Early entries in the Monster Hunter series placed a strong emphasis on quests, resource gathering, and combat, offering little in the way of a structured narrative. Unlike more recent titles such as Rise, World, and Wilds, these earlier games did not guide players through an epic storyline. Instead, they relied largely on brief dialogues and often extremely funny quest flavour text to convey the lore and richness of the world. To that end, I have included below an example of the flavour text that I have created for a quest to hunt one of my favourite monsters in the series: Rathian and Rathalos.
Client: Charred Hunter from Yukumo Village
Quest Title: Hot Stakes, Hotter Fireballs
Target: Rathalos and Rathian
Objective: Hunt All Targets
I made a wager to the tune of an ungodly amount of zenny that I could take the King and Queen of the sky on at the same time. It turns out, bravado alone doesn't protect you from fourth degree burns. Now the Guild's threatening to revoke my entry to the hot springs and reposess my deluxe BBQ spit with the built-in music box. Can you head out there and give them what's coming to them on my behalf? I'll share half the winnings with you, and I'll even throw in my cart-punch card—five more faints and you'll get a free potion! Just… try not to walk into the fire. Charred armour isn’t covered by your Hunters' insurance, no matter how much you or your Palico plead.
Client: Healed Hunter from Yukumo Village (yes, it's me again)
Quest Title: Ice, Ice, Maybe
Target: One unreasonably mobile Lagombi
Objective: Prevent further spinal incidents. Mine, preferably.
Easing back into the life of a hunter after the last scare was no easy matter, so I figured I'd start small by hunting a Lagombi. Take it easy, as it were. These things aren't exactly the smartest, and their survival instincts aren't the best. How bad could it be?
Well, this particular beast must have grown up around a troop of Rajangs, because I've never seen something so simultaneously ferocious yet agile. One moment, I had my greatsword at the ready, charging up an attack — the next, I was skidding wildly across the ice on my backside like a speeding cart on delivery day, except with fewer brakes and more screaming. I wondered all the while if my spine had just filed for an early retirement. Luckily, I was able to get back up, shake the snow off my armour, and bravely run in the opposite direction. It's called a tactical withdrawal, and, frankly, more hunters should consider it.
Could you, ah, deal with it for me? I'll pay handsomely.