Celt sat in a darkened bar at a large oak table cradling his mead like he was worried someone would take it away. He had spent many nights this way over the past two years. No one cared for his stories anymore or his almost captured glory. His tab was full and his debts were higher than the tallest black orc. He rubbed at the bar at a long ago etched name in the top “Gerd”. He had carved that name two years ago and continued to focus on it to this day. He finished his drink and stumbled to the restroom. Leaning against the wall every few seconds for balance he made his way to the loo. He finished his business and splashed cold water on his face. A face that had seen better days before too much alcohol and regret.
He slowly made his way back to the bar and saw a note sitting on the counter at his familiar spot. He turned it over and saw his name neatly printed on the front, he turned it back and saw a wax seal with the league emblem on it. He opened the letter and read slowly. He reread the letter several times and looked around the bar to find who had delivered it. No one looked his way and he saw no signs of the messenger. To go back….to have his team take the pitch one final time…And not just any team but somehow the best his Goons ever fielded. He didn’t know how it was possible, but at that moment he didn’t care. He looked at the name carved in the bar one last time. He needed to track down Funbus and Subdoo..if he could just get them on board. He had to at least try, if not for himself then maybe they could make the memory of Mosghost smile one last time by putting some opponents blood on the pitch. He walked out of the bar….he had work to do.