Waterbowl - Autumn League Game 1

Opening Game

The knapsack overflowed with pots, food, clothes, and trinkets. Although it weighed him down, Hamwick’s spirits kept him bounding along the path to Bellmare. Edgar’s words had echoed around his head like a glorious choir, rivalling those of the great churches of Altdorf or Reikland. Hamwick knew he was good enough for a try-out. He knew all the plays. He’d practiced the Drop Back Cross Step ever since he saw Ermin use it to confound Wartzag, the charging Blak Toof Grinnerz troll. He knew the Skittle Scoot, Greensleeve Gambol, and the rarely seen Chicken Flap. Hamwick was ready.

He was less than an hour’s walk from Bellmare when he stopped for his second lunch. The path had started becoming busier as he got closer, so he sat and broke bread with a young man and woman. Food is always better with company, Hamwick thought. So he sat in the afternoon sun with Hagen and Engla enjoying the warmth of the day and the chat.
“Thank you for your kindness, Mr Halfling,” the young man said, “I guess that you are visiting Bellmare for the big game tomorrow?”
Hamwick smiled between mouthfuls of crusty bread and hunks of cheese. “I am indeed, my man. Although I am not only going to spectate,” Hamwick beamed, “I have a try-out for the team!”
“Well I never,” exclaimed Engla, “that sounds exciting.”
Hamwick nodded happily, this was his dream playing out. “
I have been working towards this all of my life.” He jumped up, startling the young couple.
“Watch how quick my feet are.”
Hamwick jumped from side to side, to and fro, crisscrossing his feet, all the while pumping his arms. Whether this impressed the young couple they didn’t show, politely smiling as the flailing Halfling tossed crumbs around from hands full of bread and cheese.
Hamwick collapsed down to sit back at the blanket of food. Engla politely clapped.
“Well I’m sure the coach will be a better judge than me,” said Hagen, “But I was very impressed.”
“Thank…you…very…much…” Hamwick puffed. Maybe he needed to work more on his running.

Hamwick was up early. The excitement of the forthcoming day meant that sleep was scant. Hamwick jogged through the quiet streets of Bellmare, skipping over puddles and juking around passed out revellers. He hadn’t had much to drink the night before, unlike the littered men in the town centre. Just the five mugs of ale. He was in training, after all. Already the buzz of match day permeated across the town. Hamwick had passed a cart of Blood Bowl fans, a large sign across the side scrawled with “Sal Tlay Ka Siti Pro Fets.” The Salt Lake City Prophets were the hard hitting human team of note of this season. The word was that they were taking no prisoners. Hamwick wasn’t fussed; he had faith in the Angry Beavers. He smiled and carried on his jog.

‘King’ Edgar sat in his wooden throne. He puffed up his chest and shoulders and admired his team. The troupe of Halflings sat on benches, the trees crouching to fit in the room, all waiting to hear the owner’s words. He enjoyed this, people waiting on his every word. Made him feel…important.

“Gentleman,” Edgar started, breathing in the moment of reverential silence, “This will be a good year. A year of comradery, a year of entertainment, a year of victory!”
The gathered throng cheered. The trees barely moved, but looked happy, as much as a tree can look happy.
“I’ll keep this short. We’ve been through their team; we know their strengths, their weaknesses. Today is the time to play. Now go out there and give it to them too-talls!”

The mixed crowd of 18,000 fans were raucous. Two fights had already broken out, the Bellmare guards feeling stretched at the chaos. Hamwick sat between a burly Dwarf and a large fur clad man. The man was sweating in the midday sun, his attire more suitable to the frozen lands he called home. The Dwarf was pulling on a large flash of ale, far too strong for Hamwick to handle, even if the Dwarf was to share.

A collective grumble reverberated around the crowd as it was announced that the famous Halfling Chef Heston “Blue Man” Tal would not be arriving to cook the half time feast. To attempt to placate the fans, famed baker Cindy Piewhistle emerged from the changing room to join the Blue Angry Beavers team. Hamwick shook his head. He knew she could be as flaky as the shortcrust on her squirrel and stout pies.

The two teams filed from their respective changing rooms, the ground rumbling with each laboured step from the two Treemen. ‘Cap’n’ Longweed lead the Blue Angry Beavers onto the pitch for the pre-match huddle. Ermin and ‘Brick’ Cinderhill were drilling tackling techniques on each other, whether they would work on a player almost twice their size, remained to be seen. Edgar sat in his large oak chair, nestling in to the luxurious velvet pillow that propped up his vantage point. His pipe lit by a game assistant, he settled in for the game. He drew a long puff of his pipe and scanned the field. The boisterous crowd stopped him from hearing his team, but he knew all the game plans like the back of his hand. These were scripted t the letter for the utmost in entertaining play. If players get hurt, they get hurt.
“My man,” Edgar called to the game assistant, “Fetch me a brandy and some pheasant. I want only the finest while my boys play.

The crowd reached a crescendo of cheers and song as ‘Priest’ Muggins hoofed the ball forward with less skill and mostly prayer. The ball tumbled across the ground and settled into the human backfield. Hamwick jumped and applauded his team. This was his 26^th game in the last few years, and he would never get over the exhilaration of match day. The smells, the sights, it all stewed together to make a remarkable recipe.
The players on the line of scrimmage clashed with an audible thud. The humans carefully avoided the long branches of the Treemen as they set up the return. The furthest most Prophets player scooped up the ball and surged forward. Hulking great Linemen formed around him, screening the ball from Hamwick’s sight. They barrelled ahead to the Halfling team.  The Blitzers crashed into the Angry Beavers players, knocking them aside as the juggernaut continued its charge. As fast as the Human players moved forward, a blue blur blazed from the sides. Ermin ‘The Onion’ wrapped his entire body around the ball carrier, dragging him to the ground!

‘King’ Edgar leaped to his seat, knocking over his goblet of brandy. “Yes yes yes!” he yelled, “Excellent work!”
The game assistant dodged around the flailing Halfling to retrieve the goblet. Edgar took a big draw of his pipe, enthralled in the game. Time after time the human players retrieved the ball, only for ‘The Onion’ to dive from nowhere and take them down. Putting the angry into his team’s moniker, Ermin fought past the arms and legs of the blockers and pulled down the ball carrier no less than five times in the space of a minute.

The ball was knocked loose and high into the air. It landed close to the Angry Beaver’s End Zone, out of the reach of all of the Halfling players. Hamwick looked on in dismay as a Prophets player casually picked the ball up and walked in for a touchdown. The Prophets fans yelled and cheered around Hamwick as he stood angrily watching. He half felt like launching his sandwich at the celebrating player, but he didn’t have the arm for that. And he wouldn’t waste a sandwich.
The teams ran back to the half way line. Cindy Piewhistle, famed baker at Piewhistle’s Preeminent Patisserie, strolled onto the pitch and joined the Blue Angry Beavers midfield. Hamwick spat on the floor, “There’s less than a minute in the half and she’s decided to play this drive?”
The ball had scarcely landed before the referee blew for half time. Cindy Piewhistle strolled off field and waved to the jeering crowd as she sauntered off to collect her 50,000GP appearance fee.

By Edgar Longbritches reaction you wouldn’t think that his team was down by a touchdown. He was jovial and cheery, although much of that was from Le Breton’s Finest Brandy. He raised a full goblet to his lips. The players all chatted amongst another. Accusations of lazy defending were raised. A few players rubbed herbal ointments into aching body parts.
“Gentlemen,” Edgar at long last said, “That was a great half!”
A few of the team looked up confused.
“Good?” asked Jaspy, “We’re losing.”
Edgar chuckled to himself, “Yes. Yes you are. But you are losing, with style.”
Edgar smiled his million gold coin smile. Jaspy grunted. Alan and ‘Comet’ barely looked up from the half time baked goods donated by Cindy.

‘Cap’n’ Longweed stood up and addressed the team. “I agree with what our owner has said. But we need to be tighter and make fewer mistakes. Now let’s get some grub and get out for the second half!”

His Dwarven neighbour was swaying by now, but Hamwick knew that the dwarf had a fair few drinks left in him. He had once seen a dwarf drink an entire keg of ale, then ride the empty barrel down the river to get more beer. Hamwick left his seat and climbed up the hill from the stadium. According to Hagen and Engla the best roasted meats were found at the top. Humans don’t often have the best taste in food; however it would be hard to mess up mutton. He plumped to make the last twenty metres a sprint to get some practice in for later.

The Halflings looked chipper as they strolled on to the field for the second half. A spare ball was being tossed and dropped by the various players; it is hard to catch a ball that is almost half your size. Eventually the Human team strutted onto the pitch to begin the second half. Confidence was in abundance for both teams as the whistle blew and the ball was kicked. Now it was the Angry Beavers turn to move the ball. The Treemen smashed aside the Prophets players and the Halflings scurried about to protect the ball.

The Prophets team were relentless. Blitzers charged over their Halfling blockers as they closed in on the ball carrier. The Halflings darted over to block the oncoming players. ‘The Cat’ went down with a crunch. An audible gasp rippled around the stadium as Clothwick noticed his leg was bending the wrong way. The sounds of the crowd were drowned out by the rasping scream by the injured Halfling. ‘King’ Edgar jumped from his seat, “Go out there and get him off the pitch!” he yelled to his coaching staff. The screaming had stopped, replaced by an unnerving silence. Solemnly the coaching staff removed ‘The Cat’ from the pitch, his frame covered with a sheet.

The Halfling players looked around despondent. The Prophets team grabbed the ball and ran down the pitch. The Angry Beavers crowd fell silent. Hamwick slumped down in his seat. Even the drunken dancing of his Dwarven neighbour couldn’t raise a smirk after what happened. He would have to clear his head before his trial. He’d do it for ‘The Cat’!

The game was a formality as the Humans scored their second touchdown. The horn sounded and the Blue Angry Beavers began the season with a loss. The teams began leaving the pitch to a variety of hoots, holler, cheers and boos. Hamwick watched as ‘King’ Edgar walked over to his Assistant Coach, whispered something in his ear, and left down the player’s tunnel. The Coach ran on the pitch and grabbed the Blue Angry Beavers number 4, Jaspy.

The crowd had almost all left, with only three Halflings and a passed out Dwarf remaining. The Coach walked over to the gathered Halflings.
“You three here for the trial?” he shouted. The trio all nodded and sauntered down the steps to the pitch.
“I’m Coach Lemonleaf, Assistant Coach to ‘King’ Edgar,” he said, “I’m sure you all know ‘The Hog’ here.” Jaspy raised a meaty hand and waved to the potential players.
“Now, with a great sadness I have to tell you that Clothwick didn’t make it,” said Coach Lemonleaf, “however, that does mean that we have more spaces on the team…so…at least you three have that going for you.” Hamwick gulped at the comment. He wasn’t ready for jokes, regardless of how dark a humour he may have.

“Because of that, the trial is based on one thing. Ball catching.” Jaspy hurled a ball towards Hamwick, instinctively he batted the ball down. Lemonleaf frowned, Jaspy smiled as he picked the ball up again.
“Defence,” Jaspy said to the Coach. Coach Lemonleaf nodded and wrote a note on his paper. Hamwick’s head slumped. Had he failed his chance already? The next Halfling was his in the head with the ball. However the final one, eyes closed tight and shaking with fear, caught it.
“Well thank you very much gents,” said Coach Lemonleaf,” Today is your lucky day. You are all joining the team!” The trio of Halflings jumped up and down in merriment. Hamwick was having a second dessert tonight to celebrate. A young Halfling walked over with a pile of jerseys. Coach Lemonleaf pointed to his notes and then to each of the three. The youngster jogged over and handed the shirts out. Proudly looking at his shirt, Hamwick was looking forward to becoming the new number 13 for the Blue Angry Beavers!

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Well the first game ended in a 2-0 loss for the 'flings. The Wrestle hopeful was amazing. Five successful -2DB takedowns in the first half made him my personal MVP.
Dfunkateer is a solid Blood Bowl player and a true gentleman, so I wish him all the best for his next game!

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For more Blood Bowl action:

Listen to the Two Drunk Flings podcast here

Listen to the Anything But A One podcast here

Listen to the Double Skulls podcast here