Preparation, preparation, trepidation.

Coach Gerdleah was standing at the front of the dressing room pointing at the giant cabal sphere. “There you have it. That’s us watched all the games that Revang have played this season. I left out our own match as the this play off will bare no resemblance to what happened that day. Any comments?”

Banlaine stands up and looks around at his team mates, locking and holding each one’s eyes for a couple of seconds, before turning back to the coach, “We are ready. We know what to expect. Lots of pain, lots of injuries, maybe even death. The team accept this.” Silence follows this statement as the players all stand to their feet.

With a small smile on his face, the coach motions for them all to sit back down.  “I know you are ready and we will give it our all. We still sport some bruises from out last match with them but…”

“Tell me about it! My knuckles are still sore and bruised from punching those bearded skulls”, shouts Guyliner as he is rooting around his white lion trimmed training bag. “Where is it?”

In a tremendously excitable, child like voice, Hithdrir jumps in. “I’m ready coach, we really can do this. You didn’t have me 2 seasons ago when the team were in the playoffs. As long as they don’t a hold of me, they can’t stop me. See?” He springs high into the air, catching one of the chains dangling from the roof, swings and lands right onto the treatment table. “Thank you for that display. Now please, jump down.” says Gerdleah. Hithdrir, jumps down, but slips on the hardwood floor, smacking it hard. “Who left their blood here??? I did not miss my landing, someone left blood here. See? You can see it on my boots.”

“MEETING OVER!” yells Gerdleah, over the laughter of the team. “Get some rest”.  As he walks out the room he catches a raised voice coming from behind him, “I knew it would be you Siren! Stop stealing my foundation. It’s imported and expensive and I need it to cover these bruises”.

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