William the Conkerer stood in the middle of mayhem, idly roasting some horse chestnuts on the burning remains of the local tavern of the latest village that his gang of ne’er do wells was ‘visiting.’ William shook his head. His thoughts were drifting idly. Bad job burning the tavern first. Stupid Attila the Fun! Nothing at all fun about that guy! Why burn the place that they keep the booze first? I mean sure most of the population had been easy enough to trap within and the place had gone up a real treat, he thought. He had managed to wrest a bottle of some dubious looking spirits from the carnage and was liberally sprinkling it into his pan.
Ghenghis Can, the gangs ‘pet’ Yhetee was busy chasing stragglers between the rest of the burning wreckage of this once happy community, nestled on the Ostland coastline. William left him to it whilst calling for the rest of the gang to desist their raiding and gather around. William invited them all to take the roasted chestnuts from the pan and then he set some more to begin cooking.
“So what stuffs have we got today, gang?”
Frederick Barber-Rosa (Or Frederick the barber, as the gang callled him; on account of him being the groups, well, barber, (and also largely out of work amongst these hersute gentlemen,)) was the first to pipe up.
“I have got these nice scissors!” He said this with a big smile on his face whilst holding aloft a pair of cutting implements that were slightly rusty and had seen better days. “Anyone for a trim?”
The gang all recoiled in fear. There was nothing more likely to strike fear into, (what they liked to think were,) their cold black hearts, than the thought of a shave or anyone going near their hair at all.
“I got cakes!” Sir Francis Bake was next to shout up, holding aloft two battered scones and a lump of what might have been a nice moist coffee cake, but was now as hard as rock. “They will do for afters, after them!” He motioned to the roasting chestnuts.
There was then silence.
“Anyone else?” William enquired.
There was a lot of shuffling and moving around uncomfortably.
Attila the Fun, the most vicious of the gangs Ulfwerners, was the only one who dared to tell William, “I fink we kinda burned it all down before we could get the good stuffs.”
William sighed. “So a pair of lousy shears and some inedible cake is all we have to show for our efforts?”
“We had fun!” Argued Attila.
It was at this moment that Ghenghis the Yhetee strode into the light. “I has this,” He growled. “Read it boss.” He extended one of his vicious looking claws with a now slightly singed and definately impaled parchment.
William removed the parchment and looked it over. “Paydirt! This ‘ere says that it is a ticket to enter the MML World Cup Blood Bowl Qualifying competition!”
The gang all looked impressed. There were even some accompanying ooo’s and ahh’s.
“Should fetch a pretty price, eh boss?” Enquired Frederick.
“No you idiot!” Retorted William whilst quickly doing a head count of his men. “Twelve of us should be enough! We lads, are going to be Blood Bowl players! Think how much stuffs we can get if we were to be world champions!”
“I ‘ear that Blood Bowl players can be tough!” Tamer Lame, who had remained quiet up until this point, protested.
“Well they can’t be that tough, if we managed to kick ’em, burn their village and take their stuffs,” William retorted.
The gang all nodded. That made perfect sense.
William looked back at the parchment before folding it quickly and stowing it in his pouch. He thought for a moment. Better not tell them that the person Ghenghis stole this from was just a courier on his way to deliver the ticket to a certain famous Blood Bowl coach apparently called ‘The Stu.’ I hope real Blood Bowl players aren’t actually that tough…..