text: 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 pinpoint your aim
  If you can hit Lord Cleaver’s shield just right, then you can knock him right off of his horse. You can do this. This is what you spent all those hours training for. You pinpoint your target and adjust your aim. The horses draw closer. You can see the roan courser’s breath. Here it comes!
  
  
  Crack! Thud! Crack!
  
  
  Weightless, you are falling. A flash of pain. Blackness.
  
  
  I have good news, bad news and worse news, hero. Good news: you managed to hit your target. That first crack was both of your lances splintering. Bad news: the thud was you hitting the ground. Worse news: the second crack was your skull splitting in two when it bounced off a rock.