Two days later, Leonard Jorkins was pacing alongside Manger through the streets of Altdorf. In front of them were two more of Jorkins’ bodyguard troupe. They were heading for a practice field just outside of the city. From what Jorkins had understood, Manger was going to meet his prospective team there.

What was really puzzling to Jorkins was that Manger had never made any contact with the ‘team’ since they had made the deal two nights ago. He had been with the would be manager ever since the following morning and couldn’t figure out how he’d ever gotten a team together. Jorkins never asked him because he was not paid to think, only protect his employer. But he could still not slake his thirst for answers.

The streets seemed to clear for the group as they passed. The bodyguards were doing a good job of intimidating the various people in the city. Most people in Altdorf kept to themselves anyway, so the journey was relatively quick.

When they arrived at the fields, Dark and Summers were already there, along with the three other bodyguards assigned to guard them. Out on one of the practice pitches were a bunch of green skinned orcs fooling around with a football playing a rough pickup game of Blood Bowl. What was more interesting was that there was a growing crowd, anxious for something to happen. As Jorkins and Manger came nearer, a cry of anticipation arose from the crowd. Manger flashed a smile and walked over to greet his friends.

Dark was already very nervous. He was huddled in his long navy blue First Empirical Bank coat and he was shivering even though it was a warm morning for late spring. Jorkins could tell that he was scared of the Blood Bowl world and was probably having second thoughts about doing this. Summers though looked like he was at home. He was wearing his old Hallytown Half-Backs assistant coach uniform and was looking very relaxed, as if he had done this several times before, which he most likely had.

Manger greeted them. “Hey there! Good to see you both looking healthy,” he said, ignoring the fact that Dark was quite pale. “I trust Jorkins’ bodyguards treated you well.”

“Very,” said Summers, and he grinned widely at Jorkins exposing the gaps in his gums where he no doubt had lost his teeth to oncoming blitzers throughout his short lived career.

“You said you had a team lined up to play. Where are they?” asked Dark quietly.

Jorkins and his crew of five others were now busy working hard to keep the onlookers at bay, but Jorkins couldn’t resist overhearing them.

“What?” exclaimed Manger. “What do you mean where are they? They’re already here!” Jorkins peaked over his shoulder as he shoved a frustrated looking dwarf away and saw that Manger was indicating the orcs goofing off on the field.

Summers stopped smiling. Dark flinched. Jorkins forgot what he was doing and accidentally let the dwarf slip by him and had to turn completely around and lunge before he got his large hand on the dwarf’s broad shoulder to pull him back. Manger pretended not to notice their reactions and called over to the orcs. Half of them stopped to look over at Manger. The other half then pounced on them gleeful that their targets had become distracted. As they picked themselves up off the ground, Manger called again and two of them came striding over to him. For a second, Jorkins was worried that he would have to deal with both the rowdy onlookers and the advancing orcs, but the sudden presence of the Orcs made the crowd back off, and Jorkins immediately stepped in front of Manger, Summers, and Dark.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Jorkins,” said Manger calmly. Dark looked like he might soil his coat. Summers looked confused, but had not shaken. Manger had a wry smile on his face.

The two orcs approached the group undaunted by Jorkins who was now joined by three of the other bodyguards. They were wearing crude makeshift armor and were already spattered with mud from the morning’s game. Jorkins, who himself was a few inches over six feet, tried to make himself look taller to intimidate the orcs, but it had little effect. “Please, Mr. Jorkins, step aside so my clients can speak with me,” said Manger again.

Jorkins stepped aside and looked up at the rest of the orcs. They went back to playing their scrimmage. Jorkins didn’t make a head count but he figured there were at least a score of them there, too many for a Blood Bowl team.

“Greg, Jason, meet Knucklebone and Kneecap Redscar,” introduced Manger. The two Orcs looked hesitantly at each other and then at Manger. Only when Summers offered his hand to them did they make a gesture that eased the tension. They slowly shook his hand; Dark did not offer his.

The two orcs came up shorter than the three of them, but they were much stockier and looked stronger. Neither of them bore any scars, which was unusual for Orcs as they often fought amongst themselves. But something about them told Jorkins that they had not grown up in an orcish household, if you could call it that. Indeed, when they spoke, they spoke well and they had a more human accent than an orc one, both indications that they had spent a lot of time around humans.

One of the pair looked straight at Manger and said, “Thank you for coming to see us today.”

“This is the team you asked us to help you with? These, these… orcs?” stammered Dark.

Manger shot a menacing look Dark, who then looked as if he’d had enough for the rest of his life and wanted nothing more than to get out of there with all deliberate speed. But he was frozen to the spot, sweat glimmering down his face. Jorkins could have sworn he saw a tear mix with the sweat on Dark’s cheek.

“I’m very glad you all showed up,” Manger said, turning back to the orcs. Sensing he was loosing control of the situation, he politely asked the orcs if they could have a minute to themselves. Dark, Summers, and Manger huddled up and started whispering to each other.

“Calm down! I know they look scary, but they’ve spent almost their whole lives in civilization, with almost no contact with other orcs. They’re tame.” Manger quietly stressed the last word.

“I have to say, Alex, that I was expecting a human team. I’ve never dealt with orcs before. They have a whole different team dynamic, you know,” Jorkins could hear Summers whispering.

“If you think that I’m going to collaborate in any way with those brutes – ” said Dark, his voice rising in alarm. But he was cut off by Manger before he got too loud.

“Shhh! I will warn you that if you upset them, this whole deal might be off!”

“Good! As your financial advisor, I recommend it!”

Jorkins couldn’t make out the rest of the hushed conversation as his fellow bodyguards pointed out that he was needed to help keep the crowd back once again. He once again found himself restraining anxious onlookers. But after he and the other bodyguards had made it clear that no one was going to get near the group, they backed off. Manger had already broken up his private conversation with Dark and Summers and was now talking again to the orcs.

“… But I’m disappointed to tell you that we can’t hire all of you,” said Manger to the orcs. “Mr. Dark here has informed me that we only have the gold to purchase eleven of your services if we are going to pay you a fair sum.” Jorkins could see Dark wince at the mention of his name.

The two orcs looked disappointed, but Manger consoled them by pointing out that they would receive a vast sum of money. Looking a little more elated, they ran back to their ‘team’ to tell them the news.

“So what are you going to do then?” Dark asked Manger.

But it was Summers who responded. “We’re going to hold a tryout of course! There are twenty six of them and only eleven spots on the team! What else would we do?”

Dark looked as if he was going to say, ‘Give up,” but he didn’t get the words out because just then a huge cry of anguish came from the practice field.

They began walking towards the field to begin the tryout. “Even if you somehow manage to pull a team together from this lot,” said Dark, “which would be quite a feat in itself, how are you ever going to get them to play a real game?”

“Well, first we need a name for them,” said Manger.

“What are you thinking? You’re about to form a team out of semi-deranged monsters and all you can think about is the name?” scoffed Dark.

“Despite your limited knowledge of the game, I’m sure even you understand the need for such a device,” said Summers with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Oh, come on!” said Dark exasperatedly. “Just call them the Green Nose-Pickers for crying out loud! Or the Big Muscle Team.”

“I was thinking something more menacing, like the Greenfield Grinders, or Black Mashers,” said Manger, lost in thought.

“Well then, how about the Ball Puncturers?” said Dark sarcastically now. “Or the Spike Skin Scorers. Or the Blitz Blasters.”

“Wait,” said Manger who suddenly stopped. “What was that last one?”

“What? The Blitz Blasters?” Dark said with so much sarcasm it was dripping off the words.

“Yes! That’s it! Alexander Manger, Manager of the Blitz Blasters!” he exclaimed with joy. “Do you like it?” he asked his friends.

Dark stood there with his jaw hanging open. Summers nodded and smiled, once again exposing his incomplete set of teeth. Manger looked at Jorkins, which surprised him, since he had not been a part of the conversation until that point. But he nodded and said, “A very fitting name, Mr. Manger.”

“I- I- I was joking,” Dark tried to say, but Manger then pressed on towards the hopefuls, ready to begins the tryouts for his first ever Blood Bowl team.

___________________________________________________________


The tryouts went more or less smoothly. Jorkins once again was preoccupied with holding the now highly inquisitive onlookers back, but from what he did manage to see, the orcs were responding well to Manger and Summers and didn’t seem to have a problem taking orders from humans, although, it was a sorry excuse for a Blood Bowl tryout at best.

As the day wore on, the onlookers started to drift away, and they were no longer pressing towards the field, giving the bodyguards a reprieve. Just as curious as the rest, Jorkins decided to watch the tryout. He recognized Kneecap and Knucklebone from before, although it was difficult to keep track of them amidst all the green skins. They seemed to be the captains of their respective teams, and although they were by far not the largest or strongest orcs there, they were clearly the smartest and most experienced at Blood Bowl. Jorkins also noticed that there was only one black orc present, which was a set back, as normally orc teams fielded at least two or three of the mighty beasts.

Jorkins also noticed that there was only one good thrower. The team he was on seemed to know this and every time there was a kickoff, they would pitch the ball to him. He would then always wait for the right moment, and make a beautiful pass. However, seldom did anyone catch it, as most of his receivers were drawn into the fracas that occurred on the line of scrimmage. However, there was one goblin that occasionally was able to get past the fray and underneath the ball. But his tryout was over early as an overenthusiastic lineorc shoved him too hard when the goblin was looking up trying to receive the ball, and he got his jaw smashed by the incoming ball instead of catching it.

Manger called it quits as the afternoon faded. The orcs, having played all day, were exhausted, but still enthusiastic. Reluctantly, they all went back to where ever they came from and Manger signaled to Jorkins that they were going back into Altdorf. When they got back to the Horned Dragon Tavern and Inn, Manger, Summers, and Dark sat down whilst Jorkins and the rest of his bodyguard stood around the table.

“No need to just stand there,” Manger said to the troupe. “Pull up a table and have some drinks.” The bodyguards complied and sat at the table next to them, although still between their employers and the door. “Mr. Jorkins, you should sit with us over here,” Manger called to him, and, after warning his troupe not to drink too deep, he sat down at an empty chair between Summers and Dark.

“Well, I know they aren’t the best team out there, but they’re not too bad,” said Manger.

“Are you kidding? They were horrible! The only ones who could even hold the ball and run at the same time were that thrower, Kneecap, and Knucklebone! And the others need lots of blocking practice. I couldn’t even count how many turnovers happened because of poor blocking, and there were even more due to fumbles!” said Summers.

Manger just gave him a hard look. “If you are done with your rant, Mr. Summers, then we can proceed to select a team and decide on a training schedule to whip them into shape.”

“You want to pick the team tonight?” said Summers, again flustered. “Real tryouts last days. How are we supposed to know which ones are the best if we’ve only seen them for a few hours?”

“I have a pretty good idea of who will make the team and who won’t, don’t you? It was clear who the better ones were and there is no reason to delay the process anymore. I know that you also have a good idea of the talents, and so, if we may begin, we can get to bed sooner,” said Manger.

Dark and Jorkins were silent. Summers sighed and then nodded his head, unable to curb Manger’s headstrong attitude. “Well obviously, we want Knucklebone and Kneecap to be our blitzers, and probably our captains too. And we want the thrower.” Manger nodded in agreement. “This team needs more muscle, and I only saw one black orc out there. We’ll take him, but we also need a couple more. Can you talk to the Redscars and see if they can’t round them up?”

“Does it matter if they don’t have experience or don’t know how to play?” asked Manger.

“No, so long as they’re big and can smash things well. Black orcs are meant to be blockers, not blitzers. Just stick them on the line of scrimmage and hope they come out okay and the opponents don’t.”

“Right, so we’ll have to cut more from the tryouts, but that’s okay,” said Manger. “So, assuming we get two more blockers, we now have six players. We need five more. The other players who tried out for blocker and thrower were no good, so we’re looking for lineorcs. I already know the first three I want, but I’ll run them by you anyway. Number eleven, number forty seven, and number twenty two looked decent to me. Right?”

Summers nodded. “Also, number sixteen.”

“I didn’t think he was that impressive,” said Manger.

“He’s not, but he understands the basics better than the others, and he looks coachable. If I can train him up, he’ll be much better than he was today,” said Summers.

“Okay, so we have one spot left. I was stuck between number eighteen and number thirty one,” said Manger.

“Which ones were they?” asked Summers.

“Oh, eighteen was the one who managed to trip up both Knucklebone and that black orc on the same play. Thirty one was the one who pushed the goblin into the ball and got him hurt.”

“I liked thirty one better. Take him,” Summers replied in a matter of fact tone.

“Well, the reason I am hesitant to take him is because he’s just overzealous. He takes things too far. He was the most dangerous player out there, and I don’t mean because he is good at blocking, but because it seems he would stop at nothing to get what he wants. All he had to do was reach up over the goblin to pick off the ball. But now we can’t pick the goblin for the team because he got his face caved in. And that other time, when he fouled another lineorc so he could get a better position to get the ball. I don’t know how comfortable I’ll be with someone like him on my team.”

“Come on, Alex. That sort of stuff is encouraged on the field! He got his job done, and the crowd loved it, didn’t they?” Summers said.

“Yeah, but it’s not about how well it goes over with the fans. It’s about how well it goes over with the ref,” protested Manger.

“I see your limited knowledge of Blood Bowl is haunting you yet again. For the most part, the refs don’t matter. Playing fair will only make you lose. Now, the fans are a crucial part of the game. Trust me, if there are thousands of people screaming for your death, members of the opposing team will try extra hard to satisfy them. Getting the fans on your side is half of the game,” Summers said.

Manger still looked skeptical. “What do you think, Jason?”

Dark was slow to reply. “I think this whole idea is a waste of time. Someone is bound to get hurt, and I have a bad feeling that it is going to be me.”

“No one is going to get hurt while Mr. Jorkins and his bodyguards are around,” said Manger, indicating the table next to them. They were only slightly intoxicated and seemed to be having a good time with arm wrestling matches. “You can’t back out now. What about your cut? You can finally quit your job at the First Empirical Bank! Think about it! I promise you won’t get hurt.”
Dark still said nothing, and so Manger, only slightly disappointed, turned to Jorkins. “What did you think of the tryouts, Mr. Jorkins? I noticed you were watching the last hour or so.”

Surprised that Manger was addressing him, Jorkins replied earnestly. “I think the team will need lots of work, but if you can get some easy games for them, they might have a chance. And I prefer number thirty one to eighteen.”

“See? I told you,” said Summers, gloating a little.

“All right, fine. If both of you want thirty one, then we’ll take him. That means we have our team! Waitress, a round of beer for our table on me, please!” Manger said triumphantly. Summers cheered.

“Well, if you could draw up some contracts for me and have them by tomorrow night, Mr. Dark, we can officially get started,” said Manger. Dark just nodded. “And Mr. Summers, you and I will need to be at the fields tomorrow before midday to inform the prospects of the picks, so get some rest. Kneecap and Knucklebone are going to meet us there in the morning and they will tell the team who made it and who got cut. We’ll also need to explain to them that we need more blockers… Good night then.”

With that, Manger got up, leaving Jorkins, Summers, and Dark sitting there. As he passed the waitress on his way upstairs, he paid her, and she brought the drinks to the table. Manger had abandoned his beer.