!” the lad spoke, his voice sounding like it sounded just short of mature.

    “It is true that my feats are that of storytelling marvelance” Tristan said, modestly, drawing his sword from the sheath on his back in order to admire himself in it’s reflection. “But I myself am not a legend, and therefore, lack the glory of a true champion.”

    “One day, I wanna fight bad guys and monsters just like you!” The kid said excitedly.

    “Really?” Tristan asked, kneeling down to the youngster.

    He looked the youngster dead in the eyes, his own swollen with pride.

    “Be a baker instead. We need more bakers.” Tristan said to the boy, and with that, stood up, sheathed his sword, and walked deeper into the tavern where all of the adventurers were telling stories and spinning threads about their travels.

    “Gentlemen!” Tristan called to the masses. “I am looking for the strongest of the strongest adventurers to aid me on a quest for the flower of Isis. Who will join me?” Tristan asked.

    “Nobody! We’re not adventuring with some wannabe adventurer! You’re not nearly as seasoned as us!” Shouted a large, overly muscular man with a terrifying eye patch covering his left eye that struck fear into Tristan’s heart when he looked at it, and a horned helmet covering his head that made Tristan jealous because it looked cool and he wanted one just like it. Tristan approached the man, his sexy pectoral muscles puffed out, stretching his leather vest, in an attempt to make the one eyed man cower down.

    “I SAID THAT I WAS LOOKING FOR ADVENTURERS, NOT ONE EYED WOMEN!” Tristan shouted as loudly as he possibly could, again, attempting to intimidate the man and appear cool at the same time.

    The man stood up, his tiny shirt, that covered his skin as thinly as pantyhose, made small tearing noises as he stood up.

    “You looking for a fight?” He said, grabbing Tristan’s shoulder, roughly.

    Tristan swallowed. He was terrified of that eye patch. Without warning, he punched the large man in his hollowed eye socket, knocking his head back and flinging off his horned helmet, revealing the most beautiful, luscious, manly, blonde hair that Tristan had ever seen. It gleamed in the dim light of the tavern, like a fish in the moonlight. It was the type of hair that is only given to men who spend their lives adventuring for the pure sake of the journey, a reward of the gods for going through the trials that most men wouldn’t even pretend to do. His hair was perfect.