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The_Carthaginian
Last seen 6 weeks ago
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2021

2021-05-15 09:41:40
rating 5.3

2020

2017

2017-05-07 18:45:12
rating 4.3

2016

2016-03-18 23:14:28
rating 5
2016-03-17 10:33:38
rating 5.3
2016-03-18 23:14:28
2 votes, rating 5
The Return of Ruckus (2)
And so, Uncle Ruckus' spirit passed into the eternal darkness of the Abyss, with a roar of rage that attracted the attention of a being ancient and terrible, with an unhealthy fixation on the beautiful game we call Blood Bowl.

What could inspire such rage in a mortal spirit? The being turned its gaze back through time, and saw all that had come to pass in 145 Rookie League LVI, and immediately afterwards.

It seems some sport could be had, and the being warped the material of the plane to bring its consciousness into contact with the spirit of Uncle Ruckus (No Relation)...

"Ruckus, my dear fellow, I saw what those treacherous colleagues of yours did. Horrid business, don't you think?"

The spirit that once was The Dark Elf Blitzer known as Uncle Ruckus (No Relation) burned a little hotter, and emitted a worldess growl of disgust, resentment, bitterness. Yes, this one would do nicely, with the right preparation.

"Of course...I forget you mortals have such trouble expressing yourselves in this plane of existence for the first several millenia. No matter...perhaps you would like to see what your beloved (for all hate stems from love, does it not?) teammates do now with their success?"

The being, who was none other than the reviled, accursed and above all, bored, Daemon Prince Mal'zafar, opened a portal showing visions of the mortal realms, of RagsToWitches in the past weeks...visions of victory orgies with fans and groupies, showboating and posturing in injury-free exhibition matches, speaking tours of the Six Cities of Naggaroth, but no tournaments...adding insult to fatality, RagsToWitches had not even set foot on a proper Blood Bowl pitch since their victory. Is this what he had been killed to make way for?

And so, on witnessing this, the spirit was moved to greater rage.

"What if I told you there was a way to take your revenge? I could restore you to the mortal realms, make you whole again, swole again. I could give you a team of your own. A chance to win glory in 145 for yourself. There would be a price, of course, but..."

But the spirit cared not for prices or consequences, and burned with assent. Mortals were so petty and easy to ensnare.

"Ahh, such desire. Such anger! It will be done then - prepare yourself. You do truly deserve a team that matches your passion, and I will grant you them, a crew of pure bile and hatred, borne of the frustrations of the greatest call centres in eternity. Play well Ruckus, please me, and I will reward you with gifts worthy of the finest Blood Bowl players. Fail me, and your sweet rosebud is mine...forever."

And so, the spirit of Uncle Ruckus (No Relation) was restored to a mortal form on the plane of existence it left so recently. Gasping for breath, it struggled to process what had just happened, but one question in particular formed faster than the others.

"What in the Six Cities is a call centre?"
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