The Tale of The Order of the Holy Squirrel part 2

                                                                                     

                                                                           The Tale of The Order of the Holy Squirrel part 2

The Pegasus Stadium , pride of the city of Parravon and of it’s sovereign, Duke Cassvon, it was built at great expense as a symbol of Bretonnia’s budding Blood Bowl prowess . Grand towers, arch ways and sculptures lined the walls. It was a glory to behold.  The Knights of Parravon had only just recently begun their foray into the wonderfully violent world of Blood Bowl but were setting their sites high. This their first game of the season since joining the Pain&Stuffering League was pitted against the current  league champions, the Blight Kings.

The rain fell from the heavens in a deluge, turning the once pristine pitch into a muddy swamp, Sir Anton De’marr captain of the Knights of Parravon pushed onward, starting on an attacking run against the foul followers of Nurgle who stood before him. This being the teams first match since turning pro, nothing could have prepared them for what they were facing.  Rotten to the core with filth ,puss and bile so strong it turned your insides out, the Blight Kings were making deadly bloody work of their knightly rivals. Only a short time into the first half and the Knights of Parravon were suffering heavy losses, the Blight Kings were obviously more interested in causing as much misery and pain  as possible than trying to score or even play the ball. Now with so few allies  Sir Anton knew he must score now or they might never get another chance.

So  on he pushed through the driving rain , backed  by the five remaining team mates he had left, the monstrous form of the Blight Kings captain Gutrot Splume goaded them on. The six Knights of Parravon charged forward. A  blocker smashes his armoured glove into the face of a incoming Rotter, breaking it’s teeth and  jaw, sending it crashing into the blood soaked ground , another leaping through the air to deliver a thunderous blow to the head of a Nurgle Warrior, toppling the putrid player like felled tree .

The Knights of Parravon then adopting the lance formation drive on across the boggy pitch , the lead blitzer Sir Davoss , is pulled to the ground by a pair of Rotters, ripping his helmet from his head they pin the knight to the ground, clamping his mouth open with their dead fingers, one of them vomits into his open mouth, drowning his scream and filling his stomach and lungs with the hot liquid of Nurgles Rot. The knight drowns in the filth, blood pouring from his eyes and ears as his brain turns to mulch .

The Knights push on , unable to help his ally Sir Anton offers a prayer to the Lady for his comrades soul, just five of them  left now,  The Blight Kings now move in for the kill.

A Pestigor charges head long at the knights , a blocker Gustarv Remley catches the beast by the horns wrestling it to the ground and holds it there, a peasant lineman is not so fortunate, his skull explodes like dropped baby as it’s crushed by the clawed arm of a Nurgle warrior, his lifeless body slumping to the floor . Just three left now.

Sir Anton can just see the end zone through the heavy rain, glory is almost theirs,  but Blight Kings players still stand in his way . He pushes harder now, the last remaining peasant in an  attempt to keep up slips hard on the wet ground , knocking himself out . The Blight Kings close in, to crush the last two Bretonnians .

Sir Anton and his fellow knight by the name of Sir Wyatt, shout a defiant war cry and charge forward. The gigantic bloated form of Gutrot Splume looms over them, Sir Wyatt leaps at his adversary, bringing his armoured fist round to deal a devastating blow to Gutrot’s bulk, only for his arm to get swallowed up to his elbow by his massive gut. Only then did Wyatt realise his folly as two crazed eyes stare back at him from Gutrot’s stomach and a huge set of rotten yellow teeth chomp down on Wyatts arm, he had inadvertently thrust it into it’s gapping maw . A blood chilling scream leaves Wyatts lips as he collapses to the ground, his remaining hand trying to stem the fountain of blood pouring from the stump where his arm was.    Just one left now.

 

Sir Anton, all alone now races to the end zone ,”Just a few more yards” he says but he is surrounded by the Blight Kings. With nowhere to run he looks about for a team mate to pass to, but the majority are either dead or dying , until a flash of sliver armour catches his eye through the think rain .”Yes, one of my fellows is still standing” cries Anton in triumph. With the Nurgle filth closing in, Sir Anton offers another quick prayer to the Lady and turns to toss the ball towards his team mate. But Sir Anton’s face turns from grim determination to shocked horror as the player he was going to pass to was charging for him. The diseased rotting form of Sir Davoss crashes into Sir Anton, spilling both them and the ball to the ground just a couple of yards from the end zone.

Sir Anton stares up at  the rain filled sky , his breaths coming out in ragged gulps as he’s pinned to the wet ground by his former comrade. He can only watch as the Blight Kings mop up the last remaining Parravon players, tearing off limbs and snapping bones they reviled in their bloody work. Not satisfied with just their players, the Blight Kings turn on the Bretonnian fans . Soon the whole stadium is filled with the cries of the dying as all the Nurgle fans launch an attack inside the stadium .

The corruption of Nurgle soon starts spreading  , infecting the pitch, fans and the stadium walls itself. ” All is lost murmurs  Sir Anton, pinned  to the ground all he can do is watch everything he held dear mutate and crumble . The sound of heavy, lumbering feet draw his attention , Gutrot Splume stands over the Knight triumphantly, lifting his iron boot, and from a throat that sounded like a slug being ground underneath a jagged rock, came the words  ” Weilkome… to the laving ..emmmbrassse ..ov….. pup’pa Nurgle”  Gutrot Splume slams his heavy boot down on Sir Anton’s neck breaking it instantly and sends out a blood chilling roar in victory. The last thing Anton sees before the darkness takes him, is the lost stadium being engulfed in flame.

Duke Cassvon did not wish the kingdom of Parravon to suffer the same fate as the Pegasus Stadium. Summoning the Knights of the Realm they put the stadium to the torch, killing any and all who escaped the blaze including the Bretonnian fans in case they carried the taint of Chaos, the stadium became a funeral pire.   They stood watching the blaze till nothing was left standing.

 

“And that was why you founded the Holy Squirrels in Parravon?”

Marcus Leightdorf was crouched over on the beastman skin stool in the centre of the Squirrels head coach and owners office. Scribbling down the story as fast as he could in his note book, trying the get every word as Sir Andy Von Cook told him of the tragic fall of Parravon’s maiden Blood Bowl team.

The warm afternoon sun still shone through the great window of the room, bathing everything in a soft orange glow, the strange specks of light still danced about in the air and the squirrels who occupied the room were curled up in groups having an afternoon snooze. A serving girl had been in on many occasions, bringing bottles of rich Bretonnian wine with platters of sweet meats and pastries, Sir Andy had risen from his large chair which was now occupied by his tiny Red Squirrel , nibbling at discarded piece of ham. He was casually walking around the room, a goblet of wine clutched in his armoured hand, which Marcus thought was odd due to how dainty the glass he held was compared to  the thickness of the gauntlet and that simply removing them would be much for beneficial.

“The stadium was a burnt out husk ” sighed  Sir Andy, ” I sort an audience with Duke Cassvon and told him of my intensions to form a new team , a strong team, one that would show the other races of this world that Bretonnia is a nation of Blood Bowl players not to be trifled with my boy.”                                               “Of course the Duke had no wish to be part of the endeavour and to back it financially, but as I had much wealth due to my family, I said I would finance the team.” This made Marcus pause his frantic writing for a second. As what he had been told of Sir Andy’s rumoured past contradicted his story.

“So we began construction of the new stadium ” Sir Andy continued . “The finest flagstone and brick from across the Kingdom. But as you have probably already noticed , such things cost a great deal. Not to mention scouting and hiring players, their uniforms, armour , the team staff and all the rest I can’t even bare to think about”  There was a long pause….

“I ran out of money Lad”

Sir Andy now looking rather bashful, no longer the confident highborn knight he portrayed himself to be took a large mouthful of his rather costly Mousillon wine to knock back his shame. “So we had to improvise some what, with the completion of the stadium. The Forest of Loren is on our door step so……” Sir Andy trails off, clearly ill at ease with what he was about to say out loud. “We took it upon ourselves to…. claim the remaining materials from the Forest. As it happens it was Winter and the sprites and tree folk of Loren were hibernating, so we managed to fell many trees without being found out ” explains Sir Andy.

“So that is why there are so many trees growing in ,up and around the stadium? ” exclaims Marcus.

“Yes, that is why we have poor old Entwistle growing in the East corner of the grounds. We thought he was a rather large tree, but turns out he was a Treeman who was in a deep sleep. Bit of a shock when he woke up let me tell you” A merry chuckle escapes the knights lips as he looks out his office door at the ancient Treeman holding up the East stands.  ” He’s stuck there now, for ever watching us and casting his pollen about the place”

“So that was what the golden specks of light are” though Marcus,

” And the Squirrels ?” he inquires ……

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