Considerably richer than you-The beginning
Feb 7, 2015 15:00:52 GMT
havol, rocketdeath, and 2 more like this
Post by Squiggy on Feb 7, 2015 15:00:52 GMT
From his diamond encrusted, dwarf-crafted rocking chair, Lord Apple sits reading the broadsheets delivered by one of his manservants, and snorts derisively.
"Master Newell, come hither, I have an amusing tale!", he exclaims.
Peering in from counting his gold, Master Newell, rising star of the local Blood Bowl league wanders in. "This had better be important, I am expecting my new emerald crown to be delivered shortly and am counting out the petty cash to pay for it. What is it?"
"It seems there is another Rivendell Invitational Tournament being played my good man" Lord Apple responds. "The peasants seem to think they can play with the real men again. And hear this...they have invited those insidious scum Dark Elves from norsica!"
"WHAT?" cries newell. "Those fools? Why are they....wait, perhaps it's a trick, to ambush them and finally rid the land of those bloodthirty fools once and for all?"
"Nono, this is legitimate it seems" replied Apple. "also, and this may amuse you, there is no prize money. they are playing simply for glory..."
From the corridor are heard the heavy footsteps of Prince Lucas, who looks in inquisitively. "Did someone say money?"
"Yes" replied Apple, "but not in the sense you mean. it turns out the lowland fools are holding another Rivendell Tourney, with no prize money, simply prestige, at stake"
"Wait...they offer NO rewards? But what about uniform costs, re-setting hair after each block, mirrorservants for halftime, dry cleaning bills...those bloodstains can be most stubborn on silk...how can they think such a thing is possible, or that people will wish to take part? Playing only for glory? For RESPECT? Where is the reasoning in that? I'm not sullying this fine tunic for the sake of some peasants chanting my name...I pay people for that already" he gestures from his tower window towards the mob of adoring elven maidens below screaming for the team.
"It gets worse" groans Apple. "They are saying that they do not wish for The Nobleborn to be represented. they say this is a match for people who know how to get down and dirty, to win at all costs, to show they truly are the best. And..." his eyes widen in shock "they say that We, yes WE, would not be welcome there, as all we would do is delay the game UNNECESSARILY for hair breaks!"
"WHAT? HOW THE...seriously, they expect to play an entire drive with no timeouts, no mirror breaks, no stylists?"
"Apparently not" says Lord Apple. "They expect the former professional teams, the dark ones and those strange Drucchi to do so. they specifically say that 'our kind' are not able to play in such a manner, and that there is no place for us in the tourney, and that if we did play, all that would happen is we would cry on the shoulders of our personal shoppers the first time we took a hit! And that we have been busy counting our cash for so long we have forgotten the true art of passing...they say that even a druchii could surpass us on the field..."
A stunned silence ensues, before the laughing of Lord Lucas breaks the tension
"Well, my friends and colleagues, I believe we should pay this so called Prince of Rivendell a visit. Playing a tournament which we have no interest in, no desire to play in, is their business, and below our notice. But to tell us we are not permitted to play...for a common blooded, upstart so-called Noble to try and order US, the true Highborn, not to play, is quite another matter. Gather the team, and fetch my manicurist. We ride to Rivendell"
Meanwhile, in Rivendell castle, the Prince's personal scryer turns to his master and delivers a simple message.
"They heard. They are coming."
The Prince smiles, and returns to his tournament scheduling.
"Master Newell, come hither, I have an amusing tale!", he exclaims.
Peering in from counting his gold, Master Newell, rising star of the local Blood Bowl league wanders in. "This had better be important, I am expecting my new emerald crown to be delivered shortly and am counting out the petty cash to pay for it. What is it?"
"It seems there is another Rivendell Invitational Tournament being played my good man" Lord Apple responds. "The peasants seem to think they can play with the real men again. And hear this...they have invited those insidious scum Dark Elves from norsica!"
"WHAT?" cries newell. "Those fools? Why are they....wait, perhaps it's a trick, to ambush them and finally rid the land of those bloodthirty fools once and for all?"
"Nono, this is legitimate it seems" replied Apple. "also, and this may amuse you, there is no prize money. they are playing simply for glory..."
From the corridor are heard the heavy footsteps of Prince Lucas, who looks in inquisitively. "Did someone say money?"
"Yes" replied Apple, "but not in the sense you mean. it turns out the lowland fools are holding another Rivendell Tourney, with no prize money, simply prestige, at stake"
"Wait...they offer NO rewards? But what about uniform costs, re-setting hair after each block, mirrorservants for halftime, dry cleaning bills...those bloodstains can be most stubborn on silk...how can they think such a thing is possible, or that people will wish to take part? Playing only for glory? For RESPECT? Where is the reasoning in that? I'm not sullying this fine tunic for the sake of some peasants chanting my name...I pay people for that already" he gestures from his tower window towards the mob of adoring elven maidens below screaming for the team.
"It gets worse" groans Apple. "They are saying that they do not wish for The Nobleborn to be represented. they say this is a match for people who know how to get down and dirty, to win at all costs, to show they truly are the best. And..." his eyes widen in shock "they say that We, yes WE, would not be welcome there, as all we would do is delay the game UNNECESSARILY for hair breaks!"
"WHAT? HOW THE...seriously, they expect to play an entire drive with no timeouts, no mirror breaks, no stylists?"
"Apparently not" says Lord Apple. "They expect the former professional teams, the dark ones and those strange Drucchi to do so. they specifically say that 'our kind' are not able to play in such a manner, and that there is no place for us in the tourney, and that if we did play, all that would happen is we would cry on the shoulders of our personal shoppers the first time we took a hit! And that we have been busy counting our cash for so long we have forgotten the true art of passing...they say that even a druchii could surpass us on the field..."
A stunned silence ensues, before the laughing of Lord Lucas breaks the tension
"Well, my friends and colleagues, I believe we should pay this so called Prince of Rivendell a visit. Playing a tournament which we have no interest in, no desire to play in, is their business, and below our notice. But to tell us we are not permitted to play...for a common blooded, upstart so-called Noble to try and order US, the true Highborn, not to play, is quite another matter. Gather the team, and fetch my manicurist. We ride to Rivendell"
Meanwhile, in Rivendell castle, the Prince's personal scryer turns to his master and delivers a simple message.
"They heard. They are coming."
The Prince smiles, and returns to his tournament scheduling.