Joe burst into wakefulness covered in sweat. He glanced under the sheet and saw that he’d once again pissed himself. He looked around, and was slowly reassured by the familiarity of his little apartment bedroom: the dirty clothes and empty beer cans; the sleeping horse beside him; the piles upon piles of cheap ninja-themed equipment heaped around them.
The nightmare’d happened again.
He’d been leading a cavalry charge in a battle from utop his courser. To his left and right heavily armored horses thundered along, their riders merrily wielding masterwork lances. They rushed towards a cowering cluster of defenseless afk peasants, and the flags they defended. Just as they were about to fall upon them, a single peasant turned around and, smiling, waggled a bent pitchfork in the air. The whole mass of horses came to an abrupt halt. Joe cried out for them to move forward—to just trample the peasant—but the little bastard just stood there, now with a single arm outstretched, holding the whole horde of horses back—horses that were suddenly unarmored, shitty Rounceys mounted by sarcastic, half-naked horsemen whose lances had been replaced by rotting two by fours, chickens, and rocks tied to sticks.. Joe screamed, looked down, and saw the most horrible thing of all: a Swaybacked Courser where his beloved Champion Courser should’ve been. And then all the other horsemen slowly disappeared, like smoky ghosts blown away by the wind, until it was just him—him on an empty battlefield surrounded by diseased horses and piles of broke-ass gear.
It was a recurring nightmare, and caused Joe to pee himself regularly. Sometimes he wasn’t asleep when this happened. That was how scary it was.
He placed a hand on the slowly heaving belly of his snoozing Champion Courser. He sighed. “Thank chadz I’ve got you back. It was quite the adventure—humorous and quirky, full of sexual imagery…”
The beast beside him rolled over, apparently quite awake. “Joe,” she said. “You haven’t posted that yet.”
“Fuck you go to sleep or I’ll put you on the Market. Trade you for some loomed fucking rocks.”
She rolled over again.
Joe swung out of bed. “Better’ve left a fucking tooth under your pillow,” he mumbled, “so the god damn buff fairy can come and give you some HP.” He was glad to have her back, really, but after a few days he remembered that she still kinda sucked.
Someone banged on his door.
“Oh shit.” Joe mumbled. He had no friends, so this was odd. He glanced down at his sleeping horse, waited a moment, and yelled, “ILL GET IT!”
He went to the door. He twisted three locks, unlocked two padlocks, pulled back two bolts, and threw a few wood planks over the hole he’d sawed into the floor where the inside mat should’ve been. The hole lead to the murky black of the basement. He stared down. Eventually he made out three ninja warriors—the survivors. They were curled up into little balls, clutching swords, extra ninja masks, and spare helmets to their shivering bodies in an attempt to keep warm.
He flung open the door. There, much to his surprise stood Matey. Still dressed like a pirate, though a little bedraggled looking.
“Arrrrrrgh,” Matey growled. “Joe!” The bearded man glanced first left, then right, clearly afraid. “Joe! I need shelter! FCC or whatever the fuck we’re called got wrekt. Arg!”
Joe pulled the door open wide and gestured for Matey to enter. Matey entered, carefully traversing the boards over the ninja pit. He looked around and couldn’t help but conceal a frown. There were lots of katanas and ninja masks scattered about. In the corner, Courser farted in her sleep. He then looked Joe up and down, just now noticing his naked, urine caked body.
Joe said, “Don’t worry Matey, you’re safe here.”
“T-thank ye.” He sat down on a pile of lamellar vests. He wiped sweat from his brow. “So, I’m sure ye heard…”
Joe grunted. “Yeah. VC Day. It was wild here. Fucking Mardi Gras with swords.”
“Aye, well, New Tazjunat can get like that.”
Joe nodded. “One hundred percent fucking crime.” He’d walked in with a small ninja army, intent on pursuing a new life of adventure what with FCC defeated.
The killing started immediately.
He dispatched a detail to lead the horses to stables. Only one man returned.
Fifteen were killed while Joe tied his shoes.
They made a mad dash to McDonalds, because they had to pee and eat dem fries. Half of his men were killed on the way there. Not a single man made it from the door to the restroom.
Four hundred good ninjas, all gone. All except the three he kept in the basement. He got to keep the gear though, which he duly piled around himself in the apartment he was living in, on the city’s outskirts.
Matey had a bit of a start. “Oh, Joe! I found some correspondence on ye door.” He passed Joe an envelope.
“Envelope,” Joe said, savoring each syllable slowly.
Matey stared. “Right,” he finally said, slapping his hands onto his knees and standing. “I’ll be leaving then.” He drew his saber and, steeling himself, rushed out of the apartment.
Joe peeled the letter open. It read…
“For those interested 
Strategus will be reset some time during November.
Will more than likely post something in Announcements later, but else spread the w0rd.”
Joe stared at it, his head cocked to the side. He looked at Courser, who was now awake and looking at him all concerned like. He crumpled the letter and tossed it aside. He threw aside the boards to his ninja-pit, sucked in a lungful of stale air, and bellowed, “SHUT IT DOWN!” before fetching up a katana. He leapt upon Courser’s back and rode her out of the apartment and out into Calradia.
YOU KNOW, CALRADIA: THE WORLD SOON TO BE ENGULFED IN APOCALYPTIC SLAUGHTER BECAUSE WE WANT FUN AND XP! YOU TROOP HORDING SHITSURFERS CAN COME OUT AND KILL EACHOTHER NOW! ROUNDS OVER!
