"Nothing good can come from this I tell you Moloch!" Not hiding his concern, Balor continues. "She has been in there for days now. Stange emissaries have arrived from far away places. Unknown Kingdoms with names I've never heard of", a look of distrust in his eye. "The land of Cabalvision?" "Name doesn't ring a bell." Moloch admits. "Maybe they come to reclaim the orb?" "Then why are they still here? No its something else? And what of that other name, 'Cibbl'. What kind of an Elvish sounding name is that?! Is it a town? A Fiefdom of somesort? What to make of all of this? One thing is for sure, I have the men on standby, this whole think stinks I tells ya'!" His thick index finger pointing to his nosewhile his spiked tail fiercely swings about. This is one disgruntled Fimir one edge!
Unbeknownst to Balor from inside Araznaroa the Witch-Hag's hut eyes were on him. Eyes belonging to CabalVision head manager Lord Calthor and Cibbl representative and CabalVision chief assistant Sir Burnalot. "As you can see gentlement, a more prime example of a Fimm Warrior you shall not find. One of my own breeding, if I may be so bold. He will make a fine warrior in your arena gentlemen." "Well yes your Hagship, a fine warrior he looks indeed. But what about his cognitive functioning? There is more to this game than mear gladitorial violence, albeit it helps alot." An offended frown forming on the Hag's wrinkled face. "Forgive Sir Burnalot Ma'am, for his concern is only for your wellbeing." Calthor proceeds. "For in this game, a mix of brute strenght and cunning tactics are required to rise to victory. And what my distinguished colleague was trying to say, before he chose that unlucky phrasing, is the fact that we can simply not allow your men on the field shrouded in a cloud of mist. It would be against the rules for one. But more importantly, fans watching at home wont get a proper image. And let me tell you, fans like a good cheating play, but only when they can view it from the comfort of their cave, nest, house, even castle if you will." The words come out cold and standfast. Here is a man who in the face of a creature older than his civilisation would not waver his beliefs. And she admires him for that. "Okay, okay, you gentlemen drive a hard bargain. Write up the contract, no mist during games, you have my promise." Unheard but felt by the Hag as she feels all fluctuation of air in her hut, a sigh of relief passes Sir Burnalots lips. "Ai, these bones are getting older so I don't think I will accompany the team beyond the land of Albion." Looking at her hands she continues. "Creating the mists is harder in those countries anyway and my powers are not what they once were. So lets hope your crash course in coaching has helped gentlemen." Not sure if that last sentence sounded like a threat the two Cibbl take their leave and head back home with signed contracts as baggage. They seemed keen to leave these dreary lands. Will they ever be back? One evil-eye staring after them certainly hopes not.
"Rejoice my children, for I Araznaroa have found a way for our tribe to flourish, beyond these lands of dread even. Balor! I've chosen you! You shall captain a team of your finest men to glory on the fields of Cibbl! Go forth you shall, to other regions. Spread your seed, make our clan great again!" A dumbfounded look befalls Balor, who perplexed by all these alien terms, has trouble forming an official reply; "M..MMMMMY.. My Lady" he stumbles "Oh great is the honor you bestowed upon mine shoulders..." An uneasy silence follows. "But what is it you whish from me exactly mylady?" "Come my dear Balor, come into my hut and let me teach you the beginnings of a game called Blood Bowl. Hurry up for you face some Giant team later tonight." Still with a face of disbelief Balor straddles up to the hut as Araznaroa beckons him inside like a nurturing mother to her loving child.
And so it came to pass that a Fimir team oncemore takes to the pitch, a team that came to be known as; Misty Isle Gators