Burden of Leadership
Günther Weyrauch sighed. He raised his drink to his lips, took a great gulp, placed the goblet on the table, sunk into his chair. The game against the Amazons was a harsh jolt back to reality after the training week. If heavy was the head that wore the crown, then how about the one working for a maniac Orc?
The snotling server topped up his goblet with Estalian wine, almost knocking the jug over the table. Günther moved his stack of papers out of snotling harm. He had been keeping notes for a while. Strengths of his own players, weaknesses of the opposition, tactics to work on. Even going s far as to pay a youth to spy on their opponents. Whether the lad was caught or overwhelmed by watching the Amazonians in secret, Nuffle only knows.
At any rate the preparation had come to nothing. The Amazons had outworked, outplayed, and outhit the Ogre team. Although one thing came from their training week, a surprising passing play from one of the snots. Surprising as the ball is almost the same length as the snot is tall.
Günther sighed. At least the 2-0 loss wasn’t as harsh as the 6-0, but Elfs were on the horizon again, the Har Ganeth Reivers. He thumbed through his notes. The bounty on Belphegor was well worth the retainer paid to keep Bomber Dribblesnot for another game, and the buying of the sixth ogre… even if he was a few quail eggs short of a luncheon.
The was the game Weyrauch was looking forward to. He despised Dark Elfs. The game plan was simple: Hit hard, Hit fast, Leave only corpses. The same as the Dark Elf raids on his homelands.
“Runt!” he shouted to the snotling server. The snotling squealed and pottered over, still holding the wine jug.
“Uh?” the snot squeaked. Günther was slowly learning that this could mean ‘yes’, ‘hello’ or ‘excuse me’, but found it best to gesticulate in return. This wasn’t always perfect. His imitation of a large ogre had the snotlings bring him the portly priest of a local town.
Günther showed the snotling the illustration of Belphegor. He pulled out a dagger and thrust it into the portrait. The snotling squeaked “Ug”, believed to be a phrase of acknowledgement, and scarpered off.
Günther Weyrauch sipped his drink and smiled, looking forward to the upcoming game
The snotling servant reached the small fire the other snotlings had congregated around.
“ere,” he squeaked, “da boss wantz uz t’ bust up da art gallery.” He shrugged, “Orderz is orderz,” and the snotlings gathered up their weapons.
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