Status Updates From The Blood Bowl Omnibus

‘First blood,’ Dirk shouted over the roar of the crowd. ‘So much for your damned cup.’
‘What an amazing play!’ Bob said. ‘The Reavers state their case to be crowned champions by picking up a quick score.’
‘But they seem to have bought their point with blood,’ Jim said. ‘I count one, two, three Reaver casualties on the field already, and they don’t look like they’re getting up.’

‘What, Mr. Hoffnung, is your point?’
‘Coach, we can’t go around killing off every team we face.’
‘And why not?’ Pegleg leaned back in his chair and ran a hand back through his long curls. Far more grey streaked them than had when they first met, Dunk noticed. ‘Blood Bowl is a violent game. People get killed in it all the time.’

The Hackers lost the toss and set up down at the west end of the field to kick-off the ball. The Darkside Cowboys, a team composed entirely of dark elves dressed in black and blue uniforms, jogged down to the east end to receive.

‘What’s the first thing I told you about Blood Bowl?’ Slick said.
Dunk had to think back about that one. ‘When someone offers you a contract, get it in writing?’
‘Yes! But that’s not what I meant. What else?’
‘Never shower with an orc?’
Slick nodded. ‘That’s a good one too, but it’s not what I meant. What else?’
‘It’s only a foul if the ref sees it?’

Cavre pulled Dunk to the back of the tent again and raised the flap for him to scoot under. Just before he went, Dunk looked back at the creature and saw its blistering flesh burst into flames.
‘May Nurgle never find your soul,’ Dunk whispered as he left the tent. Cavre, the covered cup tucked under his arm like a football, followed close on his heels.

‘Why, Dunk Hoffnung,’ Lästiges said. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never witnessed an orgy before.’
Dunk blushed six shades of red. ‘Um, sure I–’ He shook his head. ‘Wait, I mean, no.’ He looked at the dark-haired woman out of the corner of his eye. ‘Have you?’
Lästiges giggled and flashed a hungry smile. ‘A lady never tells.’
‘So what’s holding you up?’ Slick asked.

‘What idea?’ Lästiges said from behind. The camra, which had been taking in the scene from high in the trees, floated down to focus tight on the cleric’s face.
‘Rob from the rich and give to the poor,’ Brother Puck said, fat tears rolling down his pale, dirt-crusted face.

The bottom of Dunk’s stomach fell out. Even as Pegleg spoke, the thrower knew what his coach was going to say. As much as he dreaded it, he couldn’t turn away.
‘We’re going to Albion, my Hacker dogs!’ A mad light of greed danced in Pegleg’s eyes. ‘There, we’ll find the Far Albion Cup and bring it back to dominate the Blood Bowl League – or die trying!’

‘Them?’ Cavre said softly. ‘They’re recruiters for the Deathmasques, an all-undead team. That blonde one in the middle is their coach, Rann Ice.’
Slick scowled. ‘It used to be those bloodsuckers would at least wait until nightfall before coming around, looking for fresh kills. Damn Sun Protection Fetishes. SPFs like those have ruined the traditional night games.’

‘The crowd is not happy about this!’ Jim said.
‘No, Jim, they’re not. I haven’t seen a referee show such a blatant disregard for the rules and for any sense of fair play since the Athelorn Avengers played the Dwarf Giants.’
‘Bob, that was only last week!’

As he passed by Dirk, Dunk spiked the ball right into his brother’s helmet. It bounced high off Dirk’s head and landed in the stands. The fans there went wild, screaming, ‘Dunk! Dunk! Dunk!’
Dirk stood up and beckoned for his older brother to come over to him. When Dunk complied, the two butted their helmets against each other like rutting rams.
‘All right,’ Dirk said. ‘You wanna play? Let’s go!’

‘What happened with the referee this time?’ Bob’s voice said. ‘Where was the penalty call?’
‘The Creepers are old hands at this sort of mayhem, Bob,’ Lästiges said. ‘Apparently one of their cheerleaders slipped a small bomb down the referee’s pants before Goremaker made his ill-fated dash for glory. I’m being told that he will not return to the game, leaving only one referee to cover the entire match.’

‘Who beckons the servant of the Blood God?’ Schlitz roared in a voice that carried further than Jim or Bob’s. ‘Who shall be the first penitent to slake his thirst?’
‘Bob,’ Jim’s voice said. ‘I think we’re in for a real show here tonight.’

‘Gots a death wish, punk?’ Skragger growled into Dunk’s ear. The crowd screeched with approval.
‘Wait!’ Dunk shouted. ‘This man is an evil wizard! He was going to kill you!’
Skragger just shook his head as he threw Dunk back over the edge of the stage. ‘Look around, punk. Game’s fulla evil wizards.’

‘Well, Bob,’ Jim’s voice said, ‘it looks like one of the Hackers has decided to join the ceremony.’
‘That’s number seven, Dunk Hoffnung,’ Bob said, ‘and he looks excited. Perhaps Coach Pegleg chose him for the traditional human sacrifice.’
‘I thought Orcidas gave up on those after last year’s summoning of the great daemon Nurgle nearly started another Red Plague.’

‘If you make it to the Chaos Cup, we’ll see you there,’ Blaque said. With that, the two Game Wizards left.
Dunk, Dirk, and Spinne stared at the empty doorway for a moment.
Dirk put his arm around his brother. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It can’t get much worse, right?’
Dunk coughed. ‘Did I mention a threat on our lives by a black orc named Skragger?’

Dunk leapt to his feet and saw M’Grash standing in one of the room’s two doorways, jumping up and down with glee like a schoolgirl spotting a pony. Dunk would have smiled at that were it not for the vampire in the skull-emblazoned armour and helmet darting at him.
‘This time, I’ll have the ball and your life!’ The Impaler promised.

Dunk shook his head. ‘Doesn’t that make for a pretty crowded game?’
Slick smiled. ‘It makes for mayhem, son. Beautiful mayhem.’ The spectators roared as an undead player opened another chest that exploded in his face. Slick gestured all around him. ‘You have to give the people what they want!’ he shouted.

Dunk snorted. ‘I suppose it’s better to have the ogre with you than against you. I have to say, though, I thought an ogre would be…’
‘Less sensitive?’
‘That’s it.’
Cavre nodded. ‘Mr. K’Thragsh is a special case. Years back, an Imperial army wiped out his entire village when he was just an infant. He was the only survivor.’
‘That’s horrible.’
‘They were eating the people in the neighbouring village.’

‘Isn’t he a vampire?’ Dunk asked. Even he’d heard of Bob Bifford and his partner Jim Johnson, who Dunk knew was an ogre like M’Grash. ‘How does he do this during the day?’
‘Sun Protection Fetish,’ Slick said. ‘How do you think guys like Hugo “the Impaler” von Irongrad ever manage to play day games? They keep their SPF on them at all times.’

The day of Dunk’s first game dawned bright and painfully early for the young man. His head felt as if M’Grash had decided to stuff it with cotton and use it for a pillow. Fortunately, as the day wore on Dunk felt better and better, and by the time the game rolled around he was ready to play.

Pegleg took one of the contracts back from Dunk and gave the rookie the other. He slid his contract back into the desk, then rose and offered Dunk his hand. Dunk took it and shook it firmly.
‘Welcome aboard, Mr. Hoffnung,’ Pegleg said. ‘May you have a long and exciting career.’

‘My pleasure,’ Spinne said in a voice as smooth as a fine chocolate liqueur. ‘You never mentioned you had a brother,’ she said to Dirk, never taking her eyes off Dunk. ‘Is it Dunk Heldmann then?’
Dunk found he could not reply.
‘Hoffnung, actually,’ Dirk said. ‘Heldmann is my game name.’
Spinne smiled softly at this, and Dunk felt his heart would melt and run out through his boots.

Slick brightened. ‘Right! The various broadcasting companies hire wizards to use the Cabalvision spell to broadcast whatever the spirits in the camras see. Some people pay to have these appear directly in their minds. Others prefer to watch them in their crystal balls. Some of the best pubs have dozens of them, some larger than a wagon wheel, showing all the games played around the Old World at once.’

‘Welcome to the world of Blood Bowl, son. More teams lose out at tournaments from a lack of healthy players than on the pitch. They’re disqualified before they face even their first opponent. You’re only allowed sixteen players on a roster, but you need to be able to put at least eleven players on the field. That doesn’t leave much room for error, given the injury rates in this game.’

‘Because,’ Slick said as he dried Dunk’s shoulder and wrapped it with another rag, ‘it pays better than thievery.’ As he finished up, he patted Dunk on the shoulder and handed him back his bloodstained undershirt. ‘Besides, people who go off looking to pick fights with dragons shouldn’t speak ill of the career choices of others.’
‘I’ll take that under consideration,’ Dunk said.

Gastwirt peered down at Dunk, suspicion etched on his doughy face. ‘How do I know you’re not a ghost come back for your revenge on our fair town?’ he asked. ‘No one else has ever returned from the creature’s cave alive.’
Dunk pulled off his right gauntlet and flung it at the innkeeper. The metal glove smacked Gastwirt right in his bulbous nose and then dropped back down to the ground where Dunk retrieved it.

Gastwirt squinted down at Dunk and then ducked back inside for a moment. When he reappeared, he held a lantern high in one arm, and he peered down again to see who might be so bold as to make such demands. ‘You!’ the innkeeper said, recoiling in horror as he recognised Dunk’s face. ‘You’re supposed to be dead!’

‘Ah,’ Dunk said. He had wondered why the villagers had been so eager to point out the location of this ‘dragon’s’ lair to him. Old Gastwirt had even offered to draw him a map. Now it was clear. They depended on foolhardy heroes like himself to find their way up here regularly to make their regular ‘sacrifices’ to their local menace. In return, the creature left the hamlet alone.