It is long past midnight and the docks of Altdorf are quiet and deserted. The many revelers from earlier in the evening have long since dispersed. The silence of the clear night is broken only by the clumsy sound of the occasional drunken sailor returning to his ship from whichever gambling den or brothel he had just spent the past several hours. The moorings themselves are at the busiest they have been for many months – hundreds of visiting ships are packed into the dock, having arrived at the city to bring fans and teams for the FUMBBL Cup Blood Bowl tournament, which will be kicking off in just under 2 weeks’ time.

A huge variety of ships, from every part of the Old World, are visible in the moonlight. The ship of the current title holders, Psychopathic Killing Machines!, stands out in particular – a large, black, windowless ironclad, covered in chains and skulls, with three large chimneys continually spewing thick black smoke into the air. Someone listening very carefully might just be able to make out the faint sound of whips cracking and screaming from somewhere inside.

On the mooring next door is the vessel of the infamous Chaos team, WMD’s in The Box, a peculiar ship that appears to be shaped like a huge silver missile. On the side, it bears a large yellow warning triangle, containing a radioactive trefoil symbol and the words ‘Little Boy’ printed below it. How it manages to stay afloat in the water is something of a mystery.

A little way down the dock from those two sits another eye-catching vessel - a beautiful, elegant ship made of ivory and covered in silver runes and detailing. The ship glows with an inner light and looks as if it was carved by angels. The name ‘Eagles’ Splendor’ is visible on the side. All of the lights are off and the ship is as quiet as a mouse. Or … is it? A faint sound coming from below decks suggests otherwise …

In the darkness of the cargo hold, two figures are whispering to each other – arguing whilst trying to remain silent. The figures are dressed in black, with balaclavas obscuring most of their faces.

“Gimme that crowbar, Spud. Come on, what did you do with it?” Whispers the slightly taller one.

“I dunno Boss. I thought you had it?”

“Don’t give me that, you clutz! I gave it to you before we boarded the ship.”

“Oh. OHHH … you mean, THIS crowbar?” Says the slow one, as he pulls a large steel crowbar out of the back of his trousers. The smart one grabs it from him, not even dignifying him with a response.

“Listen you fool. I’ve got a reliable source that tells me these elves are carrying a shipment of a rare and precious cargo aboard this ship. I need to get my hands on some of this, see? So, just do what you’re told and don’t screw anything up!”

The one who appears to be in charge begins to pry off the cover of a large wooden crate, which is sitting in the corner of the hold. He works very slowly, so as to make as little noise as possible. After about 10 minutes, he carefully removes the wooden cover and lays it softly on the floor. He pulls away several layers of fabric packing to expose the cargo underneath.

“What?!” He exclaims, stumbling backwards, as if startled, almost bumping into his accomplice. “B-b-but … this can’t be. These are banned in every province in the Empire! Mere possession can result in a death sentence!”

Scrambling in panic, he hastily backs off form the crate, almost falling over his accomplice, as he grabs him by the scruff of his neck.

“C-come on. L-let’s get out of here, quick. We can’t afford to be anywhere near this if the local constabulary arrive.”

They beat a hasty (but silent) retreat from the ship, leaving the illicit cargo behind.

Unseen by the intruders, in a shadowy corner of the hold, a short, wizened old man with a walking stick chuckles under his breath.

“Oh Magoo, you’ve done it again!”

The crate was packed full of these.