Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The largest tavern in Karak Azgaraz was crowded. All available seats were occupied by dwarves who were drinking and chatting, but every one of the visitors cast a glance at the big ball in the center of the hall. This big ball was a kind of mix between a projector and a TV, and all the visitors were waiting for it to activate. 

The reason for this interest was that today the team from their city would find out who they would face in their first match. It didn't seem like a big deal. A new team will soon play its first match, how many such teams were there, even if they managed to raise money and players to become an official professional team. Most of them fell apart in a couple of years or just in one very crappy season. 

But for the people of Karak Azgaraz, this team was special. First, it was the first team from their city in a very long time that was professional, not a bunch of amateurs who play on weekends and even then not so much. Second, there were some unusual individuals among the players. One was a strong and sturdy man who had been able to earn the title of Azumgi with his strength and skills. Another was a one-eyed elf who decided to become a blitzer and was able to show good potential. Although many were spitting and muttering that it would be better if the team did not have a damn long-eared ones who do not recognize dwarven ale and drink their sour wines, and even say something about the true pride of dwarves, their beards. These two certainly added an interesting exotic and spicy touch to the team, but the most amazing thing was the drunken Treeman who could out-drink almost half of the male population of the city, and only the long-bearded veterans could drink with him as equals. Well actually, the last time they decided to find out who was a greater admirer of Bugman's, them or this Treeman, it ended in a draw, because they simply ran out of beer, and the participants of the argument held on only thanks to the dwarves' stubbornness and thick roots. 

- Hurry up, guys! We're late! Drunkard! Come on, hurry up! - I shout loudly and run inside the tavern. - Oh! We made it. Hey, everybody! Make some room! The whole team will be here soon. 

- А? Don't you have your own Cabal Vision orb? - One of the visitors asked. 

- Uh. It's been having some technical issues. - I didn't exactly lie, I couldn't tell them we'd broken it with Korhil when we were trying to get free access to a channel that showed erotic elven dances, and we'd been zapped with protective magic. 

At this point, the entire team comes running into the tavern and we are given seats up front. We sit down on the vacated seats and watch as the orb starts flashing, from bright red it changes color to green. 

- Here we go! - loudly shouts the crowd. 

The crystal blinks one last time and a magic screen appears. For a couple moments we see interference until everything changes to the Cabal Vision splash screen. 3...2...1. 

- Greetings dear Blood Bowl fans! I'm Jim Johnson. Unfortunately, my partner Bob is a little busy promoting his latest sports supplement so it's just me today. - the famous commentator Jim Johnson appeared on the screen, an old vampire who resembles a typical 17th-18th century aristocrat except for the sun glasses and fangs. 

- Usually I'm quick to read off a list of rookie matches among professional teams, but this time a team from Karak Azgaraz caught my eye. You might be thinking this is another dwarf team, but no! It's a mixed team. Moreover, it is not a mixed team that are quite popular in the Old World, but really mixed. They include not only the expected dwarves and humans, but also one representative each of Treeman and Elves. - here in the studio they turned on the sound, annoyed with the crowd. 

- But, but, my dear viewers. These aren't the boring teams that are all about scoring touchdowns and don't care about being entertaining for their fans. The elf on their team will play the blitzer position and Treeman, judging by the notes from the medical board and the Athel-Loren tree department, is suffering from...third-stage alcoholism. Uh, yeah. What can I say? The team already has its own interesting mascot player. Oh, I forgot, the name of the new team is the Guards of the Drunken Tree. - Jim laughed out loud and I did a facepalm that names still makes me feel embarrassed and pissed off. 

- A rather unusual name for a team of dwarves, but judging by their player mascot I'm not even surprised. An alcoholic tree is a rarity. As you can see, dear viewers, the team is truly unusual. Their opponents, on the other hand, are quite ordinary. Well, ordinary. As a team of goblins " Fungus Nose", the usual gang of half-crazy mushroom fanatics and cunning cheaters ready to sneak a troll under the guise of a few players, which regenerates and together with two other trolls begins to simply destroy the defense of the enemy team. - There was a recording of a match where a troll with a normal torso but with legs like a baby tries to hammer one orc with another orc held in his hand. 

- Fucking grobies. I'll soon have a couple more troll teeth as trophies around my neck. - Bron grinned with bloodthirst when he saw the trolls. 

- Yeah, and Korhil and I will have to fend off crowds of stoned, green-haired morons armed with all sorts of crap. We'll have to drink some elixirs for rabies and whatever else they've got on their teeth. - I sigh. 

- The most important thing is to knock out their fanatic with the iron ball. Otherwise we'll be flying all over the field. - Korhil shares his thoughts, scanning the goblins for other lovers of foul but effective weapons like chainsaws. 

- You will fly, but us dwarves and Baha will just be pushed back. - Kazran showed up behind us. 

- I'm nervous coach. - I shuddered, imagining how a heavy chain ball flies right in my face.

- Don't worry about it. I've done it a hundred times. Or rather experienced. A slight concussion or a nose bone will take a healer two days to assemble it back. - he smirked and pointed his finger at his nose, which I think was broken more often than I was knocked out. 

- Thanks, Kazran. You know how to motivate a player to calmly accept his death on the field. I'm seeing a real professional. - I reply sarcastically. 

Commentator Jim Johnson finished with the announcement of other rookie matches and began to discuss the brightest, or rather bloody moments of the recent games. I was busy thinking about how we would deal with trolls if there were not two, but three, or in case of a big bribe to the referee, four. 

- Bron, as the most experienced among us in the genocide of the green and dumb, what advice do you have? 

- Geno what? Oh, you mean extermination. Well, with trolls it's simple. Hit them. Hit them a lot. If you're lucky, you'll either give them a good concussion or damage the bones of their skull so that they can't regenerate without a long regeneration period. So just hit 'em, that's all. And try not to get hit or puked on. Nasty trolls like to do that sometimes to soften their food. Brrr. - Bron grimaced and rubbed a couple of scars and old burn marks. 

- That's it? But there must be other options besides that, right? What are they afraid of? 

- Trolls? Fire. I doubt you can hide a flamethrower in your pants, and they won't let you make a big enough bonfire. 

- That's a shame. Fire would have been a really good help. - I sigh and think I should ask for a stronger helmet and a drink before the game. 

The alcoholic tree burps loudly at the side of us and we are enveloped in an alcoholic fog. 

- I've had it! Last time he burped so loud that Rook, who was trying to light a cigarette, almost lost the hair on his head. When are you going to get wasted? - I shut up at the last word, for, remembering that unpleasant moment, a sneaky but interesting thought pops into my head. 

I go to the bartender and ask him to give me a couple of bottles of vodka or moonshine. Taking them, I go to our main alcoholic of the team. 

- Listen, don't you want to discover the world of really fiery drinks? - with a smile worthy of the Joker, I wave the bottles in front of Treeman's nose. 

Treeman instinctively tensed at the word fiery, but the alcoholic's nature took over. A couple of moments of frantic gaze shifts between my joker's smile, which didn't bode well and the bottles so tantalizingly shiny. Sighing and taking the bottle in one hand and the nearest dwarf for a snifter with the other, the Treeman nodded. 

- Good decision. Now you start emptying those bottles and I'll go find Rook. He's already experienced in firefighting so he should do a good job. - I'm off to find the almost bald dwarf. 

Finding him was easy, since that time Rook does not part with a special helmet, which has a built-in protection for the beard especially if the alcoholic tree is closer than 25 meters. 

- Rook! I have some good news for you. - I'm placing a hand on his shoulder. 

- Yeah? What's that? - He looks at me with surprise.

- You're going to be the first operator of a self-propelled flamethrower powered by alcohol! - I smile at him, and he starts to tremble, a drop of sweat running down his temple.

I turn around and point him at the Treeman drinking moonshine. Rook abruptly clutches at his heart and falls to the ground. 

- I knew you'd lose your senses from sheer happiness! Guys, Bugman's to this brave and kind soul! - the crowd roars loudly and joyously, while Rook seems to have passed out. 

- It's all right, Rook. It's all about defeating Groby! - I'm laughing, and I'm already imagining burning trolls running across the field. 

- Mm. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. 

I smile, watching Rook flinch as he tries to light a cigarette and Treeman shakily empties a bottle of vodka and sniffs a dwarf.