|
Post by hdawg on Aug 2, 2016 18:01:15 GMT
Thanks guys! I'm glad folks liked it I'd been meaning to finish it up, but obviously it's harder to get motivated when A: you lose and B: a major character you liked dies T.T The risks of getting attached to players, huh? Ummm, yeah maybe! I hadn't thought about their adventures in Gold. This one for sure is done, and the gold is going to be a much shorter season, so perhaps I can think about adding a new thread for their adventures in gold. *wipes away all his tears* Just make sure you guys don't kill anyone too important if you're vsing me. Badly hurt or niggled is fine XD But no more dying </3
|
|
|
Post by hdawg on Feb 4, 2017 1:48:03 GMT
New Chapters and Old Souls
Laughter and cigar smoke spilled out from the saloon style doors of a seedy Middenheim tavern known by locals as The Hag's Taint. The true name was lost to the annals of time, its faded and peeling wooden sign illegible and dangling from one chain above the entrance way. Sir Lobbings was no stranger to the acrid smoke, but it was so thick as he pushed the doors open that he struggled to keep from coughing as the harsh cinder-heavy air stung his eyes.
In addition to the cigar smoke it was dingy inside, a single kerosene lantern sputtering in the back half of the room behind the bar rail. The barkeep, a one eye'd ogre, shot him a discerning and unfriendly glare before resuming his spit-cleaning of a row of dirty ale mugs. Patrons of various races mingled here, lurking in booths and shadowy corners, whispering of the building swell of Chaos powers to the north and the ratpocalypse ravaging Uberskreik and the potential end times.
Lobbings made his way steadily towards the bar rail, doing his best to blend in and not shove anyone who'd likely murder him for the offense. Which of course was nearly everyone...When he finally stood in front of the ogre he had to cover his mouth to compose himself, watching as thick snot-lined globs of spit dribbled down in each mug. Swished and smeared around the inside of the dirty glasses.
“What-cha want to drink, Humie?” the large creature mumbled, fresh snot and drool clinging to its lower jaw as its large tongue slid out and slurped some of it up.
Lobbings felt vomit threaten at the back of his throat, but he managed to keep it down and shake his head. “No ahhh, phwa....no drinks for me. I'm looking for some other humies like me.”
The ogre snarled and pointed at the door. “Not buy drinks? Then you FUCK off!”
The sound of laughter died down as nearby patrons paused in their conversations and gambling to look over at whatever had caused their bartender such offense. Confused or curious stares quickly turning hostile and decidedly menacing at the unwanted interruption to their normal routine.
Seeking to calm the establishment, Lobbings reached into his coin purse and pulled out a handful of gold marks. “I'll pay, don't worry. Just not for drinks. I need to find other humies. One would be tall with a scar and the other with a bad limp. They'd both-”
“Too much talk!” The ogre said, smashing the current mug it was cleaning against the bar rail.
Tinkling shards of glass rained down on the floor as it looked dumbly down at its feet. It growled out in frustration, seemingly bemused as to how the glass had wound up there.
“Crapper! Come!” it bellowed.
The back door to the kitchen swung open, though Lobbing couldn't see anyone emerge from it. The new arrival so short that he was hidden from view beneath the bar rail until he came around the side.
“Ye called me boss?” came the highpitched whine of what could only be a stunty greenskin.
A pathetic goblin grovelled at the ogre's feet kissing and hugging the creature's smelly fungi-encrusted toes.
“Clean up all dis', Crapper!” the ogre said stepping out from around the bar, simultaneously wiping some sort of green grime against its apron.
It collected the gold and started to wander off, pausing long enough to make a disgruntled waving gesture to indicate that Lobbings should follow. It was a short walk. It padded through the crowd, shifting patrons aside with little more than a low growl or a brief stare from it's one good eye. Parting the people like a scythe through wheat.
Eventually they stopped at the back of the tavern and the ogre pointed to a booth. “Humies at High Roller booth, watching Blood Bowl!” It then held its greasy palm out. The hand easily the size of Lobbing's head. “You pay now!”
Lobbings thought about pointing out that he had already paid the big brute, but decided against that course of action. He liked his face the way it was; intact. He depostied several more coins into the expectant hand and gave the ogre a half-hearted grin and bob of the head in way of thanks. The ogre grumbled something under its breath and stomped off, tugging at the back of its drooping pantaloons as it went. It wasn't until the ogre's large form was completely out of sight that the old thrower breathed a sigh of relief.
It was him alright, but as he'd suspected his teammate wasn't alone. Lobbings took one last deep breath and approached the booth.
A cracked and dirt-smeared crystal ball sat in the middle of a table, several little silver trays with a powdery substance lined up either side of the viewing apparatus. The drone of Bob Bifford and Jim Johnson echoed out from the Cabal Vision orb, a pair of Bloodbowl teams doing battle on a rain-slick pitch. Empty mugs sat in a circle around the rim of the table, hinting at just how long the booth's occupants had spent here. A few empty bottles littered the floor along with the half naked form of a dozing elf women whos head lay squarely in Terry the Trampler's lap.
“I've come to fetch you...” Lobbings said, letting the statement hang for a long while before adding, “come on, don't make this any more difficult than it already is.”
Terry didn't look away from the orb or respond to Lobbings in any way, instead he absentmindedly ran his fingers through the sleeping elf's hair and continued to stare at the players battling on the pitch. However, the figure sitting opposite Terry did stir and sat up from where he'd been lounging. As the man's face emerging from the gloom into the faint blue glow of the orb, Lobbings grimaced. It was Sir Baller, his beard far more unkempt and unwashed compared to the last time they'd spoken nearly a year ago.
“Don't think he wants to talk to you,” Baller said, spitting on the floor near Lobbings' boots. “I sure as fuck don't want to.”
Lobbings ignored Baller as best he could, trying to get a read on Terry. His eyes were sunken, clearly intoxicated, but that wasn't anything new since Manny's death. The bottle was never far from his hand, this was something else. A malaise that hung over him. His fingers stroking at the elf's hair more like she was a pet or a toy than a lover.
He was about to ask Terry something when Baller's drunken voice slurred out again and interrupted his thoughts. “He didn't bang her, if that's what you're wondering. That's some kind of fucked up when you hire a whore for company. Wanted a friend. They're hard to find these days, you should know Lobbings. No one to send to do your dirty work? Came down here yourself. Brave.”
“I'm the only one Terry will listen to,” Lobbings said. “He'd more than likely kill anyone else I'd have sent in my place.”
Terry nodded his head slightly as though agreeing, or perhaps just nodding to something Bob or Jim had just commented on. However, he slowly leaned away from the orb and his eyelids fluttered a few times as his vacant stare fell on Lobbings.
“Hey chief...” Terry said, each syllable forced out like the words were stuck in a haze of molasses. “Did you come to watch the game?”
Lobbings shook his head and gave Terry a soft reassuring rub on the shoulder. “Naw, mate. Here to get you up. We've got our own game to play. Gold might be starting soon...”
Terry shrugged, not hard enough to get Lobbings' hand off his shoulder, more as though weighing his response. Eventually his corners of his mouth curled up into a smile as he waggled a single finger back and forth. “Can't fool me chief. Gold is over. Did my bit already.”
Lobbings nodded and crouched down beside him, stirring the elf as he stooped down so that she could sit up. She yawned sleepily and rubbed at her eyes, looking around for a bit before starting to gather up a line of powder with a nearby knife.
“New Gold Season, bud. Let's get you up and sober. Going to be a few days, but you can't stay here.”
“Sir-high-and-fucking-mighty-Lobbings,” Baller said with a sinister chuckle. “That's the team captain we know and 'love'. Telling you what you can and can't fucking do. Just like you told that fat Head Coach about me, huh?”
“Shut up, Baller. You got yourself in this mess,” Lobbings grated out.
The thrower's anger was starting to boil over. Baller was hitting all the right buttons and showed no sign of letting up. “No, no. That's fucking great, tell me how i got myself in this mess. Please, explain to little old stupid me how me messing up my ankle for you was MY fault? Tell me how it's MY fault that you went behind my back and told the higher ups that i was dragging YOUR precious team down? Let's hear it, you fucking clown.”
“I've already told you that's not true. You had your issues, but you were still my friend. That's not what i meant.”
“Yeah, we've seen how far your 'friendship' goes. What did you mean then? What 'issues' are we bitching about now, your highness?”
“You deal with Nuffle, you lose. Plain and simple. You made a bargain your soul couldn't keep and it caught up with you,” Lobbings spat out, his eyes aflame. “You were my friend, because I respected you. I can't respect someone who cuts deals like that to enhance their career. You endangered us all with your greed by letting that bastard into our lives.” Lobbings gave a sharp tug on Terry's beefy arm, enough to haul him off his feet. “Come on, Terry. We're heading back to the stadium.”
Terry looked back at the glowing orb. “Game's not done, chief. I want to stay till the end.”
Lobbings tried to stare at the orb, but it was too grimy to make out any of the players without staring from up close. “What game is it, even? We're in the off season. Shouldn't be any matches even going on.”
“It's the playoffs,” Terry mumbled, reaching out to rub at one side of the Cabal Vision orb. “It's 1-0 and the eagles...they're just about to score. Look, see? Here, it's coming up. There's Manny, see 'em chief? He's gonna get in that blitzers way. Game is pretty over and done and he's still playing to the whistle...”
A hand felt like it had Lobbings by the entrails and was twisting it into knots as the sickening realization of what they were watching sunk in.
“How'd you get this tape?” Lobbings said, immediately rounding to glare at Baller. “How long has he been watching it?”
“This ole replay? That's all and my buddy watch nowadays, isn't it Terry? Over and over,” Baller said letting out a maniacal laugh and offering Lobbings a crazed grin.
Terry's eyes were teary, still glued to the orb and watching as Manfred went down hard from the block. The footage panned in to a shot of himself, running towards his stricken friend as the apothecaries rushed onto the field to his aid.
“You did this, didn't you? Somehow, I don't fucking know how but you got your slimey little mitts on this replay.” Lobbings took a swipe at Baller, but despite his injury the catcher was able to lean further back into the booth and escaped the punch.
“I pulled some strings. Turns out that despite being a 'washed up' star catcher I still have some friends in high, or should I say, low places.”
Lobbings had to catch Terry, the big man at risk of collapsing now as he sobbed softly. Lobbings put his head under Terry's armpit and draping the larger man's arm across his shoulders as they started for the front of the tavern.
Baller sat smiling insanely at the orb, rewinding the killing blow over and over. “By the way, Lobbings! That deal I made...wasn't for my career. It was to keep my 'friend' safe. Turns out Nuffle and you go way back!” Lobbings tried to block it out, but he could still hear Ballers' laughter echoing out from the booth. “He says hi by the way! We'll keep in touch! Oh, Terry! Make sure to ask him about Jr. And Tim, there's a good lad!”
Terry and Lobbings reached the front door of the tavern and stumbled out into the tight alley. Thunder rumbled distantly as the first heavy drops of a rain storm started to come down. Lobbings was shaking, his body drenched in sweat both from the exhertion of dragging the dead weight of Terry and from Baller's parting words. How long was he going to be able to keep things together? How long could he walk that tightrope.
Terry coughed once or twice beside him where he leaned against the outside of the door frame. “Hey chief...what'd he mean? I assume we traded Jr. cuz we'd wanted to for a while, but what's up with Tim?”
Lobbings swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at Terry, unable to meet his gaze directly. “He ah...he was cut. Yeah, we sold him for a new ogre. A...better, ogre.”
He felt dirty saying it. Better. The word wanted to make him throw up more than that nasty tavern had. It'd been the worst experiencing of his life trying to explain to Tiny Tim the other day that he wasn't going to be able to play with the Strikers anymore. The more he tried to explain it the more confused the big lug had gotten. He'd finally accepted going with the strange team and Head Coach, but it was clearly there. Lurking behind the semi-intelligent ogre's eyes. A deep and immeasurable sense of having been betrayed. Lobbings almost wished Nuffle would come and kill him and get it over with already. He deserved it.
Terry slowly pushed himself upright more, leaning less and less on Lobbings as he tried a few tentative steps. “Good,” he said after a few attempts.
“Good?” Lobbings asked, moving to support him once more. “What do you m-”
“I mean good. Tim was too gentle a soul for this sport. He might be hurt emotionally right now, but least he's alive. One less friend to lose this way. Right? That why you really made the trade.” Terry and Lobbings' eyes met. A drunken smile crossing the blitzer's face. “Deny it if you like, beat yourself up if thats your thing. Maybe this new ogre really is better. Maybe you're a souless bastard who just wants to win games and I'm wrong. Maybe not. It still doesn't matter if everyone we care about dies.”
Terry cleared his throat as they neared the end of the alley. “Are the Eagles in this round of Gold Cup?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.” Lobbings said with trepidation. Hoping that answer wouldn't send the man right back towards the tavern. “I haven't heard of those Bretts for a while. Think they went over to the UKBBL, but they're still active.”
Terry nodded and with the help of Lobbings left the alley and strode out onto the main streets of Middenheim. “One day,” he whispered under his breath.
Despite how softly Terry whispered it, Lobbings still heard it and he smiled.
He nodded when Terry next looked at him. “Yeah, buddy. One day we'll meet them again.”
“That's vhen ve vill strike,” Terry said in a thick put-on Kislev accent.
“Like the force of a fucking hurricane. For Manfred.”
“For Manny,” Terry whispered.
A tear rolled down his face, but it went unnoticed, mixing with the rain as it spattered his cheeks. The pair hailed a cab hoped inside and the wooden vehicle was off, bouncing towards the Striker Stadium. From the gloom of they alley they'd just left a cigar butt flared. The slow deep chuckles of Nuffle mingling with the higher-pitched laughter of Baller. Everyone has their skeletons. Some peoples' are just more real than others...
|
|