Championship Cup BCPH

The stadium was cold and dark as More_Shots made his was through the long and winding corridors of the stadium.  Small candles lighting the passageways just enough for a person that knew the halls ways to find their way.  But, not enough light for a person not knowing the building to see see that they are already lost and haven’t figured it out yet.

More_Shots comes to a intersection in the hallway.  Straight is more of the barely light hallway stretching on for what seems like and unusual distance.  To the right the darkness takes over after short distance and nothing can been seen past.  More_Shots reaches into his pocket and produces a lighter.  He lights it against his leg and raises it toward the darkness.  Unlit candles lead to a door at the end of the short hallway.  On the door the name More_Shots can be faintly read.

He slowly walks towards the door lighting the hallway candles as he approaches.  He returns the lighter to his pocket and pulls out a key and unlocks the door.   The heavy door swings into showing a small room with a small desk covered in papers, a small cabinet stuck in one corner behind the desk and a wooden bucket with a few empty alcohol bottles and a few pieces of trash filling it in the other corner.

More_Shots walks in leaving the door open behind him as he squeeze himself in behind the desk and sits down.  He lights a candle on the desk and then his eyes look down at a seal envelop sitting on top.  He grabs it and slowly raises it up to eye level.  His fingers run over the bumpy red wax seal that reads, “MML.”

“Not another one,” Shots gumbles to himself.

He bites a corner of the parchment and rips it open.  Pull and official looking letter out and starts reading it to himself.
“Dear Bill Cowher Power Hour,  The Mead and Mayhem League has accepted and finalize the request for full retirement and pension from your player named Jager…” His voice trails off and a look of defeat crosses his face.  *Sigh*

He looks over his shoulder to the bucket with the bottles and trash.  Crumbles the letter up and tosses it in.

When his eye return to his desk he notices the hallway is now dark.  The once lit candles are all out and the smell of smoke begins to reach his nose.  Shots stands and leans forward, squinting to see into the darkness.  His eyes fail him as he sees nothing.  The door slams shut and a swirling of wind begins to circle the small room pulling the papers from the desk into the air in a cyclone.  The candle on the desk goes out and Shots fall back into his chair.  He rifles through his pockets looking for his lighter and he feels the room spiral around him and the temperature rises hotter and hotter!
His fingers locate the his key and he pulls it out and throws it in frustration before continuing the search.  loose papers fly around his head the edges slice into him causing small painful cuts.  He swats around in the darkness trying to protect his face with not effectiveness.  Hands back searching for the lighter his face takes more cuts.

Then his fingers come cross the metal shape they had been looking for.  They grip the object firmly and spring it from the pocket.  It snaps out and sparks to lit in one motion.  The room falls calm as the fire dimly shows papers falling to the floor around the room.  The door shows scorch marks and appears to be smoking in places.  Shots holds the lighter forward and stands leaning over the desk to see better.  Sweat and blood run down his face dripping down to the desk as he strains to see the door.  A small hole no bigger than a mans fist looks to have been burned though the door, edges still smoldering.

A stillness fills the office, as Shots sits back down.  He stands the candle back up on the desk and lights it.

One piece of paper remains on the desk.

Written in fresh blood and sweet.

Champions Cup Roster
Season 14 Bill Cowher Power Hour


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