by Andy Hall
The wizard jittered in the orc’s hand and the first voice spoke.
‘Fool! That is Nuffle’s whistle. Once the correct rule from the Blood Bowl god’s forgotten rulebook is spoken and the whistle blown, great power awaits.’
‘I blew it, nuffin happened,’ said Fingurs.
‘Didn’t you hear, you green ape? You need to speak the correct rule citation before using it. Ha! And I ain’t telling you anythi–’
Brobrag squeezed again, and gave a vicious grin. From above, the elf popped his head over, met Brobrag’s glare and quickly retreated.
‘There’s two of you sharing that ’ead. I reckon wotever you know, the other does too.’ The orc grinned and let go of the wizard. ‘I want to make a deal wiv da second git.’
The crowd was getting impatient; the Big ’Uns still hadn’t surfaced, and the officials looked at each other, preparing to default the game. Then Brobrag emerged from the dugout and shouted:
‘Rule 28B, sub-section 38G, paragraph 2 reads as follows: Da whistle-blower will get his victory – as decreed by Nuffle.’ He then blew the whistle.
The piercing sound echoed around the stadium far longer than a normal whistle. The refs looked confused – players were not meant to blow whistles! And then the Big ’Uns stormed onto the field, with Fingurs leading the charge. The second half was on!
The Big ’Uns were receiving. Griff looked confident – the smug git. Before he could even lean into the Big ’Un’s captain, the orc had side-stepped him and was up the field like a skaven rocket. Within seconds, the ball flew past and had been caught by Brobrag in the Reavers’ end zone.
‘That’s four-one,’ said Jim, sounding as stunned as everyone else felt. Griff Oberwald shook his head. The Reavers prepared for another kick-off, he got into his game-winning crouch – they’d be receiving this time. The ball was sent, but quickly intercepted. Before Griff could fathom what was going on, he saw a goblin fly overhead, ball in hand. The dumb-founded Reavers looked on, rooted to the spot, as the greenskin landed as if he were Jordell Freshbreeze and jogged into the end zone. In the next play, the Big ’Uns troll repeated the feat and soon the greenskins were four-three.
‘It’s a, erm… so… Bob Bifford is back off vacation next week,’ stammered Lord Borak.
Then Fingurs came face to face with the Mighty Zug. The black orc nutted him in the face before Zug could bring his own noggin forwards as his usual devastating weapon. The infamous Reavers blocker fell to the ground and Fingurs gave him a substantial boot in the belly.
‘Dat’s for da boss,’ he growled.
The Big ’Uns continued their wholesale destruction of the Reikland Reavers. Griff, Zug and the like ended the match in the dugout, nursing wounds. As the final whistle blew, Brobrag caught a long bomb thrown by Grappa. The orc charged through the solitary Reavers’ lineman to score a touchdown as the whistle’s shrill peep died away. The game ended four-seven.
For the first time ever, the Reikland Invitational had been won by a team other than the Reavers. The fans invaded the pitch in a rage. Like an angry tide they washed from their seats and onto the field. Under Brobrag’s direction, the Big ’Uns formed a cage, and expected to be mobbed.
‘Eat dis!’ shouted Brobrag as he threw something into the troll’s yearning mouth. The orc captain ordered his team to stay put and shot off at a blitzer’s pace into the rabble. Yet the fans’ ire was aimed firmly at Griff and his players. The Reavers quickly retreated down the player tunnel followed by an angry rabble. Some Reavers supporters thought they could have a pot-shot at the victorious greenskins, but Leg-cruncha and Fingurs quickly changed the minds of any who were stupid enough to try.
The orcs partied all night – Mr Bil, as a fellow gobbo, was in the midst of it; whooping with the Chukka Brothers, chanting with the line-orcs and shaking Brobrag’s hand on more than one occasion. The gate alone was enough to keep the wrath of the warboss off the Big ’Uns – until next season, at least. With Nuffle’s whistle in Brobrag’s possession, the Majors were surely a given. And then the sponsorship, promotions and inducement offers would follow. Annoyingly for Brobrag, that meant he’d probably still need the services of Mr Ger after all. Strangely, there was no sign of him; perhaps the humie was already making deals on the Big ’Uns’ behalf behind his back? The sneaky git.
As they wandered back to the locker rooms, Brobrag wasn’t surprised to see the wizard had done a runner. Maybe he should have wrung the scrawny git’s neck, but a deal was a deal. If only his fixers-cum-agents had the same kind of integrity. Speaking of which, Mr Ger did turn up that night, but he wasn’t going to be making any deals on behalf of Brobrag’s Big ’Uns. Fingurs found him in the dead and injured box with a wicked blade shoved in his back. Mr Bil was suddenly missing… Brobrag urgently patted about his body and kit. The whistle had gone…
Well, one whistle had gone. Nuffle’s whistle was safe in Leg-cruncha’s gut, ready to be vomited out in time for the next game. Brobrag gave his most orcish smile; he never had liked that elven ref. The pitch invasion had made it easy to hunt the git down and take his very normal whistle that had hung around his very fragile neck.
About the Author
Andy Hall is a professional writer with many years in the games industry. After a stint working for Games Workshop’s magazines White Dwarf and Fanatic, he is currently lead writer for the PC strategy game Total War: Warhammer.
Dirk Hoffnung takes to the field for four epic novels covering his career in that greatest (and most deadly) of sports: Blood Bowl!
A Black Library Publication
Published in 2016 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
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ISBN: 978-1-78572-284-4
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