“Perfect.”įor those of you that don’t know, Bloodbowl was originally a table top game set in the Warhammer universe, based on the rules of American Football. “Completely devoid of thought, like putrid clay in the hands of a tactical genius.” thought Lahkasz. In an abandonment of balance Lahkasz’ starting kicker was reduced from a mindless structure of bone and rotten flesh held together by dark magic into a foot high heap of bone and rotten flesh held together by precisely nothing, the dark magic that bound him deciding that its animatory talents were required elsewhere. One particularly obnoxious skeleton chose this moment to have his leg detach from his body. Look at you, there’s not a pint of blood between you!” You’re not a Bloodbowl team, you’re a disgrace to a sport built on the blood and death of it’s combatants. If I had a choice I’d dig you back into the ground that spewed up your repugnant slothly forms. “My but aren’t you all a sad sack of sluggardly crumbling marrow.
“Perhaps I should have held off on the lobotomy.” He thought ruefully. The man’s lips appeared to go slightly more vapid as if in answer to his disparaging thoughts. The thought of having to use this savant halfwit as the teams assistant coach made him endlessly exhausted. He looked into the man’s pale eyes, entirely devoid of expression or sanity. “Why can’t anyone ever summon me a Balrog?” Thought Lahkasz as he surveyed the pitiful Undead army his obedient Necromancer had raised. Alright, enough of this dry bookish crap.