Head coach MGiteau (Or as fans of the Royal Rat Authority had come to affectionately know him, Git) paced frantically up and down the sideline. His team had been all but certainties to make the post season playoffs, all they had to do was beat Ffostrasol – a team with no wins during the season … surely, even they couldn’t mess this up right?
They had gone in at half time 1-0 down, a series of extraordinary events leading to an almost impossible score for the Necromantic squad, and then they had fluffed a routine chance to tie the game … Git knew the game was practically up, when he barked an order to team captain and star Storm Vermin, Snarlrip, to smash into the cluster of players protecting the opposing werewolf.
What happened next would shape the rest of Git’s life …
Snarlrip had been engaged in a duel with legendary werewolf Wilhelm Chaney for the entirety of the game – he’d had several chances to take him out, even nearly pushing him off the pitch into the baying RRA fans, however, Chaney doesn’t have the reputation he has by chance, and each time, hed given Snarlrip the slip, much to the vermin’s frustration – and it was this frustration that got the better of him, as Chaney flashed his dazzling white teeth before swiping Snarlrip’s legs out from underneath him. Attempting to retaliate in mid air, Snarlrip contorted himself awkwardly, and wound up landing on his head, knocking him out – along with the RRA chances of a post season spot.
Git’s emotions ran the full gamut, as he forlornly watched the opposition walk the ball in for an unassailable 2-0 lead – his team had been decimated, rat bodies were piled on the pitch and sidelines, and the contract was inevitably going to be fulfilled …
Back in season 3, Git had been brought to the RRA amidst much fanfare, he’d taken the highly unfancied Roquefort Ramblers to within an inch of the playoffs, before running into previous season champions, The Frozen Thrones, where there dreams and run ended. Clan Moulder had determined this was a coach with promise, and immediately sent for Git with an offer he couldn’t refuse – coach the newly assembled RRA and lead them to glory, or risk the wrath of the Horned Rat (And the Rat Ogre retinue that surrounded the council). Git gratefully accepted – he’d always been ambitious and arrogant to a fault, and he saw this as a real chance for glory with a team of a much higher calibre than the Ramblers. There was one catch – this would be a permanent contract, one way or another. Failure to deliver glory meant death, but success would be rewarded beyond all measure …
Knowing he was on borrowed time, Git trudged back to the locker room to address his team for what would likely be the last time, however, he didn’t quite get what he expected …
Sat in the locker room, instead of his broken rodent team, who had clearly scurried out of the stadium to escape the wrath of the supporters (and Clan Moulder), was a tall man clad in a full suit of black platemail, and what appeared to be a novelty skeleton slumped inertly in the corner.
“Greetings mortal, I go by the title of Blavod the Black, and I have an offer you definitely can’t refuse … ”
Mortal? Git noticed the air had become stiflingly chilled, and the voice speaking to him had an eerie, almost ethereal feel to it … the man continued:
“We understand you have a contractual problem with your rodent paymasters, however we have ways and means of … assisting clients such as yourself. All we require is a handshake, and we will protect you from your certain death at their hands … Do we have a deal?”
Git was obviously uneasy at the proposition, however, the promise of protection meant that he had a small opportunity for survival, and half expecting a gutter runner dagger in the back at any moment, Git tentatively reached out and clasped the extended hand of the man … and was immediately overcome by a cold that chilled him to his heart. Gasping for breath, he tried to escape the grasp of the man, who went ahead and removed his helmet whilst keeping his icy, vice like grip locked on the blackening hand of the former Skaven coach. His blood was freezing in his veins! When he looked up, he was confronted by the terrifying visage of Blavod – A pallid, decaying face with no lips and a twisted smile, and those eyes … glassy and a piercing shade of grey …
“It’ll all be over soon .. Gerhart, over here!”
Blavod let go of Git’s brittle hand, and he slumped to the floor, retching for breath that wouldn’t come. His hand was agony, a pain that pierced the numbness, and his panicked thoughts were punctuated a metronomic clinking sound. Clink. Clink. Clink. Git rolled onto his back to see the skeleton stood over him – his eyes widened in fear as the creature brought down his spiked boot on his hand, shattering it into icy fragments on the floor … Git would have shrieked but he still couldn’t catch any breath, and he was effectively paralysed from the devouring cold ….
In a voice so improbably comical, Git would have laughed in other, more pleasant circumstances, the skeleton chuckle as he introduced himself:
“Hi, I’m Gerhart! We gon’ get on great, jus’ you and I, real great! Sorry ’bout your hand pardner, but you not gon be needin’ it for long! You’ll see, yes siree, you’ll see!”
With that, Gerhart brought his boot down on Git’s throat, killing him instantly. Blavod snapped his fingers at Gerhart, instructing him to pick up the lifeless corpse of Git.
“Time for this one to meet the Maker …”