He only had one responsibility – to make sure Borislav the Brown bear was stowed securely in his cage. Borislav could do incredible things with his unusually dexterous paws and the Vladivostok Flying Circus’ livelihood depended and centred on him doing it in front of a crowd.
As the harsh winds of winter swirled outside Boris woke from his slumber in a vodka fuelled haze clearing his bleary eyes to see the cage door hanging loosely open and Borislav nowhere in sight. What had he done! He knew it was a bad idea to accept that bottle of vodka from the hooded stranger, but he’d been living under canvas in the cold Russian winter going from town to town for too long now… he’d reasoned just a few sips to stave off the chill to his bones. Little did Boris realise he’d been set up with a spiked bottle of Stolichnaya.
Carla the Cossack who ruled the Flying Circus with an Iron fist would have his guts for garters. There was only one thing for it, with no sense of irony he quickly concluded he needed to run away from the Circus! But where? Russia wasn’t a big enough place to hide from the glare of Carla once she’d realised what Boris had done.
He vaguely recalled reading a battered old copy of a White Dwarf as the Flying Circus click clacked its way along the sleepers of the old Trans Siberian Railway. In it he remembered stories of daring do in the Old World where lumbering hulks battered each other over a pigskin. He knew his agile ability to leap could bring something different to the game and entertain the crowds in the way Borislav had done for the Circus crowd….
Leaping to his feet without a second glance back he rushed to the local train station to find an empty box car to whisk him away to the Old World where he could tout his acrobatic skills to a Blood Bowl team looking for something different.