“Letter from Prince Luthor Maledread to King Orfin Maledread II

Father, I write to you, stricken by the result of your machinations. I fear my royal food taster missed something in the jar of anchovies you sent, though I missed the clue in the fact that anchovies taste like sh*t and I shouldn't have eaten them in the first place.

It seems the royal apothecary has diagnosed a lasting, permanent injury to my royal self! Alas! Perhaps I should start from the beginning. An experienced Elven side, having played 7 more games than ourselves, accepted the challenge we brought forth. We fielded 10 players, the opponents 9. Soon our blocking prowess had reduced that to but 7, and at times, to 6, whereas our Dark Elven intestinal fortitude withstood all but the most determined of attacks, with nary a player down, and only one or two staying down.

The Elves were tenacious however, and fair scampered around our ranks whilst our own efforts to scamper resembled a one legged dwarf blind drunk trying to balance on a tripwire over a ravine in hurricane winds. (I'll give you a clue - the Dwarf fell, though to his credit he never screamed on the way down, whereas the four preceding Dwarves gave a mix of both scream and vomit, and the other 7 simply died from their wounds. Such is the price of science advances, but at least we know for future reference).

I digress.

So tight was this game that until the dying moments the score was in the balance at 1-1, and our superior numbers counted for very little. It took a desperate gamble - knocking an elf over onto a guarded (by both sides) ball and hoping the bounce would fall our way - which it did, to my royal self.

I ran the ball home, and in doing so, pulled up shortly after with a cramp in my guts. Bad anchovies. You have your revenge father, as my injury may prevent me playing in future games. If I become too much of a liability to the team, I will of course, resign myself to being a coach. The team is up to full strength next game, we continue to make steady progress, but are severley hampered by our inability to do anything elves are supposed to be good at. Throwing, dodging, singing merry songs - though the last one I will leave to other offshoots of the elven race.

So you have won father. I will continue to play on until my body can no longer stand the poison that courses through it, and attempt to stay off the toilet as much as possible, though that is the most difficult. The Stygian Blades have completed their fourth match, another win, but one at cost. With not much cash in the coffers and 2 permanent injuries, we may struggle in future games.

Love to mother, hope she enjoyed the Belladonna cakes I sent her. Respect to my royal brothers and sisters, may they all perish in glorious battle - that's assuming the assassins I have paid bungle their attempts on their lives. My respects to you father for being... well, an idiot.

Your son, Luthor


Letter from King Orfin Maledread II to his son, Prince Luthor Maledread

Dear son

I write to you from my death bed. It appears I have not longer for this world. A death worm ingests me from within. One cunningly placed in the royal latrine seems to have infected me. I wonder who could have arranged to have it put there? So it seems, Luthor, we have undone each other. It makes me proud to know I raised a backstabbing, conniving, evil spirited braggart such as yourself. Truly, I can die happy knowing that you will be passed up for the throne by one of your brothers, assuming they pull through from their various maladies. I was surprised to hear of your troubles with the Elven team you played. It seemed they possessed an indomitable never say die spirit and were coached with excellence, and that only reduced numbers prevented their win. I personally lost thousands of Gold Pieces on them, betting against you. Shame. One hopes the next game will see you and your Royal Night Guard crushed, your spirits sent screaming into the stygian void.

Fare thee well son. Well, referring of course to the water source your team used in training camp the last game. Tainted by a variety of deadly poisons and foulness.

King Orfin Maledread II

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Challenge from: Me (10 players, opponent 9, but with skill laden 10 games elves vs my 3 game club footed non dodging/passing buffoons)

Another attempt at elfbowl, and to be honest, I'd be better off with orcs. There is a shocking lack of ability with regards dodging and passing I find with 4Ag. It really does seem that Ag3 is better, at least in my experience. My dwarven blitzers and runners never missed a dodge last time out, whereas my buffons whizzed through rerolls with their lunk headed attempts at finesse.

JoeMalik proved a sporting, determined opponent and never gave up, being good value for the draw. As such, I clicked turn on my H2 T8 rather than block as the result was decided and such a game opponent deserved no more injuries than that his team had suffered. Sorry for the ag drop/miss next game - a recovery game for us both had you still looking for one unfortunately, but I hope you'll get your lads all together again soon.

Nice to play you, good chat, game played very fast and in good spirits, no nastiness, rematch anytime!

Cheers!”