The Underdogs are relaxing in the old mine shack after their most recent defeat in their 75th game, another minor milestone passed on their way out of obscurity and towards mediocrity. Gerald is sat on his ches-long peering through his monocle at an out of date news paper scavenged by one of the goblins from the Bogart Hill midden, Laz’pler is digging pitch slime from under his toe nails and Rex’iccles is huddled in a corner giggling as he intently disembowels a tattered old doll muttering, instructions to his illusionary helpers. A periodic thumping and shaking of the building indicates that Ber’anx is once more engaged in head butting the wall to his room next door. A particularly loud crash from the adjoining room dislodges a rafter sending a shower of dust and small stones down on Laz’pler.
The skaven thrower glances up from is grooming casting a worried glance upwards to ensure nothing larger is about to fall on him and addresses the Maquis “Boss I’m gettin worried ‘bout Ber’anx ee seeems to bee loosin eeet”
Gerald casts an unconcerned glance towards Laz’pler over the top of his paper “Really my dear rat, and what has sparked this uncharacteristic concern for one of your fellow players pray tell?”
“Well for one thing eees smaking ees ed on the wall a lot arder than normal and eee don’t seem to beee isself on th peeetch eeether”
“No that I have noticed – he does seem rather more risk averse than previously”
“I think eeet started when Nor’zarax bit eeet, right after tha’ scabby gobbo Devious died too”
“Its funny really, he always seemed to hate that idiot rodent following him around and parroting his every word – the number of times he tried to rip Nor’zarx’s throat out – I would have thought he would be glad to be rid of him.”
“Yeah meee too boss, but I theeenk eee misses eeem more than ee lets on… and then there was that game where eee was almost killed isself and tha apo saved eeem… an eees be ‘urt eeen almost every match ees played ever since… I theeek eee theenks eee’s gonna die soon too and I theeenk eets pushed eeem over the edge.”
“And then of course there was also that letter, you know the one from the Blood Bowl hall of fame – apparently if he gets just a few more casualties or a couple of touchdowns they are going to name him as a Legendary player, I wonder if that has added to his stress levels, the pressure of surviving until he gains that award may be the proverbial straw.”
Rex’iccles, still huddled in the corner, starts singing to himself
“Nasty skaven gon in the ed, gone in the ed, gonna be dead. Nasty skaven gone in the ed, gone in the ed, gonna be dead. Ikkle ikkles ‘ill cut off iz ed, cut off iz ed, gonna be dead. Ikkle ikkles ‘ill cut off iz ed too see eenside…”
Suddenly the rotten door to Ber’anx’s room shatters outwards showering the players’ lounge with mouldy wooden splinters and revealing the manic blitzer, bloodied and bleeding.
He lets out an inskaven howl and declares “I’ll keeeel em all – I’ll beee Legend or I’ll die trying – come and geeet meee death I’ll rip yer nadges off!”
At which point he charges head long at the building’s front door, trips over Rex’iccles tale, flies head first into the solid stone door jamb and lays himself out cold.
“Well, I guess we don’t have to worry abut him not taking risks on the pitch any more” sighs Gerald “oh Rex be a good boy and fetch some goblins to help put Ber’anx to bed and see if the apo has any thing for a headache – I fear he will need something when he wakes up.”