Coach Wallenstein of the Bhubaneswar Rampage.

It’s been three years. I think. It’s hard to keep track of time in the jungle, where there’s no real season to speak of. Humid all the time. Sometimes it falls from the sky, sometimes it doesn’t. That’s it. Nothing else. I mark the time when we go abroad to play other teams. But sometimes it all blurs together.
The team has had hard times and good times since I’ve been forced to take over. The first seasons were good, Dantidurga left me alone, he was happy, got a few titles, got our name known. Players becoming staples of the league. And then it all went to pieces, the tigers died, the kalites kept on dying, we struggled, all the other teams were better prepared, the new tigers were too soft, too weak, they were even playing the ball! I didn’t tell them to do that, where did they get that idea from? We lost our regional title for the first time. Dantidurga started to drop on the training sessions more and more, not saying anything but looking at me with those dark eyes. I started to worry.
And then it happened. Already on the boat to Cathay. We had been invited to the top tournament even though we had lost the title. I suppose the usual teams paid the organizers to have us with them for some easy wins. The spirit of the Rakshaka woke up. Raja Raja was restless, pacing the deck the whole night, brooding in a corner during the day. No one could approach or talk to him, not even Vima who usually always manages to cheer him up. The first game against the Stone Prince was a massacre. We finished almost alone on the pitch. So much blood. I have to admit it made my stomach turn. I’m still not completely used to those unruly beasts. I lost count at some point but I think Raja Raja alone managed to maim five players. It continued throughout the season. Raja Raja become even more enraged, almost frenzy-like, and I wonder if it’ll ever subdue. The others joined in, Ghaggar-Hakra had his share, as well as Chhatrapati, never as enraged as Raja Raja but eager to show his elder that he his worthy too of the Beast spirit. Vima was more vicious than ever. I couldn’t control him, he stepped on so many players I stopped counting. Sometimes the blood fever reached both teams, sometimes only ours. My half-relatives from Grasparossa were as enraged as us. The game against the Ninja Warriors was a blood bath on both sides. No more than 7 players were left standing when one samurai remembered to pick up the ball and score the only touchdown of the game. We almost killed one of the biggest star in the league, the mighty Nisadei, who left the pitch forever changed. The weirdest thing is, we actually had a decent season. We won more games than lost. Amidst all the blood, Chola was still there, making sure all the other Kalites were in order and actually playing the ball. We won against some of the best teams in the league, the Djinn, the Dragon Hawks, simply because there weren’t enough of their players on the pitch to oppose us. We finished with a good ranking, and much prestige. But no one will remember that. We will all remember the blood. So much blood. I don’t think there has even been a bloodier team in any season of CIBBL. I now know what will befall me if I don’t comply with the expectations of those barbarians and of Dantidurga the second.

Coach Jiacobbo Machri of the Trantio Dragon Hawks

The team’s first thoughts after hearing the invitations for the Greater Dragon Grapple were of fear. The Ninja Warriors, Stone Prince’s Men and Estalian rivals Montetriste Noblemen are all teams we have poor history against, and Grasparossa B.B.C. and the Reik River Kicking Mules are both formidable opponents from the Empire. While less remarked by the team, the Nejaz Djinn and Bhubaneswar Rampage were also cause for concern with their star players expected to prove challenging.

The team entered the first match expecting little after a disappointing Spring, but our Super Star Elf, Nisadei, proved herself a Mean Scoring Machine, taming the fight to Nippon and leading the team to victory. The next match, the sixth match against Montetriste, the team were determined to win, pushing harder against the Estalians than they had before. The aid of Borg’th N’throg was instrumental to this win, and provided a solid first performance for the team’s new Dwarfs, Raondir Goldchin and Egogg Greatguard. High in spirits at the lead of the Grapple, we took a clean match against the imperials of Grasparossa, taking undisputed lead of the tournament. The fourth round match, the team was perhaps overconfident, and the monsters from Ind dealt a crippling injury to Nisadei and crushed the team’s hopes of an undefeated run this Summer. The final match, against allies last Summer, the Half-Elves from the Reikland. An eventful match led to a tie without the aid of Nisadei, and the Dragon Hawks secured second place.

We would like to offer our thanks to Boomer Eziasson, Borg’th N’throg and Icepelt Hammerblow for their contributions to the team, and would gladly welcome them back to Trantio should they desire to visit the fine city.

I would like to end this review with both a memorial and a message. In our inaugural match, the beloved Half-Elf Cressida Rosenblatt was burned alive by a Nippon sorcerer. We hope she can find solace in Morr’s embrace, and we offer our sympathies to her family and the many fans who loved her. We hope this can be a final straw for the CabalVision administration to crack down on the presence of spellcasters on the pitch. Blood Bowl is not a place for the arcane, and all of us at Trantio hope more people will come to realise this. Remember Rosenblatt.

Jared, Captain of the Stone Prince's Men.

"Ya know, we in the borderlands like a bit of the brawling or the occasional succession by dagger. But this cup...*shakes head*... it was madness..a slaughter. I mean, we have a bit of experience with ah..direct taxation...but...hey, I think some of us were even scared...I've never seen my gals and guys scared."

A local tinkerer (who may have slipped a few words to get some hinterland lads to play bloodbowl)
"hey, I just said i will bet, I never set I will bet on them ...but tell you what, I even feel a bit bad now"

Coach Dogsbody of the Vostok Iron Head

First thing that cannot be avoided, we cannot avoid sense of disappointment for the final result of season, to have once again come in with no one expecting anything from team, getting to one game until total tournament victory and then fumbling at critical moment and coming third. Just like autumn debut, but later.

It is minor setback for me, but source of much shouting and spittle from Jarl Eric Ericson after final match versus Sartosa Black Flags, mostly to me, some to the team and much special shoutings at Xander, who is not being let into longhouse for rest of season. Is very unfortunate, we were planning feast there, and now we will have to reschedule elsewhere before Autumn training. I also understand that Eric Ericson is having name of Ibhib Nightbreaker nailed to personal Blood Feud shrine alongside Dinkum Roo, Gwoftirbnewfg, and entirety of Misty Isle Gators, he always takes these things very personally.

But, silver lining to cloud yes? We come into season low morale from Spring happening to us, and low expectations for us from many many fans and we expect to lose lots. Instead we win lots, and we win lots versus older, veteran teams that we expect to lose against and we still finish at end of day in top 3. And we even beat the team that came first, that counts for something yes?

And although we unfortunately lose four players over duration of summer season it was still very possibly the best season for our development so far! It is the nature of Norse, we take lumps and then we move forward. And now we move forward into Autumn once more. The Iron Head will continue to rise, this is certain!

As dreamt by Nefo Dawnripper of the Sartosa Black Flag.

Not for the first time in his maritime career, Nefo Dawnripper had a sinking feeling.

In his hands, the ball. To his left, a monkey and a monk. To his right, a monk and a monkey. In front of him, monkey number 3, backed up by a wave of Cathay lineman. More pressingly, directly to his rear, the baying crowd. "This isn't going well", thought Nefo.

Nefo was not able to see the future, but if he could, he would have seen a few more of these moments. He would see Grog Swiller Finn's unlikely attempt to strip the ball against the Virtues go wrong and lead to the Captain getting marmalised. He would himself steal the ball at his own goalline against the Congregation, only for the heavens to part, and a lightning bolt to lad right on his pointy-eared noggin.

Of course, this being the Pirates, there were hints of the swagger that they occasionally display - 2-0 wins against the Kislev and the Norse with Ibhib Nightbreaker scoring and Morag punching. But like any ship taking on water, the end was inevitable.

All of that was ahead of poor Nefo. But for now, what was behind him presented a greater threat. As he was pushed backwards into the maniacal throng, with their weapon-shaped rocks and their rock-shaped rocks, he had little time to reflect on the choices by Executive Coach Stan S. Stanman. Like the dark waters of the ocean, like a Black Flag draped over his eyes, unconsciousness overwhelmed him.

"Wake up, Nefo! There's a good fellow! Second half about to start!". Stan S. Stanman grinned, with one hand holding a bottle of grog to the Corsair's slightly battered face, and with the other stemming the copious bleeding. "Time to get out there and show them the cut of your jib. Yo ho ho, and hoist the Black Flag!"

Speech by Father Fanky, of the Congregation of the Holy Touchdown, for team fans and few, brave press agents.

"Faithful and honest sportfans, humble sons of Sigmar, we did it! We purged and hunted the heresy in the Lesser Dragon Grapple. We cleaned the pitches from the filthy stink of paganism! We PUNISHED the mutants and the uncleans and.... WE WON! We won the tournament for you honest imperial sport fans! So much joy oh Lord! Oh LORD! We won because we stayed strong in our holy path. We stayed strong in our faith when we lost the match versus the Vostok Iron Scums, Sigmar may strike them with His mighty fury, we stayed strong for you aaaall, righteous sport fans! When we lost one of strongest pillars of the team, Ingrid “Blind Faith” WE. STAYED. STRONG. Such a loss! Such a great marvelous martyr! Her name will be the motto that will guide us in Autumn! We will face our impious opponents with BLIND, PURE FAITH. No quarter for them, no quarter for us! No mercy for the them, no mercy for us! We don't need such things... why? Because we have the Lord with us! We fear nothing! We didn't score the Holy Touchdown yet so our holy work continues, prepare yourself HERETICS the Congregation is coming for you! We will burn you down, we will crush your unholy faces, we will obliterate your names from history, we will smite your dirty pagan skulls, Did you get it? DID YOU GET IT? It's PUNISHMENT time! We will stomp on you, we will...”

At a certain point transcription become impossible due to loud flagellants screaming. Father Fanky continued to shout threats for quite long time then he distributed torches and proceeded to burn a mutant prisoner on stage (maybe a referee, that's unclear).

Coach Guardikai of the Knightly Virtues.

The Knightly Virtues had a disastrous summer season and will need time to recover. The team is in a transition of leadership too. Lacking any especially notable players is a key weaknesses. Finding just one strong or agile knight, or one with less often seen skill development for Bretonnians would be a boon. Alas, the Lady has deserted her knights. Matches will continue, but against all the various advantages that other races and teams can boast it is hard finding a niche for the knights. With the peasants on the team unable to contribute much at all, with the exceptions of the team squires, the immediate future looks bleak. Wish us luck.

Coach Shraaaag of the Shroomwood Attercops.

The smell of summer: A mediocre tale of lost chances.

There I was, one season older, a trophy on the shelf and 4 games of blood, sweat and tears ahead. The summer season had just begun, and the Shroomwood Attercops were ready to kick some exotic ass.

In our first game, we faced the Thirteenth Circle of Abominations of Clan Moulder. Rats and spiders have no love for eachothers, but these rats I doubt even their mother could love. This mischief of rats got the best of us with all their tails and claw. By the time the dust had settled, the defeat was complete. We lost our first game.

The next game came up, and we realized the large rats we saw last game, were just fun-sized compared to the giants of Beerbog Behemoths. I had thought that giants had been barred from playing Blood Bowl several decades earlier, yet here they were. We had one thing going for us though; giants are slow both on foot and in wits. Our plan was to outsmart this spectacle of behemoths. One game later it was us who had been outwitted. The result was only a draw, but it could've been so much more.

By our third game, we realized we were not going to win this division. All we had left is to play for the fun. Going back to our roots of playing for fun and gore rather than fame and glory really rejuvinated the team's spirit. The sharkworshipers of the Crimson Fins never knew what hit them. After clowing around for some time, we had crushed them. We were back on top... or at least no longer on the bottom.

Last game of the season, we met the most exotic of the exotic. A team of cuddly and deadly creatures from a land far away. The Bear Clutchers out of Lumbria. Who knew bear could taste so good? The game was tough, and the ball refused to submit. Only one TD was scored this entire game, but it was the good kind of TD. It was our TD. The season had started abysmal but by the end we had proved that we belonged amongst the great ones.

Addendum.

The season was over, I thought, but suddenly a message from Cabalvision ticked in. Another game it said. What to do? I had already sent all my players home to relax before the next season. I rallied the ones I could find, and found stand-ins for the ones I couldn't. Another team of huge monsters. I wonder what they put in the water and were I can get some. Unprepared as we were, we got trampled into the dirt by the Talsyn Tramplers.

Coach Razmus the White of the Bear Clutchers.

How did it go? Well, the people of Cathay were very polite, but the event was an unmitigated disaster for the Bear Clutchers. Almost none of the merchandise sold in the stadiums. The final game was broadcast and seen by a record crowd, but unfortunately we received notice before the end of the game that with the untimely death of Cuddles that there will not be any further revenue from the reality show; season two was cancelled and the first season has no residuals. Olivr slipped out in the middle of the night with all portable wealth, and even Cuddles' pelt has vanished. The vet, Alixand, went missing after that last game, which is probably for the best since Yarrah lost her mind when she saw what he did to Dinkum. No sane person would ever willingly face an irate momma yowie. We found a 'Mister Yi' to fill that position, who was willing to accept Singtoe beer as payment, which is fortunate, 'cause we have a lot of it in the carts after they cancelled their contract as well.


Things are pretty desperate. Yarrah has been supplying meat for the team, and we don't dare ask about her sources, but dinner yesterday had a face... sorta. I have no idea where CabalVision expects us to go next, and we have no idea how we'd get there if they told us. I'm half expecting to get the message that they're cancelling our contracts too. If they do, I hope the messenger finds me and gets away before Yarrah hears the news. For all I know dinner... oh. CabalVision doesn't employ Skaven couriers do they? Oh Goddess.

We may just have to crash the nearest Autumn tournament and hope we make some sort of showing before the executives figure out what has happened. I can't imagine anything we might face would be worse than the nasty beasts the poets in Cathay thought were a good idea. I wish I could say that we all look forward to going home, but we don't even have that to look forward to anymore.

Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure your readers don't want to read all that. Just tell'em everything's fine. Cuddles wasn't hurt nearly as badly as it appeared at first, she just needs a little more time to recover. Oh, and tell'em that CabalVision needs them all to write in and tell them how much they miss seeing the cute little Drop Bears in their dens at night. Yeah, tell'em that. Don't say anything about the messenger. There was never a messenger. K? Thanks.

Cap’n Bloodlust of the Crimson Fins.

YAARR! Me an’ the lads greatly enjoyed our visit to Cathey and the enjoyments we found there - arr-harr!
An’ the Sharks and even Hungry Joe have been sated on giant rat, pixie and Kangor meat, why I’ve just finished the last Kangor steak me’self - arr-harr-harr!

Coach SpecialOne of the Tsunami Terrors.

The young Acturius Verner sits back. Summer is almost over, and he looks back at the season that past. After a flying start with winning the youngblood, it has been more uphill that he would think. Tsunami Terrors was placed in the Vile Cauldron with a lot of desert teams, Vampire teams and the Dark Elfs inviting. Acturius hoped for glory and prestige for his team, but the team didn't deliver when it mattered. Ending 6th of 12 teams. Is that ok?

Then it hit him. Back at the school of magic, one old fart of a wizard said Acturius would never make it to finish a game as headcoach. Well Acturius did that, and more. Maybe the old wizard... what was his name... YES! Bambolous the Old. It was him! Was he getting scared of the good start for young Verner? So he had a say in what group Tsunami Terrors ended? So he was sure they would fail? The more Acturius though about it, that had to be it. But how did he influence the Dark Elves to do this? Gold? Women? Lizard steaks? who knows? Or did he just use his magic to rig the invitation? lots of posibilities was emerging. One thing was certain. It could not be bad coaching.

Acturius Verner knocked it out of his head, and ended up being happy with ending 6th in such a rough group of very good coaches and teams. still. 2/1/2 for a noob was not half bad. Next season we want to get some prestige out of this!

Acturius promised himself to watch out for Bambolous the Old in the future. So he would not interfere again.

Coach Nextflux of the Way of the Dragon.

At first we were positive about a Vile Caldron event, since that must be some dark Nuffle magic ritual to improve luck, and now as our daytime training was paying off, we set out to achieve glory. Still things did not go as we hoped, we won a few matches, horribly lost one, and drew the rest.

Training daytime was one thing, but it also exhausted the players, so that method was scrapped, and it was back to the drawing board again. Night time training resumed and there are darker times ahead, witch is good, but will it be good enough?

It’s in moments like this I think, "What would Gregor do?" Best ask a vampire I thought, after all, they know him for thousands of years, while I joined a few years ago.

All agreed that Gregor would want 100 beautiful maidens, gold coffins and a bloodbank express card each and free dental insurance included, coach was "convinced" that this was the right way to go, but problem was that the team can't afford it unless they win something big soon. Well, team is motivated at least, so far all good.

Coach Badenprinz of Tower of the Necromancer.

One day before the start of the Summer Season in the Tower of the Necromancer

It is a cold morning in the Tower, very unusual for this season. I hope this is not a bad omen for the Summer Season. Being in the Vile Cauldron makes me a bit restless, many teams we haven´t faced yet, too many, and they shouldn´t be underestimated. I´m pretty sure Count Jurij will have a different opinion when we are going to talk about the new season in about half an hour. His self-confidence is incredible, thanks to him the Tower has become one of the top teams in CIBBL and at the moment we have the most Prestige Points in the League. But pride comes before a fall. We have to be prepared for the next season, a tough and long season.
It´s time to go to Jurij´s chamber. I need to traverse the inner courtyard and the great cemetery of the Tower. I´ve got the impression that someone is following me in the darkness behind me, but I cannot see anything in the dark corners behind the columns of the courtyard. Now I´m in front of the entrance of the great cemetery. The two dreadful gargoyles seem to eye suspiciously my steps with their green eyes. Something is wrong today, I can feel it. I´m crossing the cemetery and I still feel being watched.
I stop in front of the grave of Count Ludovig, he was an important member of the Wise Council. His death convulsed the Tower of the Necromancer. At one go, all crows I could hear before fall silent. Suddenly I feel that there is someone standing behind me. Turning around, I am frozen in shock. I can barely recognize that it´s Count Igor. He looks even worse than he did before. After not being elected successor of Count Iwan he has become strange and depressive.
“He´s going to destroy us! He will bring eternal darkness to the Tower!”, Igor said. “Count Ludovig is dead. How could he be able to destroy us?”, I ask. “I´m talking about Jurij. He´s threatening us.”, Igor replies.
Igor always has loved drama, but now he really starts to go crazy. In future, I have to be careful regarding to his mental health.
“Calm down, Igor! Jurij´s task as Master of the Tower is to protect the Tower and to bring us glory. He has been quite successful, hasn´t he?”
“Did you ever wonder how Jurij managed to become Master? Iwan´s injury back in Year 2 was no coincidence and afterwards Jurij forced him to leave. He will try to force me to leave too!”
He´s freaking out.. the poor guy. “Igor, I´m sure you are wrong about Jurij. He is a worthy master of the Tower. I have to go to an important meeting now!”
What a strange conversation. Some minutes later I am in front of Jurij´s chamber. Servant Fjodor, our honourable secretary opens the door and leads me to Jurij who is sitting at his able of dead skulls.
Our Dialogue develops as expected. Basically, Jurij is convinced that his team is the best and thanks to his “management style” the Tower of the Necromancer has become a glorious team. To him, it is incomprehensible why I always say that we are never the favourites for the victory. As Jurij hates bureaucracy, I´m sure he even doesn´t know which teams we have to face. Fjodor usually tries to introduce our “beloved” Master to the opponent teams and possible dangers they mean to our team, but Jurij never cares. It´s hard to talk to him, because he always tells about his achievements. Sometimes I even think that it´s time to have a new Master of the Tower, but who should it be? Ludovig II has no influence, Yaroslav seems to be not interested into politics and Igor is mentally ill. Summer will be pathbreaking concerning the future of the Tower. We should never underestimate the danger and power of corrupt vampire counts, their intrigues can be destructive and might cause some surprises in the Tower soon when the next elections before Autumn are held…

Coach Darkjul of the Norscan Curse.

This season for Norscan Curse was very different from the previous ...
Most of players become pro and Lord Senz Sang demonstrate to be a leader for his team and a very valuable player in league.
What went wrong?
Syreen are too weaky to support both phases (defence / attack) and L.A. Gnora injury left our team without a vital ballhandler and our offensive game became too predictability ...
For next season I'll engage a new offensive coordinator in order to render out attack more effecient...

Coach Lewdgrip of the Nurgle Plaguebearers.

The season started for the Plaguebearers with a match against Norscan Curse. 24.000 fans entered the Stadium from which more than 300 died while the match because of the toxic smell of rotten demons and rotten pirate flesh. Although the Plaguebearers were blocking like crazy, the game ended 1:1. In their second match they played against Way of the Dragon and were beating the hell out of them. Plaguebearer Samus Foulreaper scored 3 touchdowns in one match and the game ended 3:1. In their third match Nurgles beloved ones lost 0:3 against the Black Widows of Clar Karond. The next match against Pleasure Strings ended 0:0 but with 6 casualties made by the Plaguebearers. The final match of the season was one of the best matches the Plaguebearers were playing because Nuffle was also on their side. The Plaguebearers won 1:0 inflicting 5 cas (including a killed witchelf which is now part of the team). All in all, the plaguebearers ended up on 3rd place out of 12 and inflicting 22 cas which was the most of the group.

Coach ArrestedDevelopment of the Malignant Curators.

"Now Night her course began, and over Heav'n
Inducing darkness, grateful truce impos'd,
And silence on the odious dinn of Warr:
Under her Cloudie covert both retir'd,
Victor and Vanquisht: on the foughten field"

Our battle is told on the fields, our war is plain as day, dark as black, pure as white. Victory is fettered to the failure of our foes as indelibly as our inevitable growth. Our season has been disappointing on that front, but bolstered by the presence of malal's chosen - Amon, who finished with a game worthy of his master. Pantheon Bane, the one accursed scion of Khorne grows in our ranks, a master of the battlefield and always promising to secure more for our master's collection. Raus Juit stands tall, a giant of a man, and continuing under our master's watchful eye.

But our season was that of disappointment again and we are wroth. Tedious are the machinations, and tiresome are the schemes of fledgling opponents. We yearn for challenges anew, and seek to bolster the ranks from pastures unknown, rather than those tilled, spoiled and sown anew.

"In future dayes, if Malice should abound,
Some one intent on mischief, or inspir'd
With dev'lish machination might devise
Like instrument to plague the Sons of men
For sin, on warr and mutual slaughter bent."

Chpt 2 begins now

Coach neubau of the Tor Anroc Anglers.

It's been a good season so far for the Anglers, still Norlir wasn't optimistic about his future. Beloved in Tor Anroc and gifted by the Deep One with incredible accuracy he was the team's star thrower, but recently Nuirlan has taken his spot. Norlir has even been benched on defense in a few games, a fact that deeply hurt him, as he was proud of his blocking prowess. An injury he received in the Gold Disaster of autumn 2602 has left him more fragile than he used to be, but his armour was still strong, wasn't it? Has coach Neubau forsaken him? Or worse, was he to be the next sacrifice to the deep one?

Nuirlan has lost good friends to his god. Baraskan and Aerian have been drowned in front of his eyes in a pool of thick and unnaturally dark water for their failures. Their coach deemed them not worthy to play - or to live - but since their sacrifice the Anglers have won seven of their last eight games. In the Styles Clash tournament they have faced faster and stronger opponents, but nobody could withstand the armoured onslaught of the Anglers. Like the high tide they advanced, unstoppable and irrefutable.

Coach Neubau didn't have time for Nuirlan, who has requested an audience several times. He was brooding over the black pool, talking in guttural tongues to his god. Nuirlan listened from afar, though he didn't understand the words, that sounded like the last breaths of a drowning man. The only word he could clearly recognize was "Shiamoto", the name of the living god the Anglers would face next. Nuirlan hoped for a win while his eyes where transfixed on the endlessly dark pool.

Coach Bram of the Modryn's Midnight Meddlers.

Timaris Stormwing, former adventurer and explorer of the Old World, needed some time to clear his head and reflect upon recent events. Since the time he'd established a bloodbowl team only a few years ago so many things had changed. It was all a cover for his more mysterious endeavors, of course. But a rather entertaining cover for that matter. Taking up the role as headcoach of his own team certainly hadn't made his life simpler either. At least it allowed him to travel the known world and gather some rare items he'd been looking for since ages.

But what occupied his mind right now, was the mediocre performance of his team – Modryn's Midnight Meddlers – last summer in the CabalVision Inter-regional Blood Bowl League. Things had gone rather well in spring, resulting in the team winning Athel Loren's regional championship. But luck had been lacking in summer, that much was clear. The first game, against Coven of the Mirrored Hall, turned into a nightmare. Despite leading 1-0 at halftime – the wizard's fireball proved essential here – and receiving in the second half, the elves somehow managed to mess it all up. For a long while the possibility for 2-0 was very high, until the ball was lost and before anyone realized the Coven had equalized. Special attention went into the preparation of a one-turn touchdown, because all was not yet lost. Timaris couldn't get it out of his head. “What in Nuffle's name had happened there?”. There was no answer to be found to this mystery. The positioning went well, but the final pass went out of bounds and was thrown back in by the crowd, halfway the Meddlers' empty backfield. The opposing Changeling tossed a familiar towards it, who picked it up and ran it into the endzone. Not 2-1, but rather 1-2. A poor start of the season indeed. At least no one noticed how Timaris managed to recover the corpse of the dead familiar that had been left on the field once the game ended. “At least the game hadn't been a total waste of energy after all”, Timaris considered...

Stormwing's mind drifted away towards the second game of the season, against Eye and Arrow, some distant cousins from Avelorn. This game started very similar to the first one, with the Meddlers receiving and leading 1-0 at halftime. A Blitz! on kick-off only further increased the wood elves' chances, but the ball was lost and recovered several times. And then it happened again. Somehow, almost out of the blue, the ball was lost again, never to be recovered. The game that should have been a win ended in a draw. “What exactly had happened this time?”, Timaris wondered. “It looks as if we've been beaten by a team using our own weapons against us”, was his final conclusion as he added some notes in his playbook. But even this trip wasn't without merit as Timaris Stormwing quietly studied a lock of hair from the elven maiden Elidith. He'd recovered the lock of hair when she had been evacuated off the pitch after unceremoniously breaking her neck when running into Vanhir's iron fists. After all, one never knows when a lock of hair from an elven maid will prove useful...

In the third game, the Meddlers traveled overseas to face Tor Anroc Anglers, a bunch of elves in heavy mail. As to why one would carry so much armor to toss a ball around a pitch was another unresolved question drifting around in Timaris' mind. “Dangerous too, considering they were sailing around the world all the time”, he reckoned. In any case, this game proved yet another disappointment. Despite presenting the sea elves with an elven wall, the opposition had somehow found a way to leap through and score the 1-0 in turn 8. The Meddlers quickly equalized in the second half, hoping to hunt the ball down for the winning touchdown. Mighty Vanhir waited for an opportunity to strike, found it and leapt in. He struck the ball loose, but Mereia failed to capitalize on it by failing to pick up the ball. Too bad, because the sea elves recovered it next turn and further secured it. A 2-1 loss. To make things worse, there was nothing of value on the sea elves' island worth recovering either. And so the Meddlers returned empty handed...

The fourth game was never played. The opposition, some filthy rats, never showed up for the game. A missed opportunity to gather a bunch of rat tails...

In the last game the Meddlers faced the beast-vampires of team Strigos Elitǎ. The opposition's claws didn't do much to impress the Meddlers and the 1-0 lead was scored fairly easily. “At least one game that went well”, Timaris whispered. Instead of trying to equalize before halftime, the Strigos preferred to gangfoul Vanhir after he snaked a dodge. “That backfired nicely”, Timaris mused, remembering how star player Quasimordor was sent off by the ref, failing to inflict more damage than a stun. After that the game turned into a rollercoaster for the Meddlers. “Opportunistic ball-stealing gameplay is what we do best”, Timaris agreed with himself. 3-0 and the only real win of the season. Nice win, and a zombie hand carelessly recovered from the pitch to top it off.

All in all, a season soon to forget. But the team's in great shape for autumn. Let's find out what next season will bring.

Nightlord Azhiskikk of Lords of the Silent Death.

Nightlord Azhiskikk paces agitatedly on the far side of the battered old desk that dominates the small room at the top of the tower that overlooks the Infinity Pit, home of the Lords of the Silent Death.

The Nightlord’s beady red eyes narrow as they eye the reporter from SCRIBBL suspiciously. “How-fare the Lords of the Silent Death-death this Summer? Be that the know-learn you seek-find?”

The lithe and slightly twitching Nightlord takes another deep breath from the fumes that emanate from the phial that hangs from his neck, fumes that have a suspicious faint green glow. His red eyes glow more brightly for a moment.

“Seek-find explanation for absences yes-yes?” He turns sharply, his thin lips curling back to show rows of sharp needle-like teeth. “Answers you shall not find-get, the Lords owe-give nothing to the furless! Just know-learn that the Lords will rise-climb to glory-riches under the clever-sly Azhiskikk!”

He draws a wicked looking dagger from his belt and slashes wildly the air in front of him. “This interrogation be over-done! Tell-tell other spy-traitors that none outside the brotherhood are welcome in the home-nest of the Lords!” With a wild screech the Nightlord lunges at the reporter who wisely retreats before becoming another victim of the LSD.

Shaman Tritop of the Bigwood Tree Shmashaz.

Hey there fans,

Shaman Tritop from the Bigwood Tree Shmashaz here with a report on the tribe's travels this summer. The team was invited to take part in the Styles Clash. How could we decline the offer to brawl about who's the best of the shmash? Roughing up some delicate elves in the aftermath sounded like a high fling on a cape.

I remember watching the big screen, before we were starting out in the league. The CIBBL operatives were cautious to allow another savage orc team into the league since the Bigg Rokk Bigg Buffaluff Headz dismantled after one exciting game against the Southland Scuttlers -- careful around spiderwebs -- which has to be a contender for most players pushed into the ranks. And weren't there some surfer boys spreading mischief in the league at some point? Never seen them in the Southlands though. Anyway, where I'm getting at, in their one game the Buffaluff heads opted for a toe-to-toe defensive setup placing their blockers along with a couple lineorcs on the line of scrimmage and their blitzers comfortably lurking center field. We Shmashaz felt that setup was a little too on the nose, rather, we made our defense reflect the honed social structure of our tribe. Thus, those lineorcs still having to prove themselves get ample opportunity by being thrown directly into the onslaught of the enemy offense. The second line is pure Bigwood Blocker pain and muscle shielding away the hitting specialists Brawl Punya and Chankiri Crighac as well as the ball finesseurs Komuna Kijidoma and Nomgulg Prattlehead that together make up our squad of blitzers. This season the specialist teams developed their identity further. If I may say letting them lob coconuts at each other's heads has worked wonders for our ball game.

Indeed enrolling in the CIBBL circus has done wonderful things for the whole tribe. They take the tiring traveling tours tremendously well and knowing which stadium to visit next has turned the wayfinding rituals from a heated headshmash to a cheerful community event. For those fans not yet familiar with our customs, in the wayfinding ritual first a tree is chosen: The routeroot. The tribe then gathers in a large circle around the tree and discusses the further course. As soon as a bird lands on the routeroot every orc with an opinion on the right way tries his best to knock the tree in his prefered direction. Where the root falls the tribe follows.

When we were travelling deep into bleak Malal territory early this season -- the rest of the tribe would meet us again in Northern Nippon -- we faced the problem of finding a proper tree -- or something undisputably a bird for that matter -- in the Chaos Wastelands. The blockers made a game of telling the temporary substitutes we'd have to just use them as a routeroot, but in the end we found the way just fine thank you very much, because a clever Shaman actually brought a map. Or to be honest, we brought the afamed star Ripper, and he had a map. And luck behold, we bought a cheeky wizard with our immense inducement sum of 420,000 gold, so we actually had someone who could make sense of the crude scribblings someone ripped Ripper off with. The hike to the stadium of the Malignant Curators was draining on the team's spirits, but in the end the Shmashaz made a stand. Returning from the desolate plains felt almost like an achieved walkabout, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The Malignant Curators were right up on our toes with their offense, sporting a strong line of scrimmage with just three players hanging back. On the first turn they stunned three of our players, including Ripper! But then they gave up ground, securing the ball in the back field leaving them essentially down four players in what devolved into the first big fight centre pitch. Our blitzer Chankiri Crighac proved his prowess by pressuring the Curators' carrior deep field, pulling the screening players further back. The Curators didn't count themselves out yet though and made a move up the field down our lower flank, where an escape attempt by their pesky rat was ended by our Trog Buce'ador Espeleólody and the refs whistle. In the second half nearly all our players that needed a break were back on the pitch. We were right in their face, secured the upper flank. Nomgulg lost the ball for a second but a blitz by our trusty Persqka Boughclip freed him to score the first touchdown of four this season. That's almost one per game. But don't get in over your Prattlehead Nomgulg, you still need the muscle around you!

After our win against the Curators we made our way to Northern Nippon to battle the Secret Cult of Shiamoto, but not before bumping into the savage orc tribe Chilly Melters at the shore of the Frozen Sea. They were about to mug us, but between our cheerful chants, muscly blockers and Rippers blue guns they thought twice about that. Instead we shared food and drink before engaging in a short friendly bowl off. Adgar of the Chilly Melters showed particular ferociousness in getting to the ball, but it seems he doesn't have the hang of it yet: He dropped it a gruesome four times, but I believe we could make a proper player out of him yet even if he earned the moniker Scatterhands. As is custom between friendly tribes one of us went with them and of the Chilly Melters came to the Bigwood Tree tribe. So watch your front travelers, our Bigwood boy Hati Bakbi now roams the north.

Upon arrival in Nippon we reunited with the rest of the tribe with all recommended festivities, not yet knowing what fate would beget us. Oh, what we were in for. Do to foul play our big blocker Crispy Woods did not make it off the pitch that day, may she feast and bash in the Eternal Shmashing Grounds. Ripper and our cheeky wizard were still with us for this game, allegedly enjoying the tribe's community as much as their lumpsum financial accomodation. But we don't want to delve into Committee thoughts here. During the game Ripper heroicly took on the ferocious Shiamoto but had to admit he had met his match while tumbling in the dizzy box. We didn't leave it easy pickings for the Cult though, Nomgulg intermittently got his hands on the ball, but after a lengthy brawl in our half they were able to run away with the touchdown. We scored a quick return in the second half, but maybe too quick as the cult was able to score on us right before the whistle, after a last ditch attempt by Ripper to get to the carrier ended with his belly in the mud. Unfortunately the laughter of the fans at his attempts at the finer game has left him out of the loop with us for some time now, I hope he'll return to play for us some time as the tribe valued his efforts greatly. In the end, even if we lost the game it was a good showing that the Shmashaz can and will compete.

With a win and a loss we still had everything to fight for and fight for it we did. Next off we were scheduled against the Blood-Ground Blackhorns with their marauding fans. The disregard for their own numbers was astonishing, they drank and feasted in ways unbeholst to even the dodgiest savage. Albeit a riot delayed the game, the first half went over alright with a score each, but we did not manage to bring the ball home in our second drive. The tie was no disaster especially since it did not put us under the strain of attrition, but shows there are still lessons to be learned for tribe and shaman likewise.

We did not count ourselves out yet. One match in the group bracket was still to be played, deciding who'd be the best of the shmash and who would face against the pest of the elves from the other bracket. Our scheduled opponent were the Strigos Elita and for the match we returned to our beloved jungle in the Southlands. At our return we shmashed down enough trees for a nice pitch and the tribe built some makeshift spectator stands from the lumber, so all was set and well for the game to commence. This was not the first time we met the Elita, as last summer they beat us 0-2. But we were having none of that anytime soon. Again this game, Nomgulg was the one on the ball rushing it for 21 yards yielding one touchdown. Luckily for him the crowd did not take him out before that, as he found himself a little too close to the side line early in the game. I just guess the Elita fans knew what could happen to them behind the next tree. In the second half we almost gave away the game when the Strigos ghouls managed to get their foul fingers on the ball in our back centre not once, but twice! Employing our default tactic of ensuring a solid smack for everyone involved paid dividends though: In the end we took down the ghouls, got the ball and were off with it. In the meantime we managed to slay their award winning zombie Grigore, himself executioner of Gregor Gregorivich from Way of the Dragon. That'll surely make for a nice badge on our prestreege oak.

Despite our efforts the Cult of Shiamoto won the shmash bracket of the Styles Clash, thus facing off against the Tor Anroc Anglers in the final. We had our own nut to crack: Eye and Arrow from Avelorn. They were faster and heavier armored than us, so they could outrun us while potentially sustaining a beating. We therefore had to take extra care to put our muscle on the right spot. Right from the bat the Avelonians showed they meant business, Scrub Scrubs head was dislocated by an elf block and our witch doctor knew better than to even disturb his corpse. May he shmash eternally. After that the team lost its spirit for a while leading to a ground out 1-0 half for the Eye and Arrow. We knew we had to act quick or it would be all for nought. In no time the Shmashaz burst a hole into the elven defense and poured through deep into their half, Nomgulg safely caged away. With the game tied at 1-1 and still a quarter of the time left on the clock it was gonna be a tight game. Buce'ador did not let the quick Shinesa escape their grasp and run away with the ball dropping it to the ground. New addition to the team Bun di Riddim freed up Nomgulg for a pass to Komuna Kijidoma that stretched ten yards, which he succeeded in all thanks to proper training. It's good to see when hard work pays off. On these last turns of the game Komuna Kijidoma caught the ball but found himself in a predicament being tagged against the sideline by the two elf beauties Elpida and Puridiel. He shed no second look though and ran right past them into the endzone scoring his first touchdown in the league for the 1-2 Shmashaz win. What a clutch play to end the season on!

This brought the Shmashaz to a whopping 3-1-1 top three finish this summer, certainly a step up from our 1-1-3 result this time last year. I'm also thrilled to announce our first addition to the roster of an orc from outside the Bigwood tribe: After some well received training sessions Adgar Scatterhands, coming to us from the nomadic tribe Chilly Melters, had his debut game against the Eye and Arrow and will have ample opportunity to show his true colours this autumn.

The team is in prime condition to take on the interregional stage next season and we hope we can return to the form of last autumn, where we championed the Iron division with five wins and a tie. The results of this season will be informative to our relative standing in the league, as the Shmashaz will then have finished their first two years in the big league, barring friendlies in the winter. As for the tribe in the meantime, we will spend some time recharging our battery batteries in the moist warmth of the Southlands jungle.

All that is left is to say thanks to the fans for your enthusiasm about the tribe, shmash 'em with passion! Tritop out.

Coach SupaStar of the Gobskrav Alliance.

Organizing a bunch of scrawny mutating rats and goblins can be a struggle, but sometimes you find some diamonds in the rough, and sometimes those diamonds shine so brightly they become stars. While the Alliance's results in the summer season of year 3 was poorer than expected, inspiration can be found in the skribblings of head blitzer Firrikeet Sharpblade.

“February 26th - How! HOW! Louzy tiny ratthings and ther contraptions won! Fool goblinz could not keep there tini heds on the pitch! Expekt better from them I do. Good news, good news, more of them die die evryday. The ones who live tho, grow MOR heds, dodge better! Quick like Sharpblade. Strong like leader Firrikeet. Merciless like brother Lirrikeet. LIRRIKEET. Proud he does FESTER, blood I smell on him, mor and more. Blood more than ball. Touchdowns matter not, blood more. Others play ball, Sharpblades play glory. But GLORY comes from WIN WIN. So we WIN WIN mor! With Firrikeet strength and Lirrikeet blood. FESTER is gone, Sharpeblade and GOBSKRAV skitterz ONWARD.”

Coach King_Mad of the Rotfall Ironworks Rocketeers.

"I’m very pleased with the Rocketeers performance in the Explosion’s Edge! While we did not take home the cup, placing third is an achievement to be proud of as the youngest participating team. And I doubt the fans will forget our match against the Goblin Revolushunary Kommittee! That was probably a new record for in-stadium explosions during an official match, and my personal highlight of the season. I’d also like to take a moment to remember a recently departed star - Skitter Stab-Stab, who contracted with the Rocketeers for a couple of our matches this season."

Coach AdyBrooke of the Ali's Anarchists.

Wow, what a season for the Anarchists, our first Summer season.
We laid down our intentions from the off against Londinium's Lunatics with a fantastic 4 – 0 victory and 10 casualties!
We couldn’t hold to that pace but ground out 1 TD victories in the next three matches.
Gaudi has been a real hero on the team even being killed by the Daemons of Unfettered Fury couldn’t keep him down, returning as a Skeletal Dervish the very next game.
With the tournament won, the players had a bit of a celebration and it showed in the final match as we were held to a draw.
Bring on the next challengers.

Extract from Head Coach Watang’s diary regarding the Library of Indra's upcoming fixture with Offa's Hearthweru

When we began on this grand adventure to take a team to the CabalVision Invitational League I knew that it would be hard. Jaya the Chimp was forever at my side, he was my best friend. He knew the risks that came with stepping onto that hallowed arena of Nuffle known as a Blood Bowl pitch. However, under the bright Winter sun during a Friendly we’d organised against the rookie Vampires of Offa’s Hearthweru things would change forever. Halfway through the 1st Half we had already lost the ball to a well executed offensive defense. Jaya dodged a tackle and blitzed the Vampire carrying the ball. The Vampire, known as Oswiu of Morrfenn, simply raised a fist and pummeled Jaya to the ground where he lay with lifeless eyes staring up to the heavens. He was declared dead on the pitch and dumped unceremoniously into our dug out. I could not look at him then, it was only after the game that we could gather round and mourn the loss of the bravest Chimp I had ever known.

Jaya’s mate Jobo had to be told and when I returned to the Library I gave her the saddest news myself. She was inconsolable and I left her there with her 7 fatherless children.

After Spring was over the team was progressing. We had won our first ever game in the League against the odd creatures from Lumbria. Despite all of this, and Varman the Chimp’s stirling work, I still saw a Jaya shaped hole in the team. Before the Summer cup season started in earnest there was a visitor at my office. When I opened the door there to my surprise stood Jobo with a steely look in her eye. She explained that she had taken an interest in the team to the point that she had seen the Summer schedule and that we were to once more play against Offa’s Hearthweru. She demanded a place on the team, this would be her only chance to avenge the love of her life. At first I argued tentatively that she may instead prefer to stay at home and tend to her brood but she vehemently disagreed. With tears of barely suppressed rage in her eyes she launched into an impassioned plea. She had been secretly watching us train and knew she could take Jaya’s place to which I agreed.

The day of the game has now arrived and there has been some interest in the match, not just from the fans, but also journalists from all over the Old World. Usually these pre-game press conferences are a dull affair but someone must have had a sniff of a story for the room was packed with reporters jostling for position and readying their notepads and styluses. Into this bear pit strode representatives of Count Offa. Their statement was short and to the point, they did not even remember the event let alone show any kind of remorse, the soulless fiends! Their focus is on the game and the result that would propel them up the rankings.

I cleared my throat to begin with team news, we had no injuries to discuss, but before I could start Jobo jumped in front of me. With her finger pointed at Count Offa’s media thralls and her frothing fangs bared her tale was told. She would take to the field, she would spill blood in the memory of her loving mate and ultimately the game would be won for her and her teammates. The assembled press were agog and scribbling notes as fast as possible. When Jobo had finished she appeared to me to be resplendent, panting as she was from the effort. It was time to take questions and all was fine until a pasty journalist near the back of the room piped up. He asked what a scrawny ape, having only one professional game of Blood Bowl to her name, could possibly do to worry a powerful Vampire. He soon had his answer as Jobo howled and charged into the crowd. Pencils and notepads went flying as she barrelled towards the poser of the offending question. Luckily Mekong, another new recruit to our team, was there otherwise I have no doubt that Jobo would have been banned from the match. The strong Silverback pushed into Jobo’s path and stopped her in her tracks with a simple “ook”. We all knew what he meant, that the frustrations should not be taken out here in this place, but out on the field of play where they mattered most. With a determined grunt the passionate Chimp retreated, back to the practice area, awaiting kick off and her date with destiny.

I retreated too, to collect my thoughts and to jot down this poem:

Summer arrives tense
A grieving chimp seeks vengeance
Upon the fanged one

Would we win the game? I knew not, but knew I did that something momentous would happen that day…

rodney_dangerfield, Coach of Offa's Hearthweru.

The cup of Cup of Ancient Knowledge games for Offa's Hearthweru were all very close affairs. The players were equal to or out-numbered by their opponent, which can make things tricky if the experienced Hearthweru members get hungry. After the third match against the Lost Golems of Grungni, both Oswald of Bylorhof and Oswiu of Morrfenn grew monstrously large and strong. This was a turning point in the season. The rest of the team decided to relax in daily training, as they expected the two brutes to carry the team in their last two games. In those matches, players dropped easy catches, fell over their own feet, and punched the air or themselves instead of their opponents. The experienced Heathweru members decided they could feed on the “unnecessary” members of the team because “Oswald & Oswui have the game handled.” During off-season practices, I plan on hammering the fundamentals of the game into all the players, I am still considering if you use nails or practice drills to get the message through.

The Great Gobbo, Coach of Der Peaksblight Stealers.

Seesun wun iz in der bag, so wot az we lerned? Wun, I atez ratz, der fast dodgy rodent gitfacez. For o me sevun gamez wuz against dese gerbil shaggerz an we lost free of em koz every time we tried our speshul move, der octoboot (where we surrownd sumwun on der floor an perform our kulturally important dance ter cheer em up) dey eivver dodged away or der zoggin ref sent uz off! Nevva mind wot iz a katch or not, der kompetishun komittee needz ter look at wot iz a fowl or not, and der octoboot iz a kultural dance an needz ter be allowed!
We also played sum stinky, disgustin fings (imagin sittin at a desk fer a year an stikkin all yer bogies to der underside, den avvin a look at der end of der year), a bunch o drunk konviktz oo need ter be shipped bak to where dey kame frum an a Slaanesh teem which woz like eetin a box of viagra an den flikkin yer plonker, painful yet pleasureable.
So wot do we want fer next seesun? Less mice men, an a recognishun of our kultural dance so dat it ent a fowl or else sum pets iz gunna get eeten.

VonKortez, Coach of Charace Charioteers.

Charace Charioteers are trying to regroup after a disappointing season. After losing two of their first games this season, the Charioteers never really got their game going. Managing just one win and a draw they ended up sitting at the second last position of the Mushroom Scramble. But they will be back - hopefully stronger than ever.

"The Secret LineRat", Player (maybe) of Fangsnapper's Clawpack.

Before yellow-burning-high season start, much teeth grind. Musk of Fear abundant. Youngblood bring much team ruin death-death. Runt Ironspine whine, want to go home. Windfury head not right after match with Elfthings. Fangsnapper still not understand secret weapon rules in league. Much dismay. Daily beatings.

Kill-game with Chaos-spawnthings “Seekers of Transcendence”. Lose-lose. Ironspine dead-dead. Better him than I. Shrewd-clever-master Fangsnapper whip us all after match. Say fault is ours. Not his-his. Meat-meat reduced. Daily beatings increased.

Kill-game with Nurgle manthings “Gardeners of Nurgle”. Win-win. Bold-brave-leader bring new tactic - More chainsaws. Musk of Battle in air. Black engine smoke mix with chaos stench on battlepitch. Many clan brethren fall-fall. Fearless-tough-leader Fangsnapper dead-dead. Better him than I. Maybe manthing kill-kill him. Maybe clanrat. Not know. Windfury skitter through stench man things and score twice-twice. Fangsnapper runt Fangsnapper Jr new Leader-boss. Daily beatings increase.

Kill-game with goblinthings “Der Peaksblight Stealers”. Win-win. Overhear whole pre-match goblinthing team talk - “Ignore da ball lads, just stikk em on da ground and give em da boot”. Much blood-blood. Many clanrats and goblinthings feel pain-pain. Windfury playing for new contract score-score. Most-merciful-of-potentates chief-boss Fangsnapper Jr bring warp stone-seer into team. Will help save fearless-strong leader. Not for lesser Rats like me. Daily beatings increase.

Kill-game with crazy forestthings “Springbok Sprites”. Lose-lose. Forestthings hate chainsaw. Much attack-hit. Claw-Bear and Tusk-Boar hurt rats. Fangsnapper Jr complain about dice-dice. Daily beatings increase.

Yellow-burning-high over. Dead-tree begin. Manlings will fall! yes-yes!