|Situated a few miles off the North-Eastern coast of the High Elven home-continent of Ulthuan, the rocky isle of Validmar is home to an elven population of around 12,000. The terrain is steep, with many valleys and fjords, dominated by a jagged mountain range that splits the isle in two. This range of mountains is inhabited by a race of giant eagles, with which the Valdimarian high elves have formed a strong alliance. In return for preservation of their habitat, the eagles assist the high elves in defense of the island and accompany them into battle in far away lands, serving as flying steeds for the chosen warrior elite.|
As well as fishing, hunting and other typical island exploits, the islanders have a keen passion for Blood Bowl. The local team – Valdimar Eagles – was founded in the year 2509 by an ex-soldier named Felnor, who leads the team from their home stadium, the ‘Eagle’s Nest’, close to one of the mountain peaks. Despite the islanders’ love for the game, however, the Eagles have never yet managed to win one of the Pheonix Lanterns that would allow them to compete in the annual Ulthuan Invitational Blood Bowl tournament, which is considered the most prestigious sporting event of the year in Ulthuan. This is a significant aspiration for the Valdimar islanders, and Felnor has made it his life’s goal to coach the team to win one of the lanterns (and perhaps, one day, to even lift the UI trophy itself).
Felnor looks up from his desk as he hears someone knocking on the door of his office. A look of slight impatience is evident on the face of the battle-scarred former soldier.
“Come!” He barks abruptly.
The door cracks open a few inches and a blonde, slightly disheveled elf peeks his head through.
“Are you … F-felnor?” he asks timidly.
“I am.” Felnor picks up a sheaf of paper from his desk and peruses it casually, “You must be … Tylar, I take it? Please, take a seat.”
Tylar hurriedly enters the room and seats himself in front of Felnor’s desk. The office is small and a little cluttered. Some shelves against the wall are filled with various items of Blood Bowl paraphernalia and there are several flipcharts showing sketched formation diagrams and pitch markings. Another elf is standing next to Felnor’s desk, with arms crossed and displaying a neutral expression.
Felnor dons his glasses and peruses the sheaf of paper further.
“So … it says here you previously worked as a … pro elf?” Felnor flashes a skeptical glance at the standing figure. “what does that mean, exactly?”
Tylar sqirms slightly in his seat, “Well … we're elves that play Blood Bowl. And … we get paid for it. Sometimes …”
“Riiiight …” says Felnor, a faint tinge of sarcasm evident in his voice. “Well, it also says here that you don't wear armour on the pitch. Instead, you ‘prance about in ripped jeans and hockey masks’. Doesn’t sound very professional to me.”
“Um …” Tylar fishes for an answer, “well, we find it easier to dodge away from our opponents if we don't wear armour. It makes us lighter on our feet and we can run faster.”
“Well, if you can’t dodge in armour then I’m not sure if your 'skills' will be very transferable to our team …” Felnor studies further down the page, “from what I can see, it sounds like you people don’t even have your own country. So, basically, you’re … gypsies?” Felnor flashes another wry glance at the standing elf.
“Well, we don’t use that term exactly … we prefer to think of ourselves as travellers, sporting nomads, if you will. We go wherever the road takes us, playing Blood Bowl and enjoying life to the full.”
“Ok, I think I’ve heard enough.” Felnor says, assertively, “we’ll try you out for a few games, see how you do. We’ll put you up near the front – you’ll … erm … gain experience and learn quickly that way. Go and see Meldoril down the corridor and he’ll kit you out with a helmet, greaves, breastplate and the rest.”
“Oh, thank you sir!” says Tylar, excitedly, “you won’t regret it, I promise!” he gets up, almost tripping over the chair as he leaves the room.
“So, what do you think, Niceguy?” Felnor asks the standing figure, “I give him about 4 games …”
Mr. Niceguy remains motionless for a moment, as if he hasn’t heard the question, then, suddenly, he looks straight at Felnor and gives him a wide, toothy grin, spreading from ear to ear.
Click the link below to hear the Valdimar Eagles' anthem!: