Origins of Ischelware Midnight
The final whistle blew and the Nappanee Nightmares had been mauled to pieces by the Mystic Falls Timberwolves, the broken lifeless body of MVP Salamander still lying in the place where the great saurus fell.
GM Tony seeks out Coach Proudstarr for a “chat”.
“This is your fault!” accused the GM, “you allowed our best player to be ripped apart by those savages for no reason other than your own vanity!”
“Oh shut up man” shouted the coach “you don’t know the first thing about coaching and if he was that good he wouldn’t have died so easy!”
The GM could barely conceal his rage “How dare you!” he shrieked, “I put together the greatest, strongest team in the league and you treated them like meat for the grinder to satisfy your own pathetic ambitions!”
“The team YOU put together? The best were here long before you squirmed your way into the boardroom, the captain Kraken is twice the player your precious Salamander was AND he’s still breathing,” taunted Proudstarr.
“How dare you! You’ll regret this insolence, I still hold the purse strings around here remember you ungrateful fool” Replied Tony, his voice quivering with rage.
“Not anymore you don’t” replied Proudstarr smugly “I have a new benefactor in place, one who’s violent and sadistic tendencies match my own, don’t let the door hit you on the way out”.
Tony cleared his desk, Coach Proudstarr’s spiteful words still ringing in his ears. “I’ll make him pay for this,” he vowed “I’ll make them all pay, Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
Later that evening Tony arrived by carriage in his home town of Ischelware, “what’s that big blue thing in the back of the cart” asked Colin the gatekeeper “it smells funny”.
“This is the start of something” replied Tony “the start of something big”
“Well, have you got a permit for it?”
“Erm, not as such no…”
“Can’t bring it in here then I’m afraid” said Colin “Rules is rules”
“I see” replied Tony “would you please let my driver know?”
Colin walked around to the front of the cab, muffled voices followed by a loud slashing sound could be heard through the trees then the sound of something being dragged to the back of the cart and heaved on top.
The carriage curtain parted once again and the grotesque malformed face of Tony’s driver appeared like a half-eaten meatball in the moonlight.
“Another potential player in the back Marshter”
“Very good Igor, drive on”
That night at the ancient castle that had been the seat of the despicable Tony’s family over 500 years the lightning rod was erected in readiness for the for 1.21 gigawatts of electricity to breath into the players that would soon represent the newly formed team of Ischelware.
It hit…….. on the stroke of Midnight.