Stretcher League (S9) Official Fluff
Jan 8, 2016 18:50:30 GMT
Kaiser, Ren Höek, and 4 more like this
Post by courierdan on Jan 8, 2016 18:50:30 GMT
Introducing our new announcers:
“Now then, Dronglok can take this seat, and Quintus, you take this one.”
Jim Johnson, immortal vampire and professional Blood Bowl announcer, hated this part of the job. Because of the rise in coaches and teams, they needed more announcers to keep the action on at any time. And since he and his ogre pal, Bob Bifford, couldn’t watch all of live at once, they were forced to hire more announcers and open up new Cabalvision networks. This meant getting a new team of goblins and security (usually trolls and ogres, but somehow this set had mummies) to handle the recording and safety side of things. And it also meant getting more announcers.
Hence, the dwarf with the beer and the spineless skeleton.
Dronglok took his seat on the left, just tall enough to be seen by the goblin with the crystal camera. Quintus carefully took his on the right, favoring his right leg as he sat down. While Dronglok was drunk and uncaring of what was going on (they promised the then-deprived sap unlimited beer), Cain was nervous, constantly playing with his suit and attempting to rid it of any noticeable wrinkles. Both microphones were set by the new announcers as Bob crossed his arms.
“Make sure everything’s working, then you can get to telling us why you think you’re announcer material,” the ogre commanded. He leaned forward and added “Oh, and don’t say it’s because you played the sport. Too many would-be applicants have found themselves back on the pitch for admitting that.”
Dronglok burped. “Ach, like da viewers care about our history! Besides, m’coach can take his spigot and shove it up ‘is a-“
Quintus coughed. “W-Well, I admit that yes, I played the sport. But after a f-few too many injuries that just w-wouldn’t heal, I… was let go as…” He muttered the last words. “…a liability.”
“So you’re taking the ‘announcer’ path to stay in on the action? Why not an assistant coach, or get a loan from Altdorf and make your own team?” Jim pointed out.
Quintus shook his head. “The old coach wouldn’t have any of it, and I’m not coordinated enough to run my own team. A-Announcing from the safety of… I guess here… it’s safer…”
Bob chuckled. “If you say so, little guy. And what about you?” He turned his attention to Dronglok, who had just taken another swill of his drink. “Other than getting stupid drunk, what makes you worth our time?”
“Y-Ye’d be hard pressed ta find someone like me! I-I can Long-Bomb a football from da center of mah pitch to yers! Ah could do it raht now if ye got me a ball!” Dronglok burped loudly, the force nearly pushing him off of his chair.
Jim sighed. “I guess, once again, we’re going to have to rely on ‘trial-by-fire’ hiring.”
Quintus gulped. “Th-That doesn’t mean we do a trial then get fired, does it?”
“Oh, no. It means you get the job,” Bob chuckled. “But… if your ratings aren’t good enough by the final match, you’re both fired out of ballistae and into Naggoroth. And I’ll be the one pulling the trigger, hehehehehe.”
Jim took out a sheet of paper. “You’ll be covering the Iron Phoenix Stretcher League. Your first task will be finding out who’s participating, their team name, and for the gods’ sake, get their race right. From there, you watch the matches, give your ‘announcer chatter’ for the game, and move on to the next week.”
Bob put down another paper. “You two stay here and do the simple stuff; speak, watch, comment, repeat. Interviews and on-the-scene reports will be done by your partners. Some elf chick named Mia and a Saurus by the name of Tim Thissen.”
Meanwhile, a Saurus and Wardancer were standing side by side, getting instructions from a Halfling on proper interview etiquette. The Halfling had a Big Moot Sandwich and took bites as he spoke.
“Your first week *chomp* should be easy. All the matches are just starting so *snarf* at worst they’ll only ask you to *slurp* interview the one they think will *crunch* be their Star Player or at least *nom* leading their team.”
The Saurus groaned. “Yes, I know. I’ve done this before,” he pointed out. “The only reason it didn’t pan out the first time was because of that stupid Rotter.”
“Are they as smelly as they say? Is Nurgle’s Rot an airborne disease?” the Wardancer hopped excitedly as she asked. The lizard glared, but it didn’t seem to stop the elf from talking. “What about autographs? Is asking for rookie autographs against regulations?”
“Not while on the clock,” the Halfling replied, motioning for the fries. “Once you get your interview done, what you do in your spare time is NOT our problem. Unless it’s die. Then it becomes a big problem.” He savored the fries one at a time.
The Saurus sat down. “Please at least tell us there aren’t gonna be any Nurgle teams in this division?” He pleaded.
“Oh, don’t be such a Downer Darky,” the Wardancer smiled. “There’s apparently insurance for dealing with Nurgle teams! They have apothecaries on standby in case we get sick or hurt!”
“That’s for the teams, Mia. The doctors care for us about as much as a fly in the coffee,” Lizardman deadpanned.
“Besides,” the Halfling interrupted, “this league isn’t allowed any doctors. We have our own, but the teams are forbidden from having their own apothecary.”
“WHAT!?” Mia gasped. “B-But apoths stop death! How does the league get by when everyone’s injured or dying!?” She turned to her partner. “Tim, how did you survive the RSL!?”
“Luck, determination, and faking death,” the poor Saurus quipped.
“So d’you understand? You’re all about the interviews. Ask about thoughts on the match they played, their thoughts on the next match, and all that nonsense.” The Halfling licked his fingers as he finished his meal. “Questions, comments, concerns?”
Tim raised his hand. “Nurgle. Any teams from them?”
The Halfling waved them off. “When sign-ups are done, I’ll let you know. Now go get some good clothes for the crowd and have fun!”
(This one's just a small look at what you can expect. Good, bad, ugly?)
“Now then, Dronglok can take this seat, and Quintus, you take this one.”
Jim Johnson, immortal vampire and professional Blood Bowl announcer, hated this part of the job. Because of the rise in coaches and teams, they needed more announcers to keep the action on at any time. And since he and his ogre pal, Bob Bifford, couldn’t watch all of live at once, they were forced to hire more announcers and open up new Cabalvision networks. This meant getting a new team of goblins and security (usually trolls and ogres, but somehow this set had mummies) to handle the recording and safety side of things. And it also meant getting more announcers.
Hence, the dwarf with the beer and the spineless skeleton.
Dronglok took his seat on the left, just tall enough to be seen by the goblin with the crystal camera. Quintus carefully took his on the right, favoring his right leg as he sat down. While Dronglok was drunk and uncaring of what was going on (they promised the then-deprived sap unlimited beer), Cain was nervous, constantly playing with his suit and attempting to rid it of any noticeable wrinkles. Both microphones were set by the new announcers as Bob crossed his arms.
“Make sure everything’s working, then you can get to telling us why you think you’re announcer material,” the ogre commanded. He leaned forward and added “Oh, and don’t say it’s because you played the sport. Too many would-be applicants have found themselves back on the pitch for admitting that.”
Dronglok burped. “Ach, like da viewers care about our history! Besides, m’coach can take his spigot and shove it up ‘is a-“
Quintus coughed. “W-Well, I admit that yes, I played the sport. But after a f-few too many injuries that just w-wouldn’t heal, I… was let go as…” He muttered the last words. “…a liability.”
“So you’re taking the ‘announcer’ path to stay in on the action? Why not an assistant coach, or get a loan from Altdorf and make your own team?” Jim pointed out.
Quintus shook his head. “The old coach wouldn’t have any of it, and I’m not coordinated enough to run my own team. A-Announcing from the safety of… I guess here… it’s safer…”
Bob chuckled. “If you say so, little guy. And what about you?” He turned his attention to Dronglok, who had just taken another swill of his drink. “Other than getting stupid drunk, what makes you worth our time?”
“Y-Ye’d be hard pressed ta find someone like me! I-I can Long-Bomb a football from da center of mah pitch to yers! Ah could do it raht now if ye got me a ball!” Dronglok burped loudly, the force nearly pushing him off of his chair.
Jim sighed. “I guess, once again, we’re going to have to rely on ‘trial-by-fire’ hiring.”
Quintus gulped. “Th-That doesn’t mean we do a trial then get fired, does it?”
“Oh, no. It means you get the job,” Bob chuckled. “But… if your ratings aren’t good enough by the final match, you’re both fired out of ballistae and into Naggoroth. And I’ll be the one pulling the trigger, hehehehehe.”
Jim took out a sheet of paper. “You’ll be covering the Iron Phoenix Stretcher League. Your first task will be finding out who’s participating, their team name, and for the gods’ sake, get their race right. From there, you watch the matches, give your ‘announcer chatter’ for the game, and move on to the next week.”
Bob put down another paper. “You two stay here and do the simple stuff; speak, watch, comment, repeat. Interviews and on-the-scene reports will be done by your partners. Some elf chick named Mia and a Saurus by the name of Tim Thissen.”
Meanwhile, a Saurus and Wardancer were standing side by side, getting instructions from a Halfling on proper interview etiquette. The Halfling had a Big Moot Sandwich and took bites as he spoke.
“Your first week *chomp* should be easy. All the matches are just starting so *snarf* at worst they’ll only ask you to *slurp* interview the one they think will *crunch* be their Star Player or at least *nom* leading their team.”
The Saurus groaned. “Yes, I know. I’ve done this before,” he pointed out. “The only reason it didn’t pan out the first time was because of that stupid Rotter.”
“Are they as smelly as they say? Is Nurgle’s Rot an airborne disease?” the Wardancer hopped excitedly as she asked. The lizard glared, but it didn’t seem to stop the elf from talking. “What about autographs? Is asking for rookie autographs against regulations?”
“Not while on the clock,” the Halfling replied, motioning for the fries. “Once you get your interview done, what you do in your spare time is NOT our problem. Unless it’s die. Then it becomes a big problem.” He savored the fries one at a time.
The Saurus sat down. “Please at least tell us there aren’t gonna be any Nurgle teams in this division?” He pleaded.
“Oh, don’t be such a Downer Darky,” the Wardancer smiled. “There’s apparently insurance for dealing with Nurgle teams! They have apothecaries on standby in case we get sick or hurt!”
“That’s for the teams, Mia. The doctors care for us about as much as a fly in the coffee,” Lizardman deadpanned.
“Besides,” the Halfling interrupted, “this league isn’t allowed any doctors. We have our own, but the teams are forbidden from having their own apothecary.”
“WHAT!?” Mia gasped. “B-But apoths stop death! How does the league get by when everyone’s injured or dying!?” She turned to her partner. “Tim, how did you survive the RSL!?”
“Luck, determination, and faking death,” the poor Saurus quipped.
“So d’you understand? You’re all about the interviews. Ask about thoughts on the match they played, their thoughts on the next match, and all that nonsense.” The Halfling licked his fingers as he finished his meal. “Questions, comments, concerns?”
Tim raised his hand. “Nurgle. Any teams from them?”
The Halfling waved them off. “When sign-ups are done, I’ll let you know. Now go get some good clothes for the crowd and have fun!”
(This one's just a small look at what you can expect. Good, bad, ugly?)