The group of high elf players moved through a long corridor, and approached the large white wooden door before them. An apothecary symbol was proudly painted on, with the words ‘Apothecary Wing’ underneath. Vanquisher team captain Flamespyre pushed into the room, as the rest of his team mates followed. A look of concern etched across the chiseled elf features.
“I was unaware of this place” he muttered.
“That’s because you are not a journyman my friend.” Mused team thrower, Veryarathion Red Comet.
“Indeed. Well where is he?”
They looked around. An elf lineman yelped as a spiked training ball was removed from his left buttock. A waterboy wearing a sickly shade of green, moaned, then chucked up his lunch into a rusty bucket. A wizard sat bored, and appeaered to be casting spells on a pile of sponges.
Arc Firewind, the vanquishers most loyal catcher, finally caught site of a desperately sad figure in a bed at the edge of the room. Bandages snaked around half his body, and wires attached to the ceiling kept various limbs aloft. An unnecessarily attractive elven nurse fussed over the patient as she wrestled to give him some bubbling concoction.
“There.” Pointed the catcher, as the elves cautiously approached.
“Coach? Coach Cav?” Inquired Flamespyre.
The bed ridden figure pulled a few bandages away from his face to reveal the bruised and battered visage of the Vanquishers coach. The nurse taking this opportunity to down the medicine into the unwilling patient.
“Greetings, and apologies for…this…you find me not at my best sadly” The coach tried to point but only succeeded in tangling several wires and tubes. “But, er, are you al well? Nice of you to visit, but really no need to fuss. I’ll be right as rain for the game vs Supernatural Born Killers.” The coach winced as the nurse injected him with a purple syringe.
“Coach, we missed the SBK game, you’ve been out for a few moons. The team apothecary said you were…hit by an Ogre and several bones were broken?” A quizzical expression creeping across Veryarathion Red Comets face.
“Sadly yes, I was venturing down to the village to retrieve my shipment of Altdorf tea, when a chicken crossed the road. The chicken was followed by an enthusiastically hungry…ogre. Said ogre made quite the connection with my person, i’m told. I don’t recall much else. The fungus medicine plays havoc with my memory and bowel movements. ”
Flamespyre raised an eyebrow. “Ah, that is what we heard. Unfortunately I bring news that may not improve your spirit. League regulations state we must have a coach, and so our brief foray into the Pro Division has been cut short, as we have had to withdraw.”
“What about the assistant coach?”
“He had a shotgun wedding with an Amazon blitzer and hasn’t been seen since”
“The assistant- assistant coach?”
“She ran off with the teams janitor to start a skink rescue program”
“So who is cleaning the facilities?”
A lineman raised a hand, then wrinkled his nose as he caught his own smell. The lineman next to him discretely handed the not so fresh player some soap.
“Well that is disheartening. But the Vermilion Vanquishers will return to the CL and push harder in season fourteen. We can regain our…ouch!…pro status i’m sure. Nurse, that tube will not be entering me there!”
The high elves stood tall. They were all proud of their one Pro victory against the fearsome vampire side Factor -50 United, and for much of the game against Dawi-Zharr they had matched the Chaos Dwarves.
“On the brighter side, we bring gifts.” The catcher held out a large box, emblazoned with the MML seal. Coach Cav received the box and opened it up. Inside there were gifts and notes from various coaches of the Pro and Challenge leagues. Each one showing their support for the downed coach.
From the High Elf teams there were a selection of fantastic soaps, and a ‘foam machine’ from coach Jim Sardonic. The note from the Wood Elves had a diagram on the back of how to lick skinks correctly. The dwarf coaches sent ale of the second highest quality, actually possibly third but still a great gesture. A severed hand was in there with a note from an Undead team that said ‘if you need spare parts’. A bottle of fermented potato peel from the Kislev threatened to melt his taste buds. The Bretonnians sent an actual peasant called ‘Big Hands’ who offered ‘expert’ massage therapy, along with a squirrel shaped paper weight. The Skaven sent cheese, that had half melted on the journey, but still appeared to be delicious despite the warpstone glow. The Norse delivered a pair of speedo pants with the words ‘max comfort’ stitched into them. A jar of ‘magic sand’ rolled around from the Khemri, clinking off a bowl of hearty Chicken soup from the halflings. The humans sent a list of correct ways pedestrians should navigate a road in the old world. The orcs sent a dagger with ‘we atez pointy earz’ carved in the hilt. Nice.
“Security had to confiscate the gifts from the chaos, dark elf, lizard and nurgle teams coach. Oh and a chainsaw with ‘angry!’ in crayon on it was also locked away. ”
Coach Cav took a moment. “I’m deeply touched, the MML is indeed the finest league in the land, and filled with the very best coaches. While season thirteen has been unlucky for us, well me, we still have a team. And this coach will return. But if you excuse me now I must….must…” And with that the half elf coach sank into a drug induced sleep. The nurse slyly smiled then sauntered away.
The High Elf players left the medical wing. Flamespyre was the last, and reached up over the doorway to touch a platinum sign. That sign said…
We Overcome. We Vanquish.