If you had told Scott Hoying that he was going to spend his Saturday in a scrappy little tent, hiding from a group of dweebs pretending to be knights, drinking the worst beer he'd ever had in his entire life, and that he would be wearing tights, of all things... he would've laughed in your face. But that was exactly what he was doing. So what supernatural force could get him in this awful situation? Who would be able to talk him into madness such as this? He asked himself, for probably the hundredth time, how he had gotten into this mess. And for the hundredth time, he arrived at the exact same answer: Kirstie.