The cast over campus this day is gray and cold, bitter as the winter that is to come.
Yet there is something even bitterer at work here—rumors of war between two of the noblest houses lie heavy on students’ lips.
President Eric of the House Hopfenpoop and Vice President Inigo of the House Montoya have declared war on each other in order to decide, once and for all, who is the better man for control over the student body.
Hopfenpoop, with his amicable nature and his dog-like loyalty, had no trouble winning over the campus, especially from the ranks of the Ultimate Frisbee team and the thousands of other organizations that he belongs to.
Denied of such widespread acceptance, Montoya has started to bribe Hopfenpoop’s followers, bringing them into his clutches through enticing promises of gold and a thousand virgins.
To the great bewilderment of Hopfenpoop and his remaining forces, the campus now appears to be equally split between his wholesome troupe of warriors and Montoya’s horde of lawless mercenaries.
In order to preserve the pastoral beauty of the campus, Hopfenpoop and Montoya agreed that it would be more sustainable to fight with medieval weaponry, so as to avoid leaving craters in the lawn, toward which so much of our tuition money goes to maintaining.
In the President’s Woods, battlements have been erected in anticipation for the great battle.
Having captured the true president Tonald Rhombus and bent him to his will, Inigo has raised the Montoya banners behind Rhombus’ house while Hopfenpoop has placed his around the western walls of the library.
Hopfenpoop, being the ever-rational man that he is, decided that Saturday morning would be best since that would provide survivors with a day to recuperate before returning to class on Monday.
However, Montoya, seeing a window of opportunity, struck out at midnight with a rain of arrows that pierced through the thick fog and fell upon Hopfenpoop’s forces, as if out of thin air.
Shouting commands till his voice was hoarse, Hopfenpoop managed to regroup his warriors and counterattack with a volley of smoldering catapult missiles while his foot soldiers flanked on both sides.
But the cunning Montoya was prepared for this and attacked from behind, annihilating practically all of Hopfenpoop’s warriors.
The fighting grew fierce as Hopfenpoop’s dwindling band gallantly slashed their way through hundreds of Montoya’s sellswords, although the man himself was nowhere to be seen.
Resplendent in his gold-enameled, lion-crested armor, Hopfenpoop shouted into the fog, “We were the best of friends once, Montoya! Will you not even face me now, as my mortal enemy?” He paused, waiting in vain, “Coward!”
Just then, Montoya sprang out from behind a tree, placed a dagger beneath Hopfenpoop’s chin and hissed the notorious motto into his ear: “A Montoya always pays his debts.”
But Hopfenpoop was unfazed, missing the reference totally. So Montoya tried a different approach: “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!”
This time Hopfenpoop let out a fear-laden shriek, knowing his doom was nigh.
Immediately Montoya’s vampire slave, Tonald Rhombus, appeared and slaughtered Hopfenpoop’s followers within seconds, turning his beige suit a dark shade of crimson.
Montoya continued to twist the knife by explaining that he spared one of his friends, simply known as “McCoy,” for Rhombus to eat.
Hopfenpoop cursed the gods and gave his sorrow to the deaf heavens, “MCCOYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!”
Disturbed, Rhombus reluctantly detached himself from McCoy’s succulent neck and ran to the source of the noise.
Montoya, frightened for the first time in his life, lost all his smugness as he attempted to coerce the monster: “Remember what we agreed? I would provide you with the freshest freshmen whenever you would go hungry, as long as you let me control the school. C’mon man, I gave you McCoy!”
Annoyed, Rhombus replied, “You and I both know what really happens at the Fireside Dinners. I think I’ll be just fine without you. Both of you.”
In one swift motion, he snapped both their necks and then gorged himself with their noble blood.
When he finished, he turned into a bat and flew away, like the BAMF that he is.