Bad for your Elf
The snotlings ducked to avoid the hurled cast iron pot, cowering again as it hit the ground with an almighty crash.
“You were given one job!”
Still sooty faced, the pint sized creatures tried scurrying away from the indignant head coach of the Shreking Balls. A wine jug was hurled next, the arc taking it into a smashed heap on the floor. As the snotlings fled the room, Günther Weyrauch slumped into his chair. The only solace he had was the art gallery fire wasn’t linked to the team, they could barely afford the team’s upkeep without any fines being accrued. Günther’s skin drained of all colour as the realisation set in. They would have to play against a full strength Har Ganeth. And a healthy Belphegor.
Günther needed a lie down.
A knock on the door woke the Head Coach from his sleep. Groggy from his rest, Günther Weyrauch stumbled to the door. The brightly clothed man flamboyantly produced a letter and began to read, “Dear Misser ‘ead Coach, I iz afraid dat I cannot make dis game. I ‘ave a touch of the ‘alfling ‘ot Trots. Sorry, Bomber Dribblesnot.”
The messenger rolled the letter up and handed it to the bemused head coach, “I believe I had the pronunciation correct there, Sir, have a nice day.”
And with that the man turned on his heels and headed off towards town. Günther could feel his stomach knotting. Hoping it was merely the nerves of the forth coming game, and not another batch of the stomach flu.
The tension in the stadium was palpable as the team entered. The news of the injury to Cuchilo, Har Ganeth Reivers’s star Assassin, came as an unexpected blessing to the Shreking Balls team. Günther felt a chill down his spine as he heard the menacing war cries of the predominantly Dark Elf crowd. The servants of Khaine were in a particularly bloodthirsty mood.
The fiery eyed gaze of the Dark Elf team was matched by the glazed over look from the Ogre front line. The slow witted Ogres were left grasping at air as the agile elves began their attack. With barely a flick of the wrist, Belphegor deftly passed the ball downfield. Mab leaped into the air, plucking the ball to her chest, and running in for the first Touchdown of the game.
1-0 with barely any time on the board. The Ogres were confused. Snots argued with each other. Ferdinand was still tying his boots.
Günther Weyrauch raged on the sidelines, the tightening of his stomach returning. He beckoned for Winda to come over, the only snotling capable of a little Reikspiel.
“Get the ball! Stop fighting with each other!” he bellowed to the nonplussed snotling. As Winda ran back onto the fied, Günther trotted off to the backroom lavatory.
Both teams lined up for the kickoff. As the ball went skyward, the elven speed was back on show. Before the Ogres could react, the Dark Elves blitzed forward. Weechee was knocked away by the momentum of the onslaught, and the Kar Ganeth Witch Elf, Kali, caught the kick to begin a dangerous Druchii attack.
With a grunt the Ogres snapped out of their confusion and started an aggressive attack on the elves. Bodies flew and bones were broken in the assault. The next few minutes were a blur of violence as the ball was surrounded by the bulk of the Shreking Ball Ogres.
The remaining elves bounced out of the melee and backed away from the frenzy. With no one else to hit, the Ogres remembered the ball in the middle of the scrum. Fungus picked up the ball and ran. Farkle was upfield, scratching his behind, and enjoying the view of the violent crowd. He had barely turned as the ball came flying towards him from the pass from Fungus. Clumsily he grabbed towards the ball, surprised that it landed in his hand, and ran towards the end-zone, dodging away from the final Dark Elf defender before scoring before the end of the half.
The Touchdown celebrations continued into the locker room with songs and belly beating reverberating around the room. Günther emerged from the lavatory confused at the noise. Whatever he had caught had made him miss the half. Ogres celebrating didn’t mean anything. They’d celebrate all day for seemingly no reason. But there was no use trying a team talk. The celebrations were boisterous and far too loud for any tactical conversations.
Whereas the Ogres returned to the pitch in a jovial mood, the elves appeared scalded and tense. The lines were formed, and the ball was kicked deep into the Shreking Balls half. The snotlings swarmed the ball and they swept it out to the flank, a bulky Ogre wall blocking the elves.
The yellow bulldozer continued down the pitch until an elf managed to trip the ball carrying snot. The snotling lay mangled on the floor, and the ball bounced once again to Farkle’s hands.
The smell of blood changed something in Flobablob, and he quickly sent two Reivers to the injury room. Before long the Dark Elves had only a handful of players on the pitch, smashed aside by the Shreking Balls attack. As the clock ticked down, Farkle scored his second Touchdown of the game, smashing aside a defender on the way in.
The action, or should that be inaction, of the Har Ganeth Reivers angered their fans. Bloodthirsty fans poured onto the pitch, tearing apart the referee, ripping up parts of the pitch, and fighting amongst each other.
The pitch cleared, and a nervous looking second referee on the pitch, the teams returned to continue the game. Deej kicked the ball into play and the teams clashed again.
With seconds ticking down, the remaining Har Ganeth Reivers players sprinted forward. The ball was thrown in a perfect spiral to the outstretched hand of Kali the Witch Elf. The ball tipped just before it reached, leaving the Dark Elf grasping at air as the ball fell to the ground.
The horn sounded and the match ended. The Shreking Balls won the game 2-1!
The rest of the week was a blur of celebration, feasts, and drinking. Günther Weyrauch wasn’t foolish enough to try and step between an Ogre and his feasting. So he spent the week planning alone for the next game, hoping he would catch nothing from the upcoming game against Nurgle.
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