Posted September 20, 2013
Waiting outside of the locker room, the coach of The Armored Seagulls looked pensively toward the field. Bloodstains still littered the pitch from the last match or two, games he did not witness but heard of the injuries that were sustained. Broken necks, fractured ankles, even a dead guy or two. And that was just the first drive. It was considered even a little gruesome by Blood Bowl standards.
He sighed deeply. He had been given an offer by a local guild of Necromancers who believed they had finally gotten their spells to work sufficiently to reanimate some of the late, great Blood Bowl players of the past. They had watched him from the pitch eagerly after his triumph over the Hamburg Hammerfists, realizing this coach had the potential to be greatly successful, if only he embraced the arcane arts of necromancy.
He had not really considered the offer until a different team of Necromantics came from a few districts over. They managed to stop his boys dead in their tracks, as if they saw every move he was thinking. Now his considerations were more serious, but he did not know which way to turn.
Again, a sigh snuck from his mouth as he eyed the pitch from the distance. He turned around to the sound of boots walking across the ground behind him. The coach saw Anton Krowe walking toward him, helmet in hand.
"Well, boss, it's hard to believe that this is how the season ends, isn't it?" Krowe asked as the coach shifted on his feet to face him.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm surprised you're not more disappointed about the way the season is ending," the coach replied.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie, coach, the guys are disappointed we're not making it to the postseason. But the thing is, you've done something that puts all of that to shame. You've brought us together into a team, a family," Krowe said, clenching his fist.
The coach looked away.
"What if I'm not meant to be a part of this? What if something different is meant to be?" The coach asked Krowe.
"But you're not. You never have been. Your home has been here this whole time. Listen to me, I know other teams are courting you--" the coach's head snapped back toward Krowe as he continued.
"And you might think their offers are good and all. They might offer you something different, but they'll never give you respect. They'll discard you when you don't deserve it. They'll be quicker to stick a knife in your back than telling you that you did a good job. So why consider them?"
The coach was dumbstruck. Krowe was a lot smarter than even he let on.
"Leave if you want, but dammit, you're going to tell all 13 of us at once if you do. The guys are hungry for another crack at the top and they only want to do it if you're at the forefront," Krowe stormed off towards the locker rooms. A wood elf crossed his path, sneering at him.
"D'aww, does the birdboy love his coach? Why don't you give him a--" The taunting stopped instantly as Krowe grabbed him by the neck and threw him back through the doors of some other opposing locker room. Krowe walked away as the sound of chainsaws revved up, and the coach smiled.
Krowe walked in the team's locker room and the rest of the team looked up at him, with Valt Tiel striding to the front of the room.
"Everyone," Krowe began, "I don't know what to say."
Before Krowe could continue, the doors were thrown open by the coach over the sound of a screaming wood elf and a snarling troll.
"Then allow me. We've got some unfinished business to attend to, and it starts after our last game against those pesky Dark Elves!"
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TL;DR: The Armored Seagulls are coming back for Season 3.
He sighed deeply. He had been given an offer by a local guild of Necromancers who believed they had finally gotten their spells to work sufficiently to reanimate some of the late, great Blood Bowl players of the past. They had watched him from the pitch eagerly after his triumph over the Hamburg Hammerfists, realizing this coach had the potential to be greatly successful, if only he embraced the arcane arts of necromancy.
He had not really considered the offer until a different team of Necromantics came from a few districts over. They managed to stop his boys dead in their tracks, as if they saw every move he was thinking. Now his considerations were more serious, but he did not know which way to turn.
Again, a sigh snuck from his mouth as he eyed the pitch from the distance. He turned around to the sound of boots walking across the ground behind him. The coach saw Anton Krowe walking toward him, helmet in hand.
"Well, boss, it's hard to believe that this is how the season ends, isn't it?" Krowe asked as the coach shifted on his feet to face him.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm surprised you're not more disappointed about the way the season is ending," the coach replied.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie, coach, the guys are disappointed we're not making it to the postseason. But the thing is, you've done something that puts all of that to shame. You've brought us together into a team, a family," Krowe said, clenching his fist.
The coach looked away.
"What if I'm not meant to be a part of this? What if something different is meant to be?" The coach asked Krowe.
"But you're not. You never have been. Your home has been here this whole time. Listen to me, I know other teams are courting you--" the coach's head snapped back toward Krowe as he continued.
"And you might think their offers are good and all. They might offer you something different, but they'll never give you respect. They'll discard you when you don't deserve it. They'll be quicker to stick a knife in your back than telling you that you did a good job. So why consider them?"
The coach was dumbstruck. Krowe was a lot smarter than even he let on.
"Leave if you want, but dammit, you're going to tell all 13 of us at once if you do. The guys are hungry for another crack at the top and they only want to do it if you're at the forefront," Krowe stormed off towards the locker rooms. A wood elf crossed his path, sneering at him.
"D'aww, does the birdboy love his coach? Why don't you give him a--" The taunting stopped instantly as Krowe grabbed him by the neck and threw him back through the doors of some other opposing locker room. Krowe walked away as the sound of chainsaws revved up, and the coach smiled.
Krowe walked in the team's locker room and the rest of the team looked up at him, with Valt Tiel striding to the front of the room.
"Everyone," Krowe began, "I don't know what to say."
Before Krowe could continue, the doors were thrown open by the coach over the sound of a screaming wood elf and a snarling troll.
"Then allow me. We've got some unfinished business to attend to, and it starts after our last game against those pesky Dark Elves!"
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TL;DR: The Armored Seagulls are coming back for Season 3.
