As he awoke into the beautiful cold darkness of another moonless night in the city, Big Tooth Tony remembered that he had the rarest of moments available to him: some free time. Perfect for his second and third favorite pasttimes of tying up loose ends and exacting revenge.
First, the weather wizard he had hired on the sly to ensure favourable conditions for the Fangs’ league games. After three blizzards and a wave of sweltering heat (which may not have hit the team too hard, but kept Tony personally away from any jugulars for an entire half) it was clear he had been ripped off. He was also hearing rumblings that the weasel was planning to dob him in to the commissioners for a second pay day at his expense. Tony found him in the very same dive where they had first met, hypnotised him, and sold him to a visiting troupe of ghouls for a post-match feast. He even made a tidy profit on his original investment.
Next, the mad scientist Tony had lent some of his thralls to test a new technique of rapid muscle expansion. While the resulting megathralls had been useful facing down saurus and bullying Tony’s former ilk, one had quite literally exploded upon being punched down by an ogre (too much tension) and the other was draining the team’s treasury at a worrying rate with the constant supply of gruel he required simply to stay conscious. Tony set the frenzied beast loose in the scientist’s lair to destroy anything within, animate or otherwise. He locked the doors and threw away the key. This kind of technology could not be allowed to fall into the hands of another franchise.
Finally the twisted, bitter creature turned his sights on his own teammates. They were hogging the limelight, achieving feats of agility and speed that Tony’s aging, decaying body could not keep up with. Even the blessing of undeath couldn’t stave off the withering hardships of a professional Blood Bowl career of any significant length. They would be a longer term project. If he got rid of them in too much of a rush suspicions would be raised. Perhaps one might find an errant boot from an unexpected angle tripping him as he pulls off an elaborate dodge, or another might find himself in the path of an unusually well aimed rock from the crowd. There was plenty of fun still to be had inventing these devious plots, and plenty of time for them to come to fruition.
The night was coming to an end. Tony returned to his crypt, checked the drooling coach was still in his cupboard, ordered his supper thrall to the table and once full slid back into his palatial coffin. He was looking forward to a new season, further glory to be had, new allies and enemies to be made, and fresh blood for the taking.