For reasons far beyond normal human comprehension, you elect to compete in the joust: never mind the fact that you do not own a horse and have never held a lance in your life. Remember, dodging is against the rules in a joust, so you are not exactly playing to your strengths.


During a morning patrol, you and Jon discuss the upcoming tournament.


"I still think you should participate in the melee with me instead," says Jon. "But if you're dead set on jousting, you're going to need a horse."


"Any recommendations?" you ask.


"Jousting horses are expensive. You're either going to need a big loan or a big friend. And don't forget, if you lose the joust, you lose your horse and your armor."


"Can I use a quarter-horse? I bet old man Nathaniel David would let me borrow Bessy."


"Sure. You can ride out naked too, but you'll just embarrass yourself." Jon smacks you upside the head. "If you aren't going to take this seriously, don't even bother showing up."


You finish your patrol with Jon and head over to old man Nathaniel David's orchard before you visiting the moneylender in the next town. You know it is not wise to ignore Jon's advice, but you want to keep your options open. Old man Nathaniel David proves easy to find, he is humped over, shitting on a sapling when you arrive.


"Um, what are you doing David?"


"Fertilizing," he says with a massive grin. "What can I do for you lad?" He sticks out his hand for you to shake, which you begrudgingly accept.


"I decided to joust in the king's tournament, but I don't have a horse."


"Ah, well, I can't imagine you'd want to use any of the horses in the hamlet. Plow horses ain't going to win that for you, but I know you don't have much money. So if you want Bessy, you can have her, on one condition."


"What's that?"


"If by some miracle you win, you name my lil' pumpkin, Sally, Lady Fair of the Tournament. If you lose, you pay me back by marrying her. You're a good lad, and you'd make a fine husband for my girl."


You have seen Sally David before, strutting around. She has a fine body for a wench, but holy matrimony is her face hideous. It looks like someone took a rake and beat her bloody. You will have to mull this one over; these are high stakes. Even if you won, you could offend many important people.


"Alright, David, I'll keep the offer in mind," you say as you wave goodbye.


Old man Nathaniel David hitches up his trousers and nods. "You do that, boy."


The Baron's Road has been nice and calm ever since you took care of those trolls and bandits, and you arrive at the moneylender's office without incident. The moneylender's office is small and simple: one desk, two hard wooden chairs, and a few bookshelves. You have heard of these types before, and they are nothing but trouble. The moneylender skims over the pleasantries and bids you sit and begin your business.


"What can I do for you, friend?" he asks. His hair is dark and oily, eyes small and beady. An unnecessarily pointy goatee graces his chin. Yep, slap the evil and unscrupulous label on him.


"I need money for a horse to use in the joust. I'm one of the guys that killed those bandits and trolls on the Baron's Road awhile back."


"I know who you are," he snaps. "I also know you have no money and no experience jousting."


"How do you know that?"


"Because." He points at his goatee. "Now I will lend you the money if you agree to my terms."


"Which are?"


"If you win, I get 50% of the ransom and prize money. You keep the horse. If you lose, you become my personal slave for a year." The moneylender pulls, ink, quill and parchment from his desk. "We can get the contract signed right now."

You you'll just go with Bessy.

Probably not a great idea to borrow money from such an obviously evil character: you excuse yourself, leaving the moneylender fuming. He mutters something under his breath while stroking his goatee as you walk out the door. Perhaps you will cross paths with him again.


Your heart is still set on riding in the joust, so you head back to old man Nathaniel David's orchard and agree to his bargain. You spend the remainder of your free time preparing for the tournament. Jon coaches you as best he can, which is not very well since he has never jousted either, but you think you have the hang of it.


Bessy's training has mixed results. She works hard and seems to appreciate the change of scenery. You figure being a plow horse is probably pretty dull. She has spirit, but the old girl does a lot more plodding than charging. At least, she does not shy away when the other horse speeds toward her.


The day of the tournament dawns cool and crisp. Sweaty with excitement, you try to relax in your pavilion before your first match. You have already made water five times this morning, and you think you have to go again. So many things ride on the outcome of today's events, but you cannot think about that. The here and now is what is important. You watch squires scurry around the grounds, doing the bidding of Sir this or Sir that or some other random bastard. You fall into a daze and your thoughts wander.


Why don't I have a squire? Crap, I think I need to piss again. Dear lord, please grant me the strength and will to win today. I don't want to marry that troll Sally David. Have you seen her? Oh, is that who I think it is?


Sir Jamison Hill, The Iron Boar, approaches and shakes your hand: what an honor! Ser Jamison serves as the Baron's champion and is renowned throughout the kingdom for his tourney skills.


"I heard about how you helped take care of those bandits and trolls on the Baron's Road," he says. "The kingdom needs more fine young men like you. I expect to see great things from you today and in the future."


"Thank you, sir."


You want to talk some more with him – he certainly has plenty he could teach you – but the herald calls you for your first bout. You wave farewell and enter the lists, wishing you had taken the time to make water one more time.


"Are you ready girl?" you ask as you mount Bessy. Bessy snorts in reply. "That's the spirit."


Your first match is against Lord Isaac Cleaver, The Cleaver. The man has a penchant for the flamboyant. The sun gleams off his silver gilded armor as he rides into position on his roan courser: his shield emblazoned with his house emblem, a silver cleaver beheading a golden goose.


Not a very creative nickname, you think. Perhaps not, but it is the badassery of a nickname that is too be feared, not the cleverness.


The herald blows his trumpet, and you urge your horses on. Bessy hobbles along as fast as she can, but she is completely outmatched in speed by the roan courser. Everything else disappears as you focus on Lord Cleaver. The distance closes. You raise your lance and prepare to strike.

You just hold the hell on

There is no way you have gained enough skill to make a precise aim. Your best bet is too just hold on with the fury of hell and hope for the best. You grit your teeth; here it comes.                                                                            


Crack! Both of your lances splinter on contact. The collision jars you, but you manage to hang in the saddle. What a rush. Your heart hammers in your chest, and the world snaps back into focus. The crowd screams and cheers. Flags twirl in the wind and a herald's trumpet booms. You turn around and see Lord Cleaver's squire helping him to his feet while another attendant runs down his horse. You won!


Jon rushes forward to greet you. "Fantastic, I never thought you could win riding that old draft horse! It looked like you were moving in slow motion compared to Lord Cleaver."


"Bessy and I may not be a fast duo, but we're tough as nails and hard as stone."


Jon chuckles. "Interesting, we'll have to have someone take care of that for you."


"What are you talking about?" you ask. Your face flushes red as you realization hits you. "Oh, damn it. You perverse bastard."


Jon snatches the reins from you and snarls. "Never call me a bastard again. Got it?"


"Uh, sure."


He helps you off Bessy and slaps you on the back. "Good."


I wonder what that was all about?


You head back to your pavilion and bask in your glory. The road ahead is still long and perilous, but you took another step down the path of success. You kick back to relax when the flap of your tent opens. In steps a gorgeous lass, with gingersnap hair and vicious eyes. She looks wild and… hungry.


"May I help you?" you ask.


"The name is Bell. I've been sent to help you with a little problem." She winks. "Your friend said you needed some refreshment before your next bout." She shakes her breasts free from her loose shift and steps fully into the tent.


Before the tent flap falls, you see the shady moneylender prowling around Sir Jamison's pavilion.


"Come on hero," she urges. "Don't keep me waiting."

You say "Jump on top of me, baby."

"Jump on top of me baby."


Bell does as you say. Two beings disappear and reemerge as one as the pair of you become lost in the heat of passion. Funny thing about passion: it often comes and goes without warning. In this case forty-seven seconds.


Bell giggles. "First time?"


You groan. "First time."


"No shame in that, darling. I'll be here when you get back. Practice makes perfect, am I right?"


You nod and step out of the tent.


"Holy shit, what the hell happened!?"


The entire fairground is on fire. The air is rank with burning flesh and hair. Bodies are everywhere. Horses whinny in agony. Those not too injured to flee scramble about in sheer terror. High above you see the evil moneylender, floating on a black cloud, cackling and tossing lightning bolts.


Bessy plods toward you. A bolt catches her in the flank and explodes into a fireball. She collapses to the ground and shrieks. Another bolt pierces her neck and her and she lies silent.


You hear the tent flap jostle, and you wheel around. You clutch Bell by the throat and dive-tackle her into the tent. "What the fuck is this?" you scream.


Bell claws at your hand, gasping for breath. You relieve pressure, but keep her pinned to the ground.


"I don't know." Tears well in her eyes.


"Liar."              


"No, I swear. Your friend Jon sent me."

You she's lying. Beat the truth out of her.

"You lying whore!" You bash her head into the ground and clobber her with your fist.


"Stop, please. I don't know anything."


"Tell me the truth!"


"I am. Please, you've got to believe me."


Her pleas for mercy only anger you more. You know she is lying. "Last chance. Tell me what's going on. Who are you? Who sent you? What the hell is that floating madman doing?"


"I don't know."


You hit her again and again and again and again. You pummel the poor girl until her once fair face is a mask of blood and tears. The tent flap ruffles open and you spin around to see Jon step inside the tent.


He gapes. "What the hell are you doing?"


"She distracted me while the lunatic set the world on fire."


"No she didn't. I sent her to f-" he smacks his forehead. "Damn it all. What's done is done. We can worry about this later. Right now, we have to stop this lunatic. Come on."


You leave a broken Bell lying on the tent floor and follow Jon outside. Everything except your tent is in flames. The moneylender – perhaps it is time to start calling him a sorcerer – floats toward you on his cloud. You and Jon draw your swords.


"Why didn't he fry my tent too?"


"How should I know?" says Jon. "Let's just kill him and go into damage control mode."

You demand the sorcerer explain himself

No, this is too confusing and you have too many questions. You already stripped your honor by beating up an innocent whore. You can at least play the hero's role and make the evil sorcerer reveal the details of his plans.


"Explain yourself, fiend," you say, brandishing your sword.


The sorcerer floats closer on his cloud and shrugs. "Sure, why the hell not?"


Jon sits and crosses his legs.


"What are you doing?" you ask.


"Preparing for a monologue."


"Comfy? Good," says the sorcerer. "My name is Merek the Mad Mage of Misery. I pose as a moneylender to conceal my true operations as an evil wizard."


Jon sighs. "A cover that is now blown."


Merek the Mad Mage of Misery ignores Jon. "Ever since you walked into my office, I knew you had the makings of a hero. I knew of the unicorn fart, and I knew a hero had been born. I knew he was somewhere in this area, but not exactly where. You are that hero. It's in your eyes, your blood, your-"


"Urine?" you ask.


"Sure… The only person who could stop me was Sir Jamison and his magic sword and shield."


"I didn't know he had a magic sword and shield."


"You just met him, and stop interrupting me!"


"Sorry."


"As you can see, I have Sir Jamison's magic sword and shield nice and safe up here with me." Merek clinks the magical artifacts together. "I need to drink your blood to gain the power for my master plan to succeed. That is why I did not fry you and your tent. Once I extract your blood, I can complete my master plan."


"Which is?"


"World domination."


"You seem to be doing pretty well without my blood."


"Shut up and prepare to die!"


Bolts appear in Merek's hands as his cloud races toward you.


"Jon wake up, he's attacking."


"Huh, oh sure." Jon leaps to his feet. "Let's get this over with."


Merek hurls his bolts, which you and Jon dodge with ease. You slice Merek's arm off as his cloud whizzes past. Jon leaps onto the cloud and stabs him in the back.


"So that's what doing that feels like," says Jon as he yanks Merek off the cloud.


Black sparks shoot from Merek's body as he slams into the ground. The sparks shoot and dance, stitching his arm back on. He rises to his feet and cackles at the sky.


"Fools! Only a magic weapon can kill me. Ahhhhhhhhhargggggg"


Merek slumps over and falls face down in the dirt.


Sir Jamison bends down and pulls a dagger from Merek's back. "He forgot about my magic dagger."


Jon shakes his head. "I hope this doesn't become a thing."


The three of you do your best at damage control. Jon kills Bell, and the two of you bury her in a shallow grave, pretending she never existed. Merek managed to kill literally everything else in a three mile radius, so the three of you take over ruling the kingdom. Sir Jamison becomes King Jamison. Jon becomes Warden of the North. And you receive the honor of knighthood, vowing to keep your whore murdering lifestyle in the past.


You marry a buxom wench – seeing as all the noble Ladies are dead – and, in a strange twist of fate, have seven daughters who all grow up to be fabulous whores.