The Journey to the Office of Convocation: A Hero's Quest for Validation

looking out across the way to the castles in the distance, i stopped to steel myself for the journey ahead. there would be many obstacles to overcome this day, least of all the November chill, so i put on my Scarf of Warmth and Asthmatic Prevention to protect me from the elements and Asthma.

the first obstacle was the crossing of Bloor, a swift-flowing river of metal that stopped for nothing save for red light. the only way i could cross the Bloor was to find some red light and block the river's flow. there was a lantern, strung up high, that periodically changed colour. there were only so many colours in the spectrum; surely it would turn red at some point. and it did. the river, for a moment, stood still and i crossed unimpeded. truly, God was with me on this day.

the journey was long and arduous and though i trekked southward, the cold did not abate. fortunately, i was also equipped with Gauntlets of Soft Almost-Fuzzy Skin, that preserved my precious digits. the ground appeared to be littered with leaves, normal for this time of year, but they were clearly EZ-Slip Leaves (buy a bag! fool your friends! embarrass your enemies!) planted by some nefarious villain who found delight in the misfortune of others.

the land i was traversing was ruled by a tyrant. times have been hard for the proletariate with the oncoming winter and the exorbitant taxes the tyrant must be exacting to fuel the hearthfires of his extravagant manse. no denizen of this district offered cheerful welcome as denizens are often seen doing in other lands.

in due time, i struck westward for my destination as per the instructions i received from Gugel, the chief cartographer of the land of Int Ernet. where was my destination, the humble reader might ask? i was on my way to confront the diabolical Office of Convocation and reclaim what was rightfully mine: a parchment bearing the seal of Ut, confirming my ascension to the rank of gentle.

but there was one more obstacle to surpass. the land was being retilled and retrodden by orange henchmen of the tyrant, riding enormous yellow dragons. i knew they posed little danger, as yellow dragons are herbivorous, but their girth was an impediment. i had to take the long way.

the long way was through the Valley of the Vomit-Swamp. the land itself was easily navigated and there was no treachery beneath each step, but travellers would usually be dissuaded from passing through the Valley of the Vomit-Swamp because it was an affront on the olfactory sense. it smelled like vomit, hence the name. fortunately, my Scarf of Warmth and Asthma Prevention had been enchanted with the charm of Neutral Aroma for such an occasion.

the Office of Convocation was hidden in a tower just beyond the swamp. the tower was oddly unguarded. perhaps i was expected and a trap was laid out. i marched up 3 storeys before i found the Office. at long last, after much wearisome travel, bitter cold and vomit-smell, i had reached my destination.

the door was locked.

there was someone inside; i could see her through the window. she opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her. obviously, this was a guardian troll. odd how she was not hairy in all the wrong places like a regular troll. there must have been budget cuts.

"are you here to pick up your diploma?"

"yes," i said, in my talking-to-trolls voice.

"we're closed at the moment, but i'll be back in five minutes." with that said, she stalked past me and into a rather large dumbwaiter. here i was, all prepared to challenge this troll to armed, and probably mortal combat, with nothing to show for it.

when two whole minutes had passed, another guardian troll opened the door and allowed me passage. this one was even less troll-some than the last. it dawned on me that the real trolls must have been on strike. these non-trolls were more than happy to open doors, be communicative, have hair in the proper places, let you cross bridges, etc. i gave her my identification and she gave me my diploma. i slipped it into my satchel, which was just the right size, and departed from the Office of Convocation with every limb intact and not a drop of blood spilled. what a rip-off.