NR: (Adjusting his tie) Ladies
and Gentlebeasts. Welcome one and all to the second season of carnage and
cookies, of destruction and donuts, of bloodshed and biscuits, the DragonBBL.
As you can see behind me, the pomp and pageantry this year has achieved new
bounds. Never before have so many peasants been slaughtered to die a carpet,
or villages looted for door prizes, or pristine virgin woods and meadows
razed just for the hell of it...And i do believe this is the Team Captain of
the Harem pulling up in that delicious hot pink Ferrari. Yes! it's her!
Alina steps of out of Ferrari's passenger
seat, accompanied by a collective gasp from the crowd. Also accompanied by a
rather Large Spiked Harbinger of Doom in the form of The Crusher, captain of
the Rage Sharks. The Crusher steps between Alina and a now slobbering
Noskull Rierohl and casually plucks two particularly riveted bystanders from
the crowd. Pounding them together in an emotionally moving live art morse
code performance of "Step Away From the Hot Woman Before I Do This To You",
The Crusher, resplendent at 7 Feet tall in his black and red Chaos Armour
concludes with a deep bow. Alina adjusts her thigh-high "Blitz-me" boots and
steps up to the microphone, always in her element in front of a camera.
Alina: (purring seductively, she
looks deeply into Noskull's eyes as she points casually off to the side at
another bystander, who made the mistake of letting his gaze linger too long
on her Cataclysmic back-side. The Crusher roars and storms off into the
crowd, pounding the poor little bugger's head down into his shoulders.
Satisfied, the Crusher trots back to Alina's side, where she scratches him
behind the helmet.) Mr. Rierohl, you're looking absolutely
not-totally-repulsive today.
NR: (mustering all his charm and
keenly honed wit) Blarg.
Alina: (eyebrow raised in confusion
and slight revulsion) Um. yes. Ew. Well, later then. (she motions to
The Crusher) Be a dear, and do that thing you do...
The Crusher: Kapow, kapow! (He roars
as he crashes through the crowd, creating a nice soft carpet of people for
Alina to strut into the Hall on.)
NR: Well, that was fascinating.
(staring at the cameraman) Stop shaking, Bubba. Here comes a giant
hearse. Who could it be?
A massive, gold-leaf and colourful-streamer
laden barge of death pulls up, and a huge, battered, and blood spattered
mummy lumbers out. Three ghoul helpers skitter out after him and clear a way
down the carpet. The giant mummy raise his hands and slowly staggers towards
Noskull. Slowly. Ever so slowly. With a pronounced stagger.
NR: (muttering to himself)
c'mon...go for it...Ladies and Gentlebeasts! You know him! You were probably
injured by him! Bhandayd! How's retirement treating you, Mr Ayd?
B: (looking down at Noskull, and with
an obviously great effort) Hhhhrrrrurrrr...
NR: (with a perplexed glance over at
the camera) Um, please pretend I'm saying something here that would not
provoke you to kill me, okay?
B: (straightens up, which causes the
Creaking Sound of the Ages) Glllllllllluuuuuuurrrrrgggg (The giant
mummy slooooooowly staggers away towards the entrance)
NR: As always, a truly emotional and
revealing Bhandayd at his most candid. We promise you the best, and we bring
you the...what in the 32.7 Hells is that???
The camera whirls around to the street,
where a large wagon approaches. The wagon, pulled by slaves and clearly
painted in Mad Howlers colors, has a very loud and obnoxious band in its
rear, and they're playing for all they're worth. Unbeknownst to the Howlers,
their wagon has also picked up a rather large convoy of what look like
rookie Bloodbowl teams. The strange self-contained parade comes to a stop
and the Mad Howlers step out as the band on the wagon breaks into a rather
spirited polk-you-in-the-spleen-a.
NR: (still looking past at the wagon
as Blarg Blargson and his Mad Howlers approach) Blarg! Always a
pleasure. I hope on this festive occasion that you'll break character and
pry a few words from that stern, silent visage of yours?
Blarg: (wondering what the
racket behind him is, he is distractedly trying to see past his team, who
are crowded around him tightly in an attempt to get some facetime on camera)
Um. Yes. But only on Tuesdays, Mr. Rierohl.
NR: Um, say again, Blarg?
Blarg: Oh, absolutely. Well, it's been a
real treat. Bye now.
The Howlers rush by, eager to get to the
buffet inside. Out on the carpet, a rookie Norse and Dwarf team are high-fiving
each other, the bystanders, each other some more, the hired security Orcs
and each other again as they approach.
NR: (approaching the dwarf
team, Noskull prods his microphone forward at their coach) By your
nametag, I take it you are Ez. K. Yell and these are your Screaming Midgets,
yes?
EZ: (proudly thrusting his hairy chin
forward, he hooks his thumbs under his suspenders). I AM HE! WE ARE
THEY! WOE BE IT TO OUR FOES! WOE! WE HAVE A SECRET WEAPON! SOMETHING NO ONE
HAS A CHANCE OF COUNTERING! IT IS COMPLETELY UNDETECTABLE!
NR: (pointing towards the back of the
group of dwarves) Um, that looks suspiciously like an elf wearing a
clip-on beard there, Mr. Yell...
EZ: (gesturing for his boys to follow
quickly) ER. IT'S BEEN REALLY NICE CHATTING WITH YOU. WE'VE REALLY GOT
TO BE GOING NOW. BYE.
NR: (rubbing his ears and shouting to
be heard over a large, loud mob of Norsemen waiting their turn.) LADIES
AND GENTLEMEN! PRESENTING THE, uh, THE...(looks down at his clipboard)
SCREAMING VIKINGS! COULD YOU KICK IT DOWN A NOTCH BOYS? I CAN HARDLY HEAR
MYSELF THINK!
PUNCHLENEZSON: (large and impressive,
in a barechested, drunk sort of way, the norseman proudly faces the camera,
picks up Noskull and holds him like a microphone) Fleugi Floerga,
dreaindor Rierohl! Blorgie Blorgie!
NR: Um, I don't understand your language
but... (masterfully recovering from the awkward situation, Noskull pushes
on) ...obviously, you do.
P: (nodding sagely, he sets Noskull
down) Bork bork bork. (the Vikings turn and walk into the hall.)
Dodging through the crowds at such speed
that they leave a contrail behind them, Sceolan of the Hunt and Skrittar
Quarzo of the Machine race for the door. Noskull tries to step in front of
both of them, but only the wood elf is polite enough to stop for the camera.
On his way past, Skrittar quickly fouls the doorman before zipping through
the door.
NR: Thanks for taking a moment, Sceolan.
We at NarfTV have been eager to talk to you for a while now. Do you have any
comments about the upcoming...
SCEOLAN: (vibrating like a
hummingbird, and actually hovering for stretches at a time, Sceolan is
obviously exerting tremendous effort to remain stationary.)
thankyouverymuchmr.rierohlit'sagreatpleasuretobeheretoday.
ijustwantedtoassureallmyfansthatiamindeedokandwillbeplayingthisseason.
iamnotaballhog,
andamonlydoingthedutysetuponmebywychwethylandthatistotrytrytrytowinwinwin.
afterall,everymemberofourteamisjustasvaluableasiamtoourtotaleffort.
ok.thankyouverymuchbuti'vegottobedodgingnow. kthx. (Sceolan nods his head
rapidly and zooms past Noskull into the hall.)
NR: Well. I'm exhausted. They're queuing
up now, ladies and gentlebeasts. Next up appears to be...look at the size of
this mummy! It could only be Anoth "Big Mummy" Tset, of the Bonestealers
approaching with the dark and lethal wight Plagued, of the Creeping Flesh.
AT: (his every step shadowed
by Plagued, they arrive at the camera together. Anoth snatches the mike out
of Noskull's hands and approaches the camera very closely) I AM THE
CHAMP! I AM THE GREATEST! BHANDAYD's A CHUMP! HE AIN'T GOT NOTHIN'. HE'S
DUCKIN' ME!
NR: You might wanna have that
conversation directly with The Big Bhandayd himself, Anoth. He's already
inside at the banquet.
AT: What??? (Knocks the camera down
and plows into Noskull as he charges towards the entrance, albeit
verrrrrrrry verrrrrrry slowly, again shadowed by Plagued) The chump's
mine! He can't stay retired forever!
Marching forward, the ever-polite Hoary
Dervishes approach tentatively, permeating the area with the delicious aroma
of vanilla. Appearing rather frightened, the team is huddled safely behind
their two big players. Their coach, Buttercup, approaches Noskull.
NR: Ladies and Gentlebeasts, the famed
Buttercup of the Dervishes is here in the flesh.
BC: Flesh??? Where? I thought they were
here already. (Buttercup skitters behind the big Treant and hides)
NR: No, no. The Creeping Flesh aren't
attending. Their bus drove off a cliff on the way over here after being hit
by a Giant Flaming Meteorite and struck by Lightning after running out of
gas. (Noskull coaxes Buttercup out from behind the big tree with a
muffin)
BC: *munch munch* Thank you. mmmm,
Death Muffins...
NR: Your second team looks, ah, hungry
for success this season, after snatching a victory from the Rage Sharks in
preseason, Buttercup.
BC: (looking angry, or as angry as a
halfling can anyway) Yes. Well. I hope we aren't seated next to the
Short and Surlys again this year. At last year's season opener, they thought
we were the pre-meal buffet. It took me the whole season to replace the
Tasty Dervishes with the lean, mean, Hoary Dervishes you see before you.
NR: Well, not so lean, anyway. Speaking
of the Surlys, here they come, everybody!
BC: It was nice talking to you but we
really gotta be going now. *sprint sprint sprint*
NR: Here they are, the celebrated
Cannibals of Cabalvision, the dethroned Bitches of Nuffle, the Bashiest
Barshers to ever Bash a Barsh, the Surlys!!!
Funky Fleetfoot: Outta tha way, boy! Yer
blockin' da food!
NR: Now, now, Funky. Let the poor little
buggers (tm) eat in peace!
FF: Roight. I warnded ya! (gestures
to a 4' high and 6' wide fireplug of a dwarf.) Dorin, clear da way!
Dorin Kneecrusha: (head down in the
classic dwarven martial art pose, he charges forward to chants of Blitz!
Blitz! Blitz! from the rest of his teammates) Dis is gonna be good!
NR: (jumping out of the way as fast
as he can) I guess we'd better call it a night. Thanks for watching Late
Night With GrabbaGrabba. We leave you with the following message, overheard
during a Blistering Barnacles match earlier on.
"Skinks are magical creatures. born in a
time of faerie, where dodging was but a simple matter."
- Cobra Commander