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 Post subject: Bumford's Adventures - Season Two: Yaverslann'd
 Post Posted: Fri Sep 02, 2016 3:58 pm 
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Way back in the murky depths of 2015, I was involved in the Reddit Redux Fumbbl Cup, a small league hosted by the chaps over at Reddit.com/r/BloodBowl. Part of the fun for me was writing up fluffy match reports after each match for a laugh. I recently uncovered them again by accident and thought it would be fun to post them on TFF.

The story goes that my Elf team was being coached by Bumford, a maniacally belligerent dwarf that for reasons unknown was in charge of them. Each of the reports was written after the actual match, with the fluff and events accurate to what happened in the game itself. Without further ado... Here they are! Let's start with game one...

1: Necronobacon VS Nautical Imperatives

“Do you cress-heads need me to explain it again?” says Bumford, the (very) newly appointed coach to the (very) newly created Elf team, Nautical Imperatives.
“Erm, I think we understand,” pipes a small voice. “We get the ball and score with it.”
“See? You’ll go far, son. What’s your name squirt?”
“Aelfrileale, coach”.
“That’s a stupid name. No panache. From now on, your name will be Land Ahoy!
Land Ahoy?
“No, Land Ahoy!, with an exclamation mark. Right, I reckon it’s about time to get out there. Off you go then.” The elfs start to move towards the exit.
“Aelelfirel?” one elf asks.
“You can’t call me that anymore or Bumford will beat us. Call me Board!” comes the reply .
“Uh, ok Board!. Did I see your ex in the crowd? Doesn’t she hate your guts? Why is she here?”
“Oh, erm, I’m sure it’ll be fine. She’s a bit angry with me still. I think it gives her closure,” Board! says warily.

The Necromantic Necronobacon are already on the pitch when Nautical Imperatives arrive. The stink of death is only slightly stronger than the overwhelming perfume wafting from the elfin lines. Bumford huddles his team.
“Nasty bunch of skalliwags, that’s for sure lads. Still, the plan stands. Land Ahoy!, you and Board! steal to the south and round, everyone else cover them. Off you go.”
“What do we do if one of them tries to hit us?”
“Good luck lads, I’m rooting for you!” Bumford says as he swaggers to the sidelines. The elfs line up, ready to kick the ball.

“The thing is,” says Bumford to anyone who’ll listen. “the money we saved on not employing some quack doctor means we’ll have more cash for the booze when we celebrate, savvy?”. The unlucky spectators near him politely ignore his ramblings to watch the game. “Anyway, let’s see how the boys do.” Bumford turns to spectate the game.
A whistle sounds.
The sound of a ball being booted.
The undead move with surprising alacrity. A resounding crack followed by a sickening crunch.
“Homewrecker!” someone screams from the stands. Board! lies face down on the floor, a hefty rock on the ground by his head. Land Ahoy!’s brains are splattered across the fists of a hearty Flesh Golem named Lou. Elfs are being punched, kicked and shoved in all directions.
“Hey, not a bad start!” beams Bumford, accompanied by shrieks from the pitch and cheers from the crowd. Agonising minutes pass. More elfs are knocked out or worse.
“This isn’t going as well as it could. Elfs! Strategy C!” Worried glances in his direction from the remnants of his team. “Strategy C! Come on barkbrains! You remember C! Just charge forward! Scrum time!”
The elfs respond to his authoritative voice with terrified determination. Of course, could they see the grand scheme of things, they probably would have rather tried to survive then try to out punch a literal wall of dead flesh. Bodies are moaning on floor moments later.
Miraculously, some elves have surrounded the ghoulish creature currently grasping the ball in pallid hands.
“That’s it! More violence!” Somehow, through some twist of cosmological humour, an elf knocks the ball free and another throws it to Weigh Anchor!, one of the speedier elfs on the team, who sprints as if his life were in peril (which indeed it is) forNecronobacon’s touchdown line.
Scoring with seconds left to go, the referee calls half time.

“Going well so far I think!” smiles Bumford, patting a wincing elf on the blood-splattered arm. “Ready for the second half then, eh?”
No response. Some of the team have just learned of the death of one of their teammates.
“Where’s his body?” comes a small voice.
“Oh, no use moping.” Bumford pokes his head out of the changing room. “Ah, here we go. Second half. Knock them dead!”

The sight of their recently departed friend on the line of scrimmage somewhat dampens the mood of the already soggy elfin spirits.
“Ok, Strategy B! Runaround!” shouts the coach. The elfs catch the kickoff and immediately pull hard to the flank. They pile in tight right against the sidelines, dangerously close to a dangerous crowd. As if expecting such a strategy, the living dead swarm the depleted elfs, utterly cutting them off from any hope of escape.
A desperate pass goes awry, and the bloodbath begins anew.
More minutes pass.
Belay!, having grabbed the ball in the mad scramble after the fumble, escapes from the scrum before being pounded into the dirt by a red-eyed Wight. The ball is getting dangerously near the elfin line. The same creature as before, the pale, hunched monstrosity, tries to pick it up, but it scurries capriciously from his dead hands.
On a wish and a prayer the elfs duck and dodge their way to the ball and Belay! huffs it downfield to Hard to Larboard!, misses the throw, and the ball scatters madly.
Necronobacon pile the pressure on the one or two elfs standing in their half, but they manage to slip through the gaps and score again.
The game ends with a 2-0 victory to Nautical Imperatives.

“See? I knew you lads could do it. Piece of undead cake, eh?” Empty stares meet Bumford’s words.
“Poor Land Ahoy!..” mutters an elf.
“Oh, hush now. He died in the way he would have wanted. Brains smashed against a golem’s fist, then raised to scramble endlessly in a posse of the living dead.”
“Who are we playing next?” whispers an injured voice. The coach looks down and flips through a small pile of papers. He smiles. “Ah, easy peasy. Nothing to worry about. Some of my kinsmen actually!” Relieved faces drop in horror.

“The Dwarfish team of Burnfurnace.” Bumford smiles again. “let me see if I still have the address of that apothecary I know…”

FUMBBL replay

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Last edited by Twelfman on Sun Feb 05, 2017 5:12 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures, game one: Necronobacon
 Post Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2016 4:58 pm 
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The night before...
Bumford's arms are spread wide. He speaks with gusto.
"Come on you lot! A pint of the brown stuff for every broken bone you inflict on'm!
"The response is nonexistent.
"Oh for Arnok's sake, that's entirely the wrong attitude."
He glances around for inspiration. His face creases with concentration.
"A.. pint of... wine?"
Small shuffles.
A voice floats from the back of the changing room.
"Fruit wine?"
"Uh, sure."
Faces lift.
The mood is lighter than before, in a way that the earth is momentarily lighter if you throw a stone in the air.
"A pint is a bit much maybe though coach, delicate stomach you see."
"Fine, fine! A small glass of fruity wine for anyone who breaks a dwarfish bone!"
A tiny cheer rises. Perhaps this game would go well after all.
"Coach Bumford, just how tough are Dwarfen bones?"
A pause.
"Well, do you know soft, ultra ripened peaches? The way they easily splat on the floor in an explosion of flesh?"
Mutters of agreement.
"In this analogy, the Dwarfs are like the floor. The cold, stone, indefatigably robust earthern pavement."
Sighs.

2: Burnfurnace VS Nautical Imperatives

Bumford swaggers back into the room stinking of dwafen booze.
“Ah, great bunch of lads, lovely guys. You’ll love ‘em.”
The team are sitting warily in the changing room. No one speaks.
Bumford belches loudly before continuing.
“Anyway, so you all know the plan still, yeah? You, what’s your name, hmm?”
“Eleri- I mean, my name is Kiss The Captain’s Daughter!, coach.”
“Wos the plan?”
“Uh, grab the ball then run it in?”
“Remind me to promote you to captain once the game’s over son. Ok, off you go then”
Kiss The Captain’s Daughter! almost smiles, then remembers what they’re about to face.
“Oh, actually, a bit of advice before you get stuck in chaps. Dwarfs are slow, so the trick is to outrun them and huff the ball as far as you can. Nice long passes and running as fast as you can, that’s the key. Ok?”
The elfs stand up. They’re almost feeling the tiniest spark of confidence at this sudden unexpected nugget of actual, solid advice. A stranger, someone calling themselves Paul, is helping them out as they’re an elf short.
“Does anyone else feel a chill?” he asks.

---

Snow blankets the pitch. Whirling winds and bitter cold wash through the air, whipping hair and stinging throats. The elfs find it hard to walk steadily, let alone run.
“Ah, they’ll be fine,” grumbles Bumford happily. “Bit o’ cold never hurt anyone.”
The dwarfs of Burnfurnace look well at home in the inclement weather. They’re laughing and joking, slapping arms and sharing tankards. One dwarf yells across the screeching wind.
“Oi! Bumford! I’ve promised a pint o’ brown for anyone who breaks an elfin bone, just thought I’d let you know laddo!”
Bumford laughs, wiping snot from his brown beard.
“Hah, brilliant lad that Dalof, right laugh he is. Ok boys, remember the fruit wine now. Good luck!”
The elfs win the toss and elect to receive the kick. It’s hard to see the ball in the snow. They hold back, not wanting to press forward and get stomped. Dwarfs walk forward with inexorable determination. It’s not long before the injuries start.
A crunch,
a scream,
a splatter of red on the pitch.
“First pint is mine then lads!” yells Dalof, to a responding cheer.
Kiss The Captain’s Daughter! lies on the floor.
The teams Apothecary, new to the side, stands up but Bumford holds him back by his arm.
“Wait a mo, this’ll be good”A second disgusting crunch, and Kiss the Captain’s Daughter!’s head flies from his body a few seconds later to cheers from all, none louder than Bumford himself. The doctor decides perhaps decapitation is beyond his expertise to repair and sits back down.
The elfs spot this, the second death in as many games, and panic sets through them. They break though the line with urgency and sprint forward, hampered by the snow. The elf with the ball at the back has snow in his eyes.
Passing is next to impossible.
The elfs hand the ball from elf to elf, being taken down by dwarfs almost as fast as they’re doing so, and fuelled by self-preservation instincts Belay! manages to score a touchdown.The first half isn’t over yet. Five elfs are on the sidelines, either dead or knocked clean out.
“Well, maybe the snow will slow them down..?” muses the doctor whimsically.
The sound of an anvil being struck from somewhere in the vicinity of Burnfurnace’s changing room. The clouds split, and beautiful sunshine spills from the sky.
“Or, maybe not”.
The dwarfs know they don’t have time to score, so they merrily beat the cheese out of a few elves for the fun of it.
The ref blows his whistle.
End of first half.

---

Bumford address his team again.
“Good one guys, 1-0 up at half time. Going pretty well, eh?”
Empty stares. Fatigued elves sit noiselessly on benches.“Oh chin up, it’s not that bad. Remember last match? At least Kiss isn’t standing on the line o’ scrimmage as a shambling zombie now, eh?”
Paul the mercenary looks up.
“What kind of team is this..?”
“Hear that? Time to go lads. Off you go now!”
“But coach, there are only six of us. How’re we supposed to stop a whole team of dwarfs?” pipes an elf.
“Plan F! Simple!”
“We don’t have a plan-“
“You really better get a shifty on boys, time’s a-wasting!” and with that, Bumford struts back out onto the sidelines.
A sob floats from the changing room.

---

The second half happens much as the first did, with several minor alterations.
Instead of 11 elfs, there are 6.
Instead of the elfs nimbly darting around dwarfen attacks and handling the ball with finesse, they stand back and try their best to fend off a veritable steam tank of dwarfen strength.
The dwarfs are in no hurry.
They casually saunter downfield, wrecking elfs left and right. 
Weigh Anchor!finds himself shoved into a crowd of other dwarfs who treat him slightly unkindly.
The elfs that managed to recover from their trauma enough to stand back on the pitch are again knocked into the dirt and stretchered off.
The two stars of the team, Belay! and Hard to Larboard! remain prone on the sidelines, counting stars and nursing bruised brains.
In a fit of repressed rage, Board! flings himself at a laughing dwarf by the name of Lorim and cracks him in the neck. He falls to the ground, badly injured. The remaining dwarfs scarcely notice, but pummel Board! all the same. Bumford cheers.
By the time the dwarfs score, the clock has run down and there are only 3 elfs left on the pitch, none of which are standing.

---

The elfs are in a various states of extreme pain, but no permanent injuries.
“Well boys, 1-1 is respectable. That’s for sure, and nothing of value was lost.” says Bumford, contentedly. Glares from the elfs.
“Oh of course, how stupid of me. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t welded on! We have something very important to do regarding one of our number.”
His face is solemn. The elfs look up with curious sadness.
Bumford walks out of the changing room and returns with a small glass of purple fruit wine. He hands it to a dumbfounded Belay! with a huge smile on his face.
“Here you are lad. You’ve earned it.”
Paul stands up. “Well, I think I’m going to go and, you know, it’s been fun, ahem.”
He makes for the door.
“Good luck against in your next match.
”Bumford consults his chart. “Ah yes, goblins. Madcap Maulers. Everyone knows goblin teams are pushovers, and weak as toffee pudding as well.”
A sigh of relief from the remaining elfs. A nice, easy game with little bloodshed.
Paradise.
“Of course, that’s why they sneak in all sorts of interesting, hmm, handicap-levellers, if you catch my drift. Nothing huge, just a mushroom-crazed ball and chain, a few bombs, and-” he yelps with joy.
“Oh fantastic! They’re bringing a chainsaw!"
Bumford hops from foot to foot in glee.
Speechless faces.
One of the elfs faints.
No one helps him up.

---

FUMBBL replay

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures, game one: Necronobacon
 Post Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2016 9:44 pm 
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Brilliant!

Really makes you wonder WHY Elves are playing this game! Getting a beating more often than not...

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2016 10:53 pm 
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Love this stuff - keep posting please!


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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Wed Sep 07, 2016 10:21 am 
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Hahah! I love Bumford.

Well done on this. Great write-up. I can't wait to see what happens to the Goblins, though I might be biased as they're my favourite team. ;)


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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Wed Sep 07, 2016 12:18 pm 
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ROFL cheer cheer!!!
maybe its pastry elves rather than pasty elves, but well done


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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Wed Sep 07, 2016 4:47 pm 
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I've got eight match reports like this, so plenty to come! I don't want to rush them all out at once. Paaatience :)

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2016 11:21 am 
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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2016 1:22 pm 
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Jeez fine!

3: Madcap Maulers VS Nautical Imperatives

"It's a bloody disgrace is what it is," Bumford grumbles, pacing the changing room of Nautical Imperatives.
"Utter snotling shit."
The team know Bumford. They're scared to ask what might be causing his unhappiness.
"Look, just look!" Bumford thrusts his clipboard into the face of Hard to Larboard! who narrowly avoids losing a tooth.
"Not only is the smegging pogoer not fit to play, but the flipping Bombardier has lost his bottle too! Imagine getting injured against a Halfling team, disgraceful."
"I hear the trees are somewhat fierce in their-"
"Shut it Steady!, no one asked you, you good-for-nothing wet fart of an excuse for an elf."
Silence.
"No bombs, not even a one. So unfair."
Bumford wipes a tear.
"Still, no use crying over spilled gunpowder, eh? We've still got the ol' ball and chain and the chainsaw! Eh? So wipe that look off your faces and go get them, c'mon, hop to it!"
The elfs file out.
"Did he say chainsaw?" asks a merc by the name ofHoward.

---

A small army of Goblins meets them on the pitch following two enormous green and blue trolls. An orc, his massiveness emphasised by the goblins around him, saunters over to Bumford.
"Oi, Bumford! Long time no speak. Still sore abowt da last time I beats ya?"
Bumford stops and looks at the greenskin.
He turns to the elf next to him.
"Bloody Orcs. Uncivilised savages is what they are, and Da Boss is the worst of 'em"
Bumford spits.
The elf wipes the phlegm from his perfect outfit before Bumford continues.
"No grace, no style. No dignity."
"Buumfoooord, I's talkin' t'you!"
"Stick it up your bunghole you squig-faced troll-licker! I stil haven't got the stench out o' my boots since our last game! Tell your mum I said 'hi!'"
Scowls from the orc.
Giggles from the goblins.
Da Boss clubs one of them who hits the dirt and doesn't move.
"Bah. Imagine not having a backup bomber. Amateur stuff."
Somewhere nearby a throaty engine roars into life followed by a grinding sound of metal on metal. Bumford immediately cheers up.
"Ahh, that's better. Welp, off you go then."
"Uh, coach, no advice? What do we do?"
"Make it fun. That way everyone wins!"
"But the chai-"
"Make it fun! See you all at half time."
Bumford turns and struts to the sidelines, leaving a small gaggle of elfs looking at him as he goes.
One elf spots the referee chatting with Da Boss and another troll, this one covered head to toe in jewels and expensive looking clothes. The same troll is on an advert on the stadium walls.
Sir Trollington The Third's Executive Products for Deserving People
The troll is laughing and shaking hands with the ref, shovelling handful after handful of cold cash into his open hands.
"Is that... allowed?"
Before a fellow elf can respond, the whistle blows.

---

The day is beautiful.
The sun is bright, the day is clear.
Elfs line up and prepare to kick the ball deep into goblin territory.
The moment it's in the air, an insane goblin with an enormous spiked metal sphere attached to a chain starts swirling and swirling, battering elves over wherever he goes.
An even crazier looking goblin with a chainsaw starts cackling and sprinting around the pitch, chasing elfs back and forth.
The ball is largely forgotten.
Steady! stands still as the chainsaw goblin chases him having just downed Belay!.
Mustering all the strength he can, Steady! throws a wicked punch, flooring the goblin and knocking him clean out.
Bumford cheers from the stands until he realises it was the Chainsaw that was injured.
The cheers from him turn to jeers and threats. The words "twist", "privates" and "blunt knife" float through the wave of angry dwarfish.
The elfs grab the ball and run it in, almost being stopped by a wave of green.
The referee moves to send the Fanatic off, but he is intercepted by Sir Trollington, who crosses his palm with enough silver to stop the ref in his tracks.

The games continues in a similar fashion, with the Elfs managing to score two more times before full time.
The goblins actually remembered the ball on occasion, nearly scoring once or twice, until Bumford's threats to "take the goblin down ya wusses" scared the elfs into aggressive defensive action.
Each time, Sir Trollington consistently offers enough green to the ref to keep the fanatic on the pitch, but is looking a little more unhappy each time he does.
The ref's whistle blows full time,
3-0 to Nautical Imperatives.

---

Miraculously, no one is permanently injured.
The elfs are actually chatting happily with each other.
No one hurt, 3-0 up. Enough money in the bank to start actually replacing lost players.
Bumford kicks the door in.
It actually flies off the hinges.
"First! The Bomber is too sick to play. 
Second! You actually injure the Chainsaw player, so much so he has to stop playing! 
Third! None of you sustains so much as a scratch!
Utterly worthless, totally useless!
Not so much as astubbed toe! Why do I even bother!"
Bumford collapses sulking into a chair.
The chattering has stopped.
"Pff, still. Season's still got some way to go."
A pause.
"Who're we playing next, coach?"
Bumford sniffs. He looks at his clipboard.
"Chaulssin Shadows. Oh, hang on." He sits up, looking more excited.
"They're elfs too. Black armour. Spikes. Insane semi-naked lady elfs. Oh this should be good! Apparently they try to kill as much as they score. My kind of elf!!"

FUMBBL replay

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Thu Sep 08, 2016 2:40 pm 
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(In order to kill any false suspense, because of scheduling problems the game against the Dark Elf team was never played, much to Bumford's chargrin. The next game will be against the Nurgle team, Reddit Rotters.)

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Fri Sep 09, 2016 12:04 am 
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I cant imagine Bumford being happy about that.. must have been a hell of a bribe his players put together to buy off the other team from even showing up! impressive.lol


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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2016 4:36 pm 
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4: Reddit Rotters VS Nautical Imperatives

There is a stench in the air, and for once its source is not Bumford, the dwarven coach of Nautical Imperatives.

The elfs all sit in their dressing room with an assortment of delicate handkerchiefs pressed to their faces.
Gags and coughs splutter from those unfortunate enough to have to remove their kerchiefs to drink or talk.
One elf, To The Brig!, is desperately trying to drown the smell out with perfume, but it isn't helping.

Bumford enters the room, totally unphased by the miasma filling it.
"Mornin' wusses!" he beams, clipboard in one hand, package in the other, bottle under one arm.
He looks around the room.
"Oh come on, it's not that bad. It's just a bit of a whiff is all. Come on, I have a present for ya."
The idea of a gift from the coach strikes the team as an instant threat. Nevertheless, they crowd in as best they can.
Bumford puts down the bottle and clipboard, considers, picks up the bottle again and pops the cork.
A small purple cloud giggles from the bottle before he takes a swig.
He sets the bottle down again.

"What was that?" pipes Nicholas Clearbone, the most recent in a line of mercenaries somehow finding their way to the team.
"Another gift, lad, but for the opposition. More on that later." Bumford smirks.
"Anyway, this is what I wanted t'show ya."
He snaps the lid of the box and whips out the contents.
An enormous, ludicrously proportioned codpiece crackles with eldritch energy.
"A... codpiece?" asks Board!.
"A magic codpiece. For you, in fact milad, well volunteered!" Bumford thrusts the frankly pornographic affectation at Board!, much to the amusement of the other elfs.
Their laughs turn to gags as they unwittingly inhale more of the putrid air.
"Anyway, Nurgle's lads today. They're a cakewalk, slow as pudding, nimble as a worm. Speaking of which, watch out for the worms. And tentacles. Oh, and I wouldn't touch them if I were you, just to be safe. Ok, off you go!"

---

As the elfs file out, Bumford staggers over to the other side of the stadium, just outside the Reddit Rotters own dressing room.
Bottle in hand, he knocks once and walks in.
The milk-curdling, hair-curling wall of stench that meets him doesn't appear to affect him in the slightest.

"Right then," shouts Bumford. Eyes, many, many eyes, turn towards him. "Who's the toughest son-of-an-elf that thinks they can outdrink me then, eh?" He shuts the door behind him.

---

A few minutes later, the Nurgle team slide and shamble from their dressing room.
Some of the largest humans the elfs have ever seen stand at the forefront, armoured to the teeth.
Behind them, an indescribable monstrosity gurgles forwards. Grasping tentacles, all manner of appendages, teeth, eyes, all flail around it.
Gulps of fear from the elfs.
The referee, in some form of crude gas mask, blows the whistle through a straw.
The ball is kicked by Steady! and promptly flies off the pitch. The ref hands the ball to the largest of the warriors, a brute named Angas.
"How on earth are we supposed to get the ball from that... thing!?" cries an elf.
Meanwhile, Bumford is walking back to the stands near his team, a slightly more uncontrolled swagger than normal.
He flumps on a bench.
Somewhere on the other side of the pitch, a veteran Pestigor is still recovering.

---

A furious half of the game sees elf after elf throw themselves at Angas, but it's not until Belay! practically hurls himself at Angas back, forcing him into a scrum of elfs, that four elfs can all jump on him at once.
Miraculously, one knocks the ball free, and Stow Mainsails!grabs it and flees backwards.
As elfs begin to free themselves (apart from the elfs wrapped in tentacles who stay very firmly where they are), Stow looks for a target to pass to.
He finds it hard to concentrate with the moist, necrotic air, so in stead elects to sprint up the pitch.
He manages to score just before the Ref blows his whistle for half time.

---

As the elfs enter their changing room a decrepit old woman is shuffling away. Her eye catches the accessory ofBelay!, and the woman hobbles over to Bumford, whispering something in his ear.
He nods solemnly.
"What did you do?" asks Hard to Larboard! once the team are alone again with their coach. "That... beast, whatever it was, spent the first half being sick in the corner!"
"Rule number one - doesn't matter who you are, whether yer a zombified creature of darkness and plague or not, never try to outdrink a dwarf" Bumford laughs.
"Rule number two - Witches make good allies if you need a favour. Oh, which reminds me, Board!, after the game there's a lady I need to introduce you to. You'll be spending the night with her as a, ahem, favour to me. Don't worry, she's very friendly. You're not allergic to warts, are you?"
Belay doesn't hear him.
He sits in silence.
The only sound he makes is the odd fizz or crackle from the anti-chastity belt he's wearing.
"And," Bumford brings his voice to a whisper, "bring the codpiece."

---

The second half happens much like the first.
The elfs are trying desperately to avoid as much tentacle and pestilence as they can, but a now enraged pestigor charges elf after elf with renewed vigour.
A lucky thrust fromBelay! sees the codpiece pierce the Pestigor right through face, but cries of triumph from the elf are soon changed to horror as the hole fills once again with rotten flesh, the creature unfazed by the murderous injury.
As the game draws to a close, Hard to Larboard! snatches the ball again and sprints for the end zone, barely making it, the sound of tentacles whipping the air behind him.
The game ends 2-0.

---

"Job's a good'un lads! Well played today!" says Bumford. Elfs are sitting in various states of horror. Some are covered in slime. Others have sucker-shaped bruises. Some look as if they've not slept in weeks.
The old woman quietly walks into the room, takes an unresisting Belay! by the hand, and walks out again.
"I'd say we're doing pretty well this season!" Bumford flips through his clipboard again. "Lets see, who're we facing next..."
He squints. Then he grunts, and spits.
"Pff, waste of time. Stupid matchup."
"What is it coach?" floats a plaintive voice, followed by a cough and dry heave.
"'Welfare'? That's a stupid name. A stupid name for a stupid team. Bloody useless. Suddenly it's all 'oh no, let's actually pass the ball, let's not try to kill everyone that moves, la de da la da lo, ooh look at my lovely hair.' Game's gone to the dogs."
Expectant looks greet his tantrum. He sighs and looks at the team.

He says: "Do you know what a 'Wardancer' is?"

FUMBBL Replay

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Thu Sep 29, 2016 9:15 pm 
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5: Welf[A]re VS Nautical Imperatives
The air is much cleaner than it was last match. All is as it should be; the sun shines, the breeze is gentle, and Bumford is cursing expertly.
"Stupid! Waste've time! What's the point!?" he roars, "it's boring is what it is!"
The elfs surrounding him are, as usual, quietly sitting through his tantrum. All in all it takes about five minutes for him to calm down.
"Well, might as well try to win I suppose. Pff." Bumford sighs and stands authoritatively to address the team. He grumbles something about how to pronounce a name with brackets.
"The thing to remember about elfs," he begins, hocking and spitting at the word, "is that they're spindly as shit and wet as winter. Seriously, a stiff wind is enough to knock one down. I saw an elf break his leg tying his shoes once. Useless, pasty faced, weakling snotling-fondlers are elfs. Every one of them."
Bumford is immune to the looks he is getting from Nautical Imperatives.
"With that in mind, the way to play is to beat'm up. These elfs, these... Wood Elves... Urgh, well, they're everything ya are and better. They're faster, more skillful, some've them are even tougher than ya. So basically, just go out there and bash some skulls in, alright?"
The elfs are disquieted by this.
"They're... faster than us?" squeaks the newest member of the team Row, Damn Your Eyes!. Up until this point,Nautical have not faced an enemy that could match them in speed. Without that to rely on...
"Aye," spits Bumford again. "So expect lots of running away. Lots of... actual ball handling... Eurgh, I think I need a sit down." Bumford collapses into a chair.
The elfs look at each other. A bell starts chiming from the pitch. They get up and file out. Bumford doesn't follow.

---

Welf[A]re are on the pitch waiting.
They look similar at a glance to Nautical, but each is taller, more lithe, and with even larger, pouffier hair.
Jealously starts to bubble beneath the surface. Some elfs control it better than others.
One elf, Belay!, even spits, much to the consternation of his nearby teammates.
Two Wood Elves in particular, Help Plx and Piroutte, look menacingly towards them. These are different from the others. More powerfully built, more tattooed, the biggest hair of all of them. 
Belay! cracks his knuckles.
Bumford wipes a tear and shuffles out of the changing room, ale sloshing around an enormous mug, more like a bucket, that he holds in both hands.
He looks from team to team,
to the crowd,
back to the beer,
and shakes his head.
"Game's gone to the dogs."
The ref blows his whistle. Welf[A]re kicks the ball.

---

The first half, from the point of view of those that appreciate the spectacle of elves playing blood bowl, was superb. The ball flew back and forth, in and out, soaring between teams and each side fought for possession. Nautical scored early, and Welfare scored in return. Wardancers lept with abandon over the heads of their slower cousins, breaking grips and breaking noses.

By the time the whistle blew, each team had scored twice. The score was 2-2.

---

Bumford met the team back in the changing room.
"Well, what did I tell you. No one so much as scratched. Waste of time."
The elfs are out of breath. This is the hardest game they've ever played.
"Well, best get back I suppose." sighs Bumford. He is glum.

---

The second half begins with renewed vigour. The Wood Elves toy with their masked relatives, darting back and forth, just out of reach. Something snaps in Belay!, and he starts lashing out with unmatched fury. Two elves are escourted off the pitch because of him. The Wardancer Help Plx sees this and decides to cash in his chips. He leaps over Belay!, laughing as he does, and scores the third touchdown for Welfare, dangerously close to the final whistle.

Bumford sits up. His team hasn't yet lost. His attention is suddenly as fervous as it has ever been this season. It's one thing to be stuck watching game of disgusting elf on elf blood bowl (especially if there are none of those sexy lady elves...), quite another to actually LOSE a game. He notices the small pile of injured wood elves on the sideline.

He jumps to his feet.

"Come on lads! You can do it! ..P-pass the ball to, eugh, toWeigh Anchor!! Come ON!!"
He's cheering with the rest. Nautical may be a bunch of stinking elfs, but by Arnok they were his stinking elfs.
The timer is running dangerously low. The team is tired. Their opponents are not. The ball flies to the elf team, who sprint with all their might towards the Wood Elf lines.

"COME ON!"

Help Plx sees Board!, ball in hand. He runs, even faster, towards him, jumping straight over lines of defense.

"COME OOOON!!!"

With a disgusting momentum, Help Plx aims a boot right at the face of Board!, who spots it just in time. A roll and he's not hurt, but something is wrong. The Wood Elf was not aiming for his head. The impact he heard wasn't the sound of pain, but the sound of the ball being knocked from his hands. The Wardancer laughs, kicking the ball away to land in the hands of another Wood Elf.

Belay! snarls wordlessly and hurls himself at this unlucky Wood Elf, but can't knock him down. The whistle blows.Belay! doesn't hear it. It takes three of his team mates to hold him back.

Bumford is speechless, for once.

The score is 2-3.

---

The changing room's atmosphere is unlike anything experienced this season. No laughing, no cussing. No sound at all.
Bumford stands in the middle of the room.
The team sit facing inwards, heads down. Belay! is clenching and unclenching his fists.
Bumford throws his empty ale bucket at the wall, where it shatters.
Elfs flinch in response. He stomps over to Belay!, who looks up with fury still in his eyes.

Bumford rests a hand on Belay!'s shoulder.
"You did good." says Bumford, and pats him affectionately. "Can't win 'em all. Maybe next time, eh?"
He turns to leave. The team looks at him.

"Oh, and a nice treat for you all next week. You're playing hobbits."
Bumford stops and turns around. He smiles broadly.
"Good job out there lads. I'm proud of ya, alright?"
The team smile in response. The room warms.

Bumford's expression drops.

"But you if lose to those pot bellied stump-humpers next week, I swear I'm going t' kill all of you."

He smiles again, and walks out of the room.

FUMBBL Replay

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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Thu Sep 29, 2016 10:40 pm 
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Belay! Should have just made that 3 elfs stretcherd off, but good job


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 Post subject: Re: Bumford's Adventures
 Post Posted: Fri Sep 30, 2016 1:38 pm 
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Just discovered this thread. Jolly good read. Keep it up matey :)

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