Out of Ferraskog did they come…


They still spoke in hushed whispers of the Titans who once trod these deserted halls and frequented the overgrown training ground… Of Robshank and Louise terrorising elves at the Orc2 Arena, of Big Mo and his geniality before he took a crossbow bolt to the eye. Of Funbus and Minty and the Black Orc Battlewagon… and of course… Gorbag.

Gorbag in cap

It had felt like years since the Orcs of Ferraskog had had a team representing them, the Titans even returned after all the drama to chase down a misbegotten set of renegades from Taurawna who attempted to steal their name.

Lore had it that they would return once again, when the time was right… however the populace’s hope was fading. Hollow teams trod in their place and the pedigree of the One Tribe grew thin.

Time passed… as it was wont to do… the Ferraskog grew used to the absence of Blood Bowl and busied themselves with more mundane tasks. Raising the whelps, hunting game and adding to the glory board with elf ears or dwarf beards.

In the shadow of the Orc2 arena grain was now grown, fields were tended by peons and life grew orderly.

The orc chieftain grew old and lazy, his effort to maintain order not required with such a monotonous existence. Sure there was the odd maiming, but rarely was there an oath feud or a slaying… the Ferraskog just didn’t seem to care enough.

Word began to reach the disenchanted elders of unrest amongst the younglings, sadly predictable they were revolting against the status quo… the young never knew how good they had it.

Blood Bowl being played again in the hills? There was no future there…

No Future

Dust puffed up and blood spattered the turf.

Stains possibly Blood Stretching Along Alley Behind Editorial ...

Le Hag winced as he looked up. Picking himself up off the turf and slamming his shoulder into a nearby tree he pushed back on his battered old human helmet and looked for the ball. This simple element tells you all you need to know about Le Hag… he was an aberrant orc. Looking for glory before the kill. It was he who had organised the youthful orcs of the Ferraskog into two teams who shirked their hunting duties to train in the ways of the Titans.


It was unfortunate that they were terrible and lacked any hope of improvement.


That was until he heard the usually genial Goon erupt into rage and venom, stampeding towards the edge of the clearing in which they played. The troll had picked up a head of steam and Le Hag could now make out what had angered him so. A hunched figure draped in a travellers cloak stood on the edge of the makeshift field. It was this very same figure that was bundled over unceremoniously by Goon. As the stranger got to his feet the cloak fell to the side and the battered visage of Snapper was clearly visible… well to all but Goon who proceeded to advance on the aged former quarterback. The commotion had drawn the attention of the rest of the young orcs and when they recognised who was in their midst they restrained the troll from further animosity.


“Looks like I’ve got me work cut out for me ‘ere…” grumbled the old orc.

The Old Orc Lord - ZBrushCentral

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