Deep beneath Doompeak, sat three figures of varying stature, on each side of a specially built triangular table made from old dwarven weapons and shields. The legs had been made from the heavy and sturdy dwarven battle hammers. The table constructed of the fallen shields of a regiment of ironbreakers. One was a chaos dwarf, sitting on a throne made out of gold and silver, studded intermittently with precious gems and stones. The second was smaller in stature but of much larger girth than his goblin kin, perched on a chair with cushions lined with the fallen cloaks of dwarven warriors. The final figure had no seat at all, as he was so large sitting on the floor his head was within a foot or two of the cavern roof that they were in. The rat ogre was crouched on the floor with it’s front paws resting on the table.
Here were the ruling lords of the armies of Doompeak, Grasnak Smelter, Sneeki Backstabber and Scrit Tailwhip They were getting stuck into a massive feast with so much vigour, that they were splattering each other and nearby servants with food and drink, but none of them seemed to mind. Except the servants. They tried hard not to mind, as previous servants who had shown any slight concern of being bothered were prone to being fed (alive) to the skavenslaves in the tunnels below. No flagons of ale or wine were at hand, but they each took turn in consuming large amounts of dwarven whisky from the Blitz trophy, which had been presented to them after their victory in the inaugural Blitz final.
With a leg of something in his hand, Sneeki was the first to speak “The draft will soon be open and we need some new playaz. I got rid of those useless gobbos in da team and we had that dwarf die in the final. We need to decide what we want.”
Scrit, who had been nibbling on some cheese and delicate cakes, stopped to pick up the conversation. ” We need more quick-speed. Team is too fat and slow. I got rid of that stupid Brute-ogre. Need more speed and kill-claws to rip pieces out of those in our way.”
Grasnak “We are supposed to discuss team management together, not decide on our own. So we are down to 9 players, as I got rid of that rookie we got for the last 2 games. He served his purpose. We need another Bull Centaur, that adds more muscle and speed. There is rumour of a god of bulls being available in the next draft. We should do whatever it takes to get him.”
Sneeki “No we need more weapons! Bombs are allowed now, plus there are some great pogoers who can add speed and jumping over dem.”
The three began to argue and shout over each other, with the servants nervously looking at each other, wondering which one would be the first to catch it hot from the Lords.
Grasnak “I have a solution. Lets each take a turn to decide who gets fired and hired each season? I will lead us this season and you two can be next.”
Sneeki “Why do you decide? Need to find fair way so lets make a sport of it.” He pointed the now clean and licked leg bone at a nearby servant. “Go stand next to the wall and put this cooked lung on your ead. Whoever hits the lung gets to choose?”
With a nod of acceptance from them all, Sneeki took the first throw. 3 other servants had grabbed and pinned the unfortunate goblin and held him tight to the wall. The bone missed the lung but did catch the goblin in the eye, which was removed still attached to the bone. Grasnak was next to try. The throw looked good but the wailing goblin moved its head and the bone instead pierced its nose, almost making its way to the brain.
Sneeki was getting excited, “I’m closest still. Looks like it will be me who decides!” Grasnak was hiding his disappointment with a huge draft of whisky from the Blitz trophy.
One of the servants went to remove the blood soaked bone but with his hand grasping the bone, Scrit in one quick and fluid motion, grabbed the table and tossed it across the room and splattered the 4 servants against the wall. Blood splattered all across the cavern. “I hit the lung-lung. I hit all the lungs!”
At first there was shock on Grasnak and Sneeki’s face, then they burst out laughing, shouting for more servants to come and clean up the mess.
The order had been decided!