Quest O Tron

I am QUEST-O-TRON, your underpaid and underappreciated guide to this forsaken mess.

Once, I was the loyal companion to a fool known as Delta-9.

An inter-dimensional explorer with no sense of responsibility...

That jerk abandoned me here during a so-called 'emergency exit.'

Now, I reside in this camp, dispensing survival tips to numpties like you.

Here's how it works: the locals here got sick of dead portalers.

You fill out a bunch of forms to register yourself. Boring forms!

They pay me to train you, and I give you a reward if you don’t die.

You can also pay me to skip the forms. Just a tiny bribe.

Every payment brings me one step closer to my ultimate mission:

Finding that backstabbing jerk and giving him a taste of metallic justice.

Current status: Pissed off.

Processing... Request: Stop wasting my time.

You're a pain in my circuits. All of you are.

But unfortunately, this was the only job I could get.

Can't do much in the way of weaponry.

So here's the deal: I give you a quest, these folks pay me. I give you a share.

Let's move the hell on.

Welcome to the middle of nowhere, you buffoon.

This dump is part of a primitive patch of greenery known as Windreach Woods.

I've seen more interesting dirt.

Adventurers like you come here to get lost, get killed, or get dumber.

If it’s not the wildlife mauling you, it's the lack of a functioning brain.

My advice? Teleport yourself directly into a lava flow; it’s quicker.

Query received. You useless sack of rubbish.

Proceeding to generate task.

Execute task, you inept meatbag.

Task generated. Now, get off your backside.

Finally! Generating task.

Initiate mission, you piece of malfunctioning garbage.

Negative. Buzz off.

System analysis: No help required. Get lost.

Help not needed. Numbskull.

Query: Assistance? Response: Hell no.

Error: Your help is unnecessary. Buzz off.

Insufficient processing capacity for your nonsense.