Right denz, youz lot. Betta' late than neva', eh? Life be givin' us work bitz, we'z doin' 'em, we'z playin' gamez, heck, we'z makin' a hobby game of our own these dayz. But don't ya' worry, squigbrainz, good old orky nonsense alwayz comez back!
Bloody Bowlz
The Impossible Fortress shook violently, from its ever-shifting roots to its tilting, twisting spires of utter insanity. Daemons fled the halls as a titan stormed forth, a giant wreathed in ever-burning flame. The trickery and illusions of the place had no effect on the creature, as it simply crushed and smashed its way through, before finally coming to rest in front of the first of the Changer's nine hundred gates.
From within the inner sanctum, the Lord of Schemes could hear countless loud crashes, each accompanied by a collapsing gate. As the final one was thrown off its hinges with the power of a supernova, all nine of his eyes rested upon the newcomer. The flames subsided for the faintest of moments, allowing him a glimpse of the visitor's toned physique and mighty armour, forged from bones of the mightiest warriors to ever grace the material universe. The Blood God raised his hand and pointed, before releasing a mighty shout which shook the very fabrics of Chaos:
"Tzeentch!"
In a sluggish, unimpressed way, eighteen heads turned his way:
"I just finished redecorating, you know."
"What else is new? I have more urgent matters to attend to than your damned shifting fort!"
"Ech, very well," the Changer dedicated six eyes to his fellow deity, the other three still keeping vigilant watch over his schemes, "what is it?"
"It's my hound. Karanak, here boy!"
Only then did Tzeentch notice the thick, chain leash firmly grasped in the Warrior God's fist. A massive hound, its flesh of a dark crimson hue, strode forth. Three heads were attached to its torso, each a different hunter, each an unequalled tracker in its field. And yet, each seemed to be sluggish in its movements, following the master's commands, but almost with the slightest hint of reluctance.
As it sat down at its master's feet, barely reaching his knees, one of Khorne's flaming fists came down and petted each of its heads in turn.
"Hmmm... and what seems to be the problem?"
"His ferocity seems to have left him! He still hunts, but with less enthusiasm. He almost didn't drink his boiling blood today. I swear, if one of Nurgle's damned plagues has..."
"No, no, he's physically fine. Maybe he is simply... tired."
"But his sleep schedule is normal... he always has eight hourglasses every..."
"No, I mean, maybe he needs a vacation? I mean, think about it, he's been hunting whatever you point at for the last thirty millennia. He may like your version of fetch, but it can get monotonous, you know?"
"Hmmm, even a devoted warrior has a jug of ale from time to time... I see what you mean. But what should I do?"
"Well, I'm not a pet expert. But, well, you won't like to hear it, but he, she or it is."
"Oh, you can't mean..."
"And that's why I'm here." a nearby tree tried to wrap its vines around his ankle, only to scorch itself. The fire did not seem to trouble it, per se.
The Prince of Excess chuckled. At times a man, at others a woman, or something between, Slaanesh had no single form, changing it whenever it grew bored or wanted to play a game with its countless pawns. At that moment, a maiden of literally stunning beauty stood before the Blood God, draped in exquisite, violet garbs. Her hair was pure silver, her eyes a pair of chilling azure orbs, which could pierce one's soul as easily as a bolter round pierced air. She shot Khorne a smile capable of dividing blood brothers, then spoke with a soft, soothing voice:
"Oh, so mighty Khorne requires my aid? Oh, I will savour this."
Had a mortal heard it, a chill would have ran across their soul, shattering their mind into complete and utter devotion. The flaming titan was unaffected:
"Savour it all you want. Just make sure Karanak is brought back to his old self."
"Oh, do not worry, my servants shall see to his needs," as she was saying that, a dozen daemonettes were using the mightiest of bloodhounds as a troop transport, and leading him, with the help of a bloody steak at the end of a stick, towards an area labelled 'Really Bubbly Bubble Bath', "he'll be more than fine."
"You'd better hope so, virgin," he had perfected his insults over the millennia, "he's my favourite hunter."
"Yes, yes, do not worry. We all have our pets," as if in reply, another set of vines rose towards her, though she shooed them away with but a glance, before returning her attention to the Blood God, "and how has great, mighty Khorne been doing lately?"
"Well enough, even if my warbands keep running into your filfth."
"Oh, you're always so serious," she danced around him in an enchanting ballet performance, earning herself a deadly stare, "bloodshed here, decapitation there. You should just lighten up sometimes."
"And then what? Perpetually get nothing done like your sodding servants? When was the last time one of your daemon princes led a host of fifty-thousand to raid and pillage half of a sector in your name? Oh, that's right, never."
She emitted a snake-like hiss, her features shifting into a serpentine beast, somehow still retaining their allure. She couldn't argue with that, though. Angron got shit done.
"I'm half-tempted to slap you."
"Sorry, can't hear you over the sound of three slaughtered space marine chapters."
"Hmph, if that's how it's gonna' be," her lips curled into an enticing grin, "I challenge you to a battle. My followers versus yours. Winner has to, let's say... follow the other's commands for twenty-four hourglasses."
"The standard-sized ones," he knew better than to leave such an uncertainty in their bargain, "very well. My servants will be more than happy to beat yours into bloody pulps. Do you have any particular event in mind?"
"Well," her features gradually settled back towards a more human state. With a movement of her palm, a window into the materium appeared before them, along with a large, comfy couch. She hopped onto it with unfathomable grace, "it just so happens a fitting one is about to start! Convenient, eh?"
"Strangely so."
As he reluctantly sat down next to her, his flames subsiding to not scorch the couch itself, some of the roots brought forth a large bucket of questionable treats. He grabbed one, inspected its gelatinous form, then chomped down. Sickeningly sweet, with a hint of corruption. Not at all surprising, really.
It was a grand day on Big Rok, for a new season was about to start, filled to the brim with fouls, mutilations and good old-fashioned brawls. The stadium's stands were filled to the brim with almost every native species, from greenskins, to no-noses, to daemons of many shapes and sizes.
"'Ullo', all ya' squigbrainz," came from speakers installed all around the playing field, " and welcum to da' start of a new seasony bit of Blood Bowl! I'z yer expert on all thingz bloody, and bowly, da' one an' only Tekbrain!"
"And I am his co-host, Malakar, here to bring you the most up-to-speed reports on any crippling injuries, the main attraction of this event!"
"I still do not understand how they got to be commentators," Miriana was enjoying a few of the traditional snacks. Luckily for her, the daemonettes selling them were all from her fanclub, "it baffles me."
The legendary sorcerer next to her, also close to the field, but out of the immediate danger zone, was chomping down on some strange, gelatinous substance. Sickeningly sweet, with a hint of corruption.
"Perhaps a bit of friendly backstabbery? That's always a bit of fun. Plus, I can vouch for Tekbrain, he's a fanatic when it comes to Blood Bowl."
"Well, I'z 'eard," Snogrot had gotten access to the VIP-VIP Area due to connections, as well. A grot finger fell out of his mouth the moment he started speaking, "dey'z just bought it with all da' Metul Punchiez (TM) teef dey'z been earnin'."
"Damn things are expensive these days, that's for sure," her own treat was a simple squigburger, with a hint of excess.
The crowd roared as the first contestants of the day entered the field. From one side, came a nice, big band of armoured orks, all in pleasing navy blue, waving at their fans with massive grins. Along with them, came their coach, the one and only kaptin Gorasho Pain, sporting a more fancy vest, yet still armed as regular. One could never be too careful, after all.
"Ah, here come the veterans! The team that has always represented the original settlers of Big Rok, it's the Blue 'Eadz!"
Their opponents would be an organised group of humans, each clad in sky blue. They marched over to the middle line of the field, the 'Bloody Border', as locals called it, and assembled in a perfect row
"And 'ere be some new boyz! From da' new 'umie matez we'z got on 'ere, it'z da' Azurey Hawkz!"
The lord general watched them with pride. He did not count on them winning the tournament itself, but he hoped for at least a single victory. Standing with him, on the opposite edge of the field to the other commanders and assorted figures, was the no-nose who had unceremoniously beaten him a few days back.
"You seem confident about their chances."
"Hmmm, perhaps less confident and more optimistic. Your own will fare well, judging by their performance."
"I hope so. We've been the worst team on the Big Rok for a while now. Even the grots could beat us up."
"That must have been tough."
"We got used to it after a while. Today, though," she smiled again, much to his repressed delight, "I have hope again."
"Looking at what we're up against, I'm losing mine, heh."
"The match is about to start, would you say any of them have the advantage?"
"Well, lookin' at it realisticully, both teamz got no weirdboy, since 'umie'z neva' brought one and ourz iz locked up where 'e should be. No big boyz, either. So, it all comez down ta' playin' this time. And I'z gonna' tell ya', if da' 'umiez wanna' win, deyz betta' stay away from da' orkz, cuz if dere'z one thing orkz be gud at, it'z clobberin'."
"Too true. Ah, here we go, the placements are set. Looks like Blue 'Eadz are showing their standard simple approach," that meant most of the orks were spread close to the Bloody Border, eager for some clobbering. Marek's own, however, showed some semblance of tactics, with only a handful right on the line, the rest were staying back, "now the green tide needs to just kick off and the fun can start!"
As the smallest ork rose his foot for a kick, Marek double-checked his vox caster. Everything seemed alright, though a few hits could change that situation fast. Thompson, standing at the very front with a pair of muscular daredevils, gave him a bionic thumbs up. The ball was sent flying shortly afterwards. One of the humans managed to grab hold of it.
And the stampede began, the orks on the sides rushing straight for the remaining humans, while Thompson and daredevils seemed to be holding their ground. Marek shouted into his vox-caster:
"Flight of Sanguinius!"
The men in the back first formed around the ball carrier, then slowly, one by one, dispersed to meet any approaching ork. Most didn't last for long, but the carrier made it through unscathed, which was the important part. On the line, the humans and orks were still wrestling, with neither side having a clear advantage.
"Thompson, now!"
The cyborg suddenly ducked slightly, surprising the ork grappling with him. The carrier then hopped, first onto Thompson's shoulders, then on the baffled greenskin's face, before landing back on the ground and going back into a mad dash for the endzone. The smallest ork tried to tackle him, yet the human slid right underneath him. It did not take long for the stadium, save for the green parts, to erupt in joy.
"Touchdown! Touchodoooown! That was cleaner than my wraithbone tools!"
"Youz can say dat againz! 'Umiez got da' magik!"
The lord commander's grin made her smile:
"Not bad, gue'la. Not bad at all."
"That went smoothly. Let's see what the next kick-off brings."
After receiving a few clobberings from their coach, the Blue 'Eadz reassembled. A few more were kept in reserve, to help catch and carry the ball. The humans faced a new challenge, actually bringing the fight to the greenskins.
"Aim for the upper right, then, Spear of Russ!"
Most of the humans were assembled on the right side of the field. As soon as the ball landed and a few orks rushed to retrieve it, the humans charged in a wedge formation. The first ones heroically sacrificed their teeth to bring down the ork line and a handful breached through. The runty ork was so overjoyed about picking up the ball, that he did not notice the approaching humans until it was too late.
Marek's lot, through clear tactical superiority, eventually ended the match with three touchdowns to their name, with a big fat zero for the greenskins. A very humbling experience. Gorasho took a frustrated bite out of a nearby grot, while Marek stood tall, carried upright by his team.
"The second match is about to begin, sports fans!"
"Yeh! And wot an openin'! Brilliant use of strategery and stuffz by da' 'umiez. 'Aven't seen a performance dat solid since da' timez of Gobby da' Gobbinator, may 'e rest in piecez. Gotta' say, though, no injuriez or anythin'."
"Worry not, my dear co-host! For this second match is guaranteed to rack up a bodycount! First comes a classic competitor, the Runty Gobz," the gretchin in question did not even attempt to hide their wide assortment of illegal secret weapons, from what seemed like a primitive cannon, or a kan posing as their team's big guy, or even a triple-bladed chainsaw. They seemed pretty confident overall, "look at them scamper about! Aren't they just asking for a kicking?"
"Yeh and 'ere'z da' team ta' deliver it," the other team's gate was flung open. The grots immediately lost a fair bit of confidence as the slow, lumbering, unsettling forms of the necrons marched onto the field in perfect unison, assembling on the Bloody Border in a precisely calculated formation. The front was made up of four of Thebes-Ra's personal bodyguards, each slightly larger than the killa' kan, "'ere come da' Tomb Scourgez! No big guy, but 'ell, every one of 'em be big!"
The necrons were chosen to kick off first and while it took them a while, considering their clunkiness, when the kick came, it shot out like a bullet, immediately incapacitating the dumb grot that tried to catch it. The tiny goblinoids immediately attempted to retaliate with their weapons, tolerated until a touchdown or half-time, due to archaic rules. The results were disappointing at best.
Chainsaw blades bit into living metal, only to be stopped by the pure strength of the defending necron. Cannonballs made dents that mended themselves in but a few moments. The kan itself was beaten into submission by the massive bodyguards. Grots tried to run, but the sophisticated targeting systems of their pursuers allowed none to get away far, or even slip between their legs. Thebes-Ra watched from the sidelines, nodding in approval.
"Well, looks like the gretchin are at a bit of a disadvantage."
"Yeh. Body bitz flyin', screamin'... bloody 'ell, dis be propa' Blood Bowl!"
No touchdowns were seen during that match. Match may have been a misnomer. During the slaughter, yes. In the end, there was not much left of the gretchin team. Even the grot referee had gone into hiding after a bit, afraid of getting caught in the one-sided brawl. With their foes being too hurt or too dead to continue playing, the metal space egyptians were declared the winners, much to the crowd's approval.
"Wot a match!"
"I didn't notice the field's grass was red before, how peculiar!"
"Yeh, well, it could get coloured differentley, soon. 'Ere coma da' blue boyz, all fancy and stuffz. Gimme' a cheer fer da' Fire Brawlerz!"
The tau were assembled in formations, with rather burly ones, Gorasho's trainees, in the very front, while Miriana's were dedicated to actually playing the game, the pansies. Their opponents soon reared their debatably ugly heads. Most of them were small, their regular bio-weaponry replaced by what seemed like prehensile tentacles, complete with suction cups. The rearguard was far more intimidating, dominated by a towering monstrosity of sinew and chitin, sporting two pairs of massive maces in place of arms. It was flanked on both sides by tall warriors with similar biomorphs, ready to provide a strength advantage under any ruleset.
"And here are their challengers, the," he emitted a guttural roar, signifying the team's name, "newcomers, but looking quite ready!"
"Ready ta' eat da oppositiun, maybez!"
The carnifex shook the ground with each step and finally came to rest on the line, staring right into the eyes of one of the blueskins. The tau in question immediately wished for the comforting presence of a standard-issue pulse rifle. One of the gaunts kicked off the ball in the worst way possible, hitting an unfortunate onlooker in the stadium. And while the ball was then given to one of the no-noses directly, what ensued made the brief victory inconsequential.
The massive bio-tank immediately struck, sending one of the blueskins flying a good dozen feet. The warriors were also eager to get stuck in, smashing apart the front line like a quartet of wrecking balls. The ball carrier, meanwhile, slipped right past them and made a dash for the touchdown, only to be buried under a pile of much swifter tiny tyranids. One of them snatched the ball from his hands and darted towards the score line, expertly sliding between several of the blueskins. After scoring the first point for his team, the tiny catchgant made an adorable little victory dance, which gained it the affection of most of the audience.
"Regulatiun clobberin'! Blue boyz just can't get throughz!"
"Between the big, smashy ones and the small, stunty ones, they just don't know who to focus first."
It was then that Mont'yr whispered something into her own communication device. Immediately, one of the tau on the Bloody Border ran off, out of the stadium.
"Now, where is that one going?"
"We'z bein' told it be a roster change. Wonder wot dat'll be."
They did not have to wait long, as the stadium soon echoed the heavy footsteps of a hardhead battlesuit, which walked up to the Bloody Border and stared the bio-tank right in the eye. One of the warriors clumsily kicked off and the brawl began in earnest. And while the tau could not match the carnifex's brute strength, the suit's slightly more nimble nature allowed it to evade its blows and finally retaliate with a powerful uppercut. The monster stumbled and collapsed right on top of a pair of terrified gants, which earned horrified howls from the audience.
With their main source of muscle kept in check, the bug boys were having a much harder time keeping the tau from their ball carriers. In the end, through a combination of rotating team members, since the suit was considered a secret weapon, tactical supervision and good old-fashioned tau stubbornness, the victory was theirs with a score of two to one.
"Gud brawlin' dat time!"
"Indeed, very straightforward, with only a few interferences by the referee. Now, finally, here comes my favourite team."
"Oy, let me guezz, eldur?"
"Your wisdom known no bounds, my friend! And against them, the first of the many daemonic teams in the tournament today! Nurgle's own Rotguts!"
It would be hard to create more opposite sides. On one hand, it was the lithe eldar in their minimal armour, looking perhaps to actually, gasp, play the game. Then, there were the stinking, mostly decomposing thugs of the nurglite team, with a massive, worm-like abomination at the head, dripping green, corrosive saliva onto the grass. They were ready to use the Necron approach and try and beat everything into submission.
"Oy, dem nurgle boyz be real 'ard. No actuul ball carria' or da' sort, deyz be 'ere for gud ork-friendly clobberin'. Of course, da' eldur 'ave somethin' speciul. A weirdboy," Miriana flexed her fingers, her gaze fixed on the decomposing foes, "and dat could be real nice, weirdboyz alwayz got sum real fun trickz."
"Oh, you don't know half of it, my friend! Let's see what these two teams have in mind!"
The kick-off that came from the eldar was expertly aimed right into the middle of the middle of the enemy side of the pitch. And then, things became a blur, as the eldar rushed ahead. The slow, cumbersome nurglites barely turned in time in vain attempts to block their passage. In the blink of an eye, one of them, an exarch of the Howling Banshee shrine, had the ball. In another, she was already slamming the ball against the ground in a touchdown.
"Woorrrrrr, dat woz quick!"
"Eldar prowess at its finest!"
"More like eldur squigcrap."
Passes above several enemy players, slides, sommersaults and just plain-old dodging became the norm as the eldar utterly crushed their slow, cumbersome opposition. No weirdboy intervention required.
It was only minutes before the Changer's horde entered the field that the organisers realised they had an uneven amount of teams competing. For the sake of simplicity, they were rearranged to face the Blood God's warband instead of the Slaaneshi, who would instead fight with the gretchin to finish them off. Nobody but the grots complained, so the idea was passed swiftly.
The tzeentchians were a team almost literally cobbled together. Nine pink, multi-limbed, horrific entities, accompanied by a handful of flame-spewing, simple-minded brutes. They did possess a big guy, however, in the form of an unlucky ex-champion, now drooling onto the field from all of his seven mouths, with an ever-changing number of long, muscular limbs ready to tear into the enemy line. And, of course, they also had a psyker in the great Ahriman, who was already grinning under his helmet.
The khornate bloodletters were visibly itching for a brawl. Each of them was three quarters of a big guy, muscled, fierce and bred for nothing less than a good stomping. And surprisingly enough, they had their own psyker on the sidelines.
The figure was at first glance a tribal marauder, with a hooded cloak formed from the head and backside of some sort of nightmarish beast, along with some fur clothing around his waist. In one hand a battle axe, in the other a defiled space marine crozius, he walked up next to the other two psykers and noisily-eating ork. With a voice carrying the marks of a sore throat, he spoke:
"Good day, Ahriman."
"Bloodfather Krom. Fancy seeing you around these parts."
"A space marine chapter couldn't keep me from an event this. Too bad your kind of sorcerous filfth is present."
"Ooooh, that sounds like a challenge."
"It is. Loser buys the other drinks tonight."
"Deal."
"Well, now, this should be interesting."
"Yeh, Khorny boyz alwayz bring a gud fight. And a gud larf, too."
The teams almost clashed even before the kick-off. As soon as the ball landed, though, Krom made his move. Pointing at the mighty chaos spawn, he emitted a roar mightier than a salvo from artillery guns. The very air around him heated up as he unleashed pure psychic might, stained not by any hint of petty rituals or incantations.
The spawn burst as its blood came to boiling point, showering the playing field. Bolstered by the smell, the bloodletters charged to do their violent work.
"Not bad," Krom had a smug grin on his face as he watched the carnage, "now it's my turn."
The very essence of Chaos danced along his fingertips as he mumbled a set of incantations. Three bolts, each of a thousand colours, shot into the ranks, hitting three of the rather uninspiring horrors and setting into motion violent changes. Muscles elongated, new maws and limbs grew spontaneously, until three more massive chaos spawn stood amongst the khornates, roaring for vengeance.
"Worrrrr, now dat be propa' weirdboy stuffz, right dere!"
"Undeniably effective. Look! One even chomped down on the referee!"
"More where dat came from. Right now, thoughz, let da' luggin' begin"
"Hmph, I guess it's a tie, then?" spoke the bloodfather.
"It would be much less ambiguous if we were allowed more than one intervention per half."
"Does mister psychic machine gun feel limited?"
"Oh, go kiss a daemonette."
One from Miriana's fanclub almost volunteered, but faded back into the crowd when the farseer shook her head.
Bones were shattered, horrors were split, bloodletters pummeled and spawn decapitated. The khornates lived up to their reputation. Even though they had been taken by surprise, they quickly reformed their battle line and battered the enemy into submission.
As soon as the khornates earned a close victory of three to two, the two psykers walked off, bickering about why sorcery was or was not an abomination. They proceeded to challenge each other to a drinking match later that evening and seemingly disappeared from the face of the hulk.
With all the teams exhausted, the first day of the competition ended. Two more were planned, should all the teams survive until the semi-finals.
The second day was a mixed bag of spectacle and absolute muckin' about. From the horrific lows of the necron and nurglite match, where literally nothing happened, as neither team could even pick up the ball nor harm the other, to the great tactical highs of the tau and human match, where secret weapons were used liberally and very... decisively. In the end, however, only four teams remained.
Two teams of speedy players, both actually willing to play with the ball, much to the audience's disgust. The noble eldar and their inner darkness, the daemonic servants of Slaanesh.
Third, was an unexpected newcomer, mostly thanks to an almost perfect blend of raw offensive power and players actually capable of picking up the ball. The tyranids were proud to show their adaptability, and ferocity, on the pitch.
Last, but certainly not least, mostly because I don't want to lose my head, were the mighty, merciless servants of the Blood God. Through sheer, non-stop aggression, they had battered their way into the top spots, collecting only a few handfuls of skulls along the way. Most of them gretchin.
So it was on the third day, that three matches were scheduled.
"Oy, last day of da' beuutiful clobberin' an' evisceratin', sportz fanz!"
"Indeed, indeed! And what better way to start, than by a grudge match! On the right side of the pitch, it's Khaine's Lances, give them a loud applause!"
Most did, though, the kaptin merely stared longingly from the sidelines. Next to him, the human and tau teams were celebrating their relative success, something Mont'yr was positively ecstatic about, in a professional manner.
"Oy, I'z wishin' fer da good ol' dayz."
"What do you mean, good captain?" Marek's mighty moustache seemed to radiate an aura of inspiration, as if he had hidden weirdboy tendencies.
"Iz rememba' da first Bloody Bowl on Big Rok. Woz jus' a sporelin' dat time. Only orkz back den, tooz."
"Well, my green friend, you can't be the best at everything."
"Yeh, I'z suppose regular clobberin' will hafta' do."
The crowd cheered as the eldar marched onto the Bloody Border, ready for the almost-final showdown. Tekbrain surprised most of the unenlightened listeners:
"And now 'ere come da' Sensuul Slashaz! And from what I'z heard, dey'z comin' in with a surprise!"
The stadium fell silent as the slaneeshi's gate, painted pink by some appreciative fans, opened. The daemonettes were par the course. It was what they were carrying that caused massive commotion among the crowd.
"Oh, not again," the farseer exclaimed as the onlookers roared at the top of their lungs.
Carried collectively by the rest of his team, the daemonic marauder waved towards the stands as his immediate surroundings were filled with plush toys and mutated flora. With a roar, the flames encircling his skull changed hue to bright pink and the entourage put him down.
"Could it be?! Yes, it is! Give it up for the star player!"
"Da' crowd'z way ahead of ya', I'z think."
The deafening chanting was proof enough:
"Ooooh, aaah, star playa'! Ooooh, aaah, star playa'!"
Doomrider walked closer to Miriana with a disturbing skull-wink:
"Hey there, dancing queen. How's it going?"
"Pretty good until you showed up. Again."
"Hey, hate the game, not the player. Not my fault that a higher power really likes me."
"Hmph."
"Eheheheh," phew, we dodged the fourth wall by less than an inch there, "besides, I'm just so damn good at everything I do," the cackle was there, accompanied by dreamy gazes of every last daemonette in the vicinity.
"The match is about to start, sports fans! And boy, Doomrider may throw a spanner in the works, don't you think?"
"Yeh. See, da' problem 'ere be, eldur and daemony gurlz be real fast, but they'z can't take a good luggin'. And from wot I'z 'ear, Doomrida' be hella' fast, but clobbaz with da' best of 'em."
"Truly a conundrum for the best team! Can they still pull through?! Let's find out!"
And they were off! Where before the two teams danced around their opposition, pulling off completely unnecessary stunts and plays for delicious star player points. And everyone who could, trained both blocking and dodging.
This time, though, the situation was different. When a stunt was attempted, it was countered by a foe just as agile. Passing became dangerous, and the fights were not quite as satisfying as one would hope. They were dangerously sensual in places, so the audience didn't mind too much.
It was then that Doomrider got hold of the ball. And boy, did he throw a spanner into the works. Blockers proved ineffective against the daemon prince, who charged through the flimsy eldar barrier and ran for the touchdown. The Warp stirred around him and an eldritch bolt struck him square in the chest.
Much to the farseer's shock, the rider laughed through his electrifying experience, though was still kept in place. The banshees closed in and struck. Armoured knuckles clashed with sturdy space marine armour, augmented by daemonic energies. As expected, they didn't do much and the rider finished his touchdown with an audacious victory pose, lifting one of his teammates into the air with each of his arms, accompanied by squeals of glee.
The star player truly showed that saving up was worth it, bringing the ecstatic daemonettes to a crushing victory of three to nil.
To cope with such a horrible set of events, Miriana immediately commandeered new snacks. Snogrot and kaptin helped eat it all in the end.
"I hear we're getting a surprise for this one, too."
"Wellz, not from da' bug boyz, deyz all be dere. Gimme' a scream fer da'," Tekbrain's roar was much closer to the real thing, though, it still carried a bit too much native accent. Languages were hard.
The tyranids were already in formation, mace-and-tentacle arms prepared for a good game.
"Their challengers, the Red Tide! And here they come, with... oh, my. Is that?"
"Oy, it lookz like 'im! Oh zog, Iz need ta' get an autograph afta' diz!"
The figure walked first. One of the bloodletters snarled at him, and a single look was enough to send the daemon cowering. Half a ton of heretical armour and muscle, the almost mythical berserker walked onto the pitch, missing any armour on his arms, though, the veins on his muscles looked bulletproof. Raising both fists to the sky, he roared at the crowd, who erupted into cheers.
The tyranids stared on in a mixture of confusion and fear, as the khornate took a spot on the Bloody Border, staring the other team's carnifex right in the eyes. The referee's pathetic pistol announced the coming bloodbath.
Immediately, the legend charged forward, only to be met by one of the giant bug's maces. Arms grasped the mighty appendage and the berserker's feet remained planted firmly on the ground, even as he was pushed a good few metres backwards. The big one stared at him, mouth wide open, as the fallen marine resumed his charge.
Running underneath the lumbering hulk, he rammed it to the ground, before grabbing hold. With a roar, he lifted several tons of reinforced chitin and flung them at nearby group of panicking tyranid warriors. Jumping onto the monster, he then proceeded to behead it with a single blow, lifting its head up for the crowd to see. A shout filled the entire stadium:
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
"Ohz, now dat be classic Kharn, right there!"
"The 'nids should have quit while they were... ahead!"
"Oy, now, dat woz pretty bad."
"I always wanted to use that in a sentence, don't take my dreams from me."
"Welp, wez can agree dat woz pretty metul, though, right?"
"Absolutely."
On the sidelines, the beaten coaches were busy discussing:
"I suppose I should be glad we're not facing that in the finals. Even better, the slaaneshi are."
"He strikes like a master of Mont'ka, that's for sure."
"Oy, yeh, I'z always thought Kharn be a cheat code."
"Wot'z a cheat code, kaptin?"
"I'z... got no bloody idea."
With even the mighty carnifex unable to stand against the champion of Khorne, the tyranids suffered a rather swift defeat. With the final competitors settled, the grudge match of the day could finally begin.
To the two on the Bloody Border, the incessant babbling of the commentators was utterly unimportant. Daemon prince and berserker stared at each other, the first with a grin, the other with an unimpressed shrug.
"I expected Lucius, you know."
"They always do. His main combat tactic is dying, though, and that's kind of lame."
"Hmph, good point. Beer after it's over, no hard feelings and all?"
"Sounds good to me."
Things escalated quickly, mere moments after kick-off, as Doomrider was sent flying a good thirty feet, his landing creating a crater in the grass. The daemonettes in the crowd gasped loudly. Kharn leapt into the air, hoping to crush the daemon like an insect, but the lead singer managed to roll out of the way in the last moment.
Rising from a small canyon, the khornate locked gazes with him, once more:
"You could have already been back in the Warp, recuperating. Now you're just wasting my time."
"I just wanted to have a request."
"What?"
His grin was missing a few teeth, but was still very much there:
"Hit me more, please," the berserker seemed to be stuck in processing for a few moments, "it felt really good."
"Oh, bloody Warp."
All over the field, similar requests were voiced. From the more timid 'Spank me with your big, muscular arms!' to invasive measures into one's skeletal structure, all the requests succeeded in one thing. Weirding out a bunch of khornates. Okay, the first one got a few positive responses, but the rest buried those rather quickly.
The bloody champion watched as his team started having second thoughts about getting into a fight. With a howl to the ceiling, he shook the entire rok:
"Slaaaaneshi whooooooores!"
"You do realise," came the rider, while Kharn's shout still echoed, "whore is a compliment in our circles, right?"
If glances could kill, Kharn's would have obliterated a small planet:
"Damnit. I'm done. Slaaneshi bastards."
"Only most of us. Jezebel's six parents are happily married," the daemonette in question twirled suggestively in front of a reluctantly interested bloodletter.
"What a letdown, sports fans!"
"Yeh, no fightin', jus' some sissy daemuny girlz runnin' around and... wot da' heck iz dat one doin'?"
"My, she is very... limber."
"Worrr... eh, woteva', da' gamez be done. Diz haz been one of da' bestest seriez of Blood Bowl I'z eva' seen. Youz agree?"
"Yes, well, it's the only one I've seen so far. So I guess I would answer with a yes."
"Dat'z me boy! And somethin' fer all our fanz out dere! In commemoratiun of dis fine moment, we'z would wish ta' inform ya' all, dat we'z be doin' a new line of Metul Punchiez, featurin' all of yer favourite playaz! Now, with swivelly bitz!"
"And priced affordably! So, come and get them, suck... er, I mean, fans!"
That evening at Joe's, the crowd was lively and consisted primarily from slaaneshi of all shapes and sizes. Behind the VIP squig-fence, the heroes of the day sat, enjoying their liquors. Kharn sat right next to his vanquisher, enjoying a good jug of beer:
"I wanted to strangle you on the spot. Bet that would have been funny."
"I would have laughed all the way, just to spite you."
"Ugh, I bet you would. To the victor, go the spoils!"
Their tankards clashed with a clang, Doomrider's a bit shinier than most and very trophy-like. Funny coincidence, that.
"The tales they tell of you speak of a man who is fury incarnate," Marek's moustache was obscured by white foam, "I see someone more... reasonable."
"Oh, I have my outbursts now and then. But I try and keep it under control. You slaughter a couple of hundred of your brethren one night out of boredom and suddenly you have titles attached to your name."
"He's a swell guy once you get to know him," Doomrider's chipped tooth was already growing back, "he's damn funny, too."
"Only on the battlefield. Like, this one time, I slew a commissar and took his hat. Kept prancing about, spouting imperial bullshit. A squad of cultists nearly died of laughter, though, the artillery shells got them first."
"Good times."
"Indeed. Speaking of which," he turned to a nearby table of daemonettes, "does any one of you whores feel like she has what it takes to entertain me for an evening?"
Bickering began, evolved into sensual slapping, followed by an all-out brawl. Kharn just took in the sight, enjoying his beer:
"Now there's entertainment for a whole evening!"
"That's our Kharn!"
From nowhere in particular, as if echoing from another plane of reality, laughter and clapping erupted, unnerving the entire bar.
The Warp shook. Flames erupted around the prince's citadel, scorching several acres of tentacle-trees. Several daemon worlds spontaneously imploded. The Blood God grabbed hold of the comfy couch and lifted it, along with the other deity.
"Stop right there, you brute," he did not seem to heed her for a moment, but then placed it back on the ground, "good! This human skin is of the finest quality, you know! It took me a few months to gather!"
"Like I care. You and your damned cheating servants deserve nothing less."
"A deal's a deal, Khorny."
"Blech."
"So... for twenty-four hourglasses, we're going to have a lot of fun!"
"Oh, Warp..."
"What's your stance on make-up? Oh, and braids and ribbons?"
"Oh, Warp..."
Elsewhere, an oversized puppy was playing fetch with a massive, four-armed daemoness, using what looked like the chewed-on remains of a space marine dreadnought. All the while, he still acted as a troop transport for ever-changing groups of cheering daemonettes.
A knocking came. With a wave of his hand, the nine-hundredth gate opened, revealing a rather small package. As one of his heads moved closer, along with two of his eyes, it burst open, with a cheerful scream:
"Surprise!"
A handful of daemonettes rested in the package, in rather outlandish, multicoloured costumes.
"Ah, you arrive. Splendid."
"The mistress sends her regards. And thanks you for the small curse on the puppy!"
"Oh, causing trouble for old Khorne is always a bit of fun."
"Now, then, shall we continue the game?"
"By all means. Go ready your character sheets, I'll be right there."
Tzeentch, lord of all schemers, master of magic... relentless game master, put on a set of nine matching hats and headed for the table. Rocks would fall.