“Whilst it is commonly accepted that the Irish are a people who enjoy a good yarn, and more-so when it features an element of mystic, magic or fantasy, it appears to me there is a problem” announced the high elf of Clan Eire
Silence filled the auditorium. The meeting had been called at short notice and attendance has been deemed mandatory.
Unusual for the Emerald Isle, where most things could wait until another day. No matter what, a bit of procrastination was always acceptable. The unmoving notion that whatever the issue was at hand, leaving it until tomorrow would undoubtably be “grand”, especially should more urgent intervention interfere with the evenings “craic”.
“Banshees and their tales of woe are rife around the late evening fire. Fairies and their spring evening dances around their ancient fairy trees are frequent too, and to our shame, stories of those blasted Leprachauns’ and their infantile antics are getting beyond reason. I mean their almost as ridiculous as those dwarves…. but one race and their exploits of grandeur seem to be becoming forgotten …. ours!!!”
Perhaps he had a point. Not only two nights previous had Munk been chatting to his children about creatures of lore, and the very topic had arisen. Much to his surprise, whilst two had heard of the race, not only was the consensus that they were winged creatures, but always that they were small enough to fit into the palm of ones hand and had a love of making shoes!! Male fairies wouldn’t have been far off.
He doubted that should any of his off-spring come face to face with one of the lithe athletic six-foot tall beings he was currently surrounded by, they most likely would have come to the conclusion they were friendly folk from the Starship Enterprise than some of the very creatures of lore their their father had spoken to them off the evening prior.
Quite why he had been invited remained unclear however. He’d had little contact with them previously himself, but the offer of an evening out including “an offer he could not refuse” had peaked his interest.
“This must be corrected. Tales of our splenditude must once again be poured upon the ears of the children of our nation. Books must be filled with our achievements. Recognition of our spot at the pinnacle of intellectual, cultural and sporting exploits must once again become common-place and … after prolonged council amongst the high chiefs of the Clans of Ireland a route towards this has been found …. the blood bowl field .. and the rebirth of our legend under the banner of The Emerald Isle Aces”
A gentle ripple of agreement spread across the assembled masses and a wave of nodding heads suggested that the idea was one worth considering.
“Problems will have to overcome of course. It has been some time since we were represented on the field and skills have been lost. We will start from scratch, but our excellence should allow us to acclimatise within months to our return to the game. Our hallowed field at The Claddagh Ring has fallen into disrepair though the entrance arch still stands. It will require much work. But it will be rebuilt post haste.”
Enthusiastic cheers rumbled through the audience as the chief built towards his crescendo.
“And finally, we will require a coach. Whilst I myself, and no doubt many amongst feel this is far from a necessity, league rules require it. Resources will be spared however. They will be better spent elsewhere. Scouts have been sent throughout the land. Options were limited but that man has been found. That coach is here tonight. He is yet to accept the post, but how could he decline such an offer. The chance to leave those simpleton orcs behind. The honour of standing in our colours at the pitch-side watching us, a juggernaut with the destination being that of glory. And not only elves, but the Princes of elves at his side …..
What say you Munk?”
The crowd erupted …. MUNK, MUNK, MUNK!!
He was pretty sure no-one knew who or were he was in the masses. Nor did he believe they would recognise or indeed even have heard of him, if they did. But, at least now, the reason for his invite had become clear. He was a cheap fix to an unfilled spot in the forthcoming organisation.
Truth was he’d never especially been that fond of elves. Especially High Elves. Their arrogance had been nauseating at times, and to be honest, he’d always enjoyed his time amongst the green skins, preying on such conceited fools.
Best keep that to himself though. Likely not go down that well. He stood. A multitude of eyes focussed on him.
He cleared his throat, braced himself and then he spoke.
“Ah, go on then. Whats the worst that could happen?”