37 coaches online • Server time: 17:18
* * * Did you know? The fouliest player is Bruce Wayne XVII with 2010 fouls.
Recent Forum Topics  Dealing with a massi... | Increasing the max R... | Disturbing presence ... |
2014-11-05 20:37:47
10 votes, rating 5.8
10 votes, rating 5.8
FC: The Impossible Dream
Whilst many across the city wake to the crowing of a rooster, the breaking of this particular day at this particular Inn is announced by blood curdling screaming. Grown men of violence are driven from their beds by the screams sending a chill up their spines. Weapons are bought to bear, shutters fly open, doors swung wide, and the hallway flooded as these fearless men leap to action.
Halfway down the hall a door remains closed, one of their own is unaccounted for and this is his room. The screams have drawn them to this door, and a pair of strong shoulders sees it breached. Confusion reigns as no enemy is found, but a man thrashes in his bed, drenched in sweat, limbs failing out at the first of his teammates to approach.
"Watch his feet!" barks a voice of authority. "Make a hole!"
Order has arrived as Coach Stikkyfingers steps past his Blitzers and empties a bucket of water onto the man thrashing in his sleep.
A gasping and shaking Richard Hotstone hoarsely struggles for words. "Green... Stunty... Out in the first round... So much blood... the dead..."
"Hush now Richard," soothed the Coach. Addressing a player by his first name was a shock to the team crowding the room and its entrance, as foreign to them as the soft tones in their Coach's voice. "It was just a bad dream. We're all here. It's all okay."
"But I saw it Coach, it was so real. Gobbos and out in the first round. Hacket's dead!"
"Hacket's in the doorway behind DeShank and the draw hasn't even been made yet," the familiar steel had returned to Coach Stikkyfingers voice. "Nobody ever loses to goblins in the first round of a major! Certainly not the Sons of Brutus! Get a grip boy!"
"And you lot, since you're up I'll have you working!" it was time to get some order to the Sons. "Fifteen laps before anyone gets breakfast!"
"And somebody find me my pants!"
Halfway down the hall a door remains closed, one of their own is unaccounted for and this is his room. The screams have drawn them to this door, and a pair of strong shoulders sees it breached. Confusion reigns as no enemy is found, but a man thrashes in his bed, drenched in sweat, limbs failing out at the first of his teammates to approach.
"Watch his feet!" barks a voice of authority. "Make a hole!"
Order has arrived as Coach Stikkyfingers steps past his Blitzers and empties a bucket of water onto the man thrashing in his sleep.
A gasping and shaking Richard Hotstone hoarsely struggles for words. "Green... Stunty... Out in the first round... So much blood... the dead..."
"Hush now Richard," soothed the Coach. Addressing a player by his first name was a shock to the team crowding the room and its entrance, as foreign to them as the soft tones in their Coach's voice. "It was just a bad dream. We're all here. It's all okay."
"But I saw it Coach, it was so real. Gobbos and out in the first round. Hacket's dead!"
"Hacket's in the doorway behind DeShank and the draw hasn't even been made yet," the familiar steel had returned to Coach Stikkyfingers voice. "Nobody ever loses to goblins in the first round of a major! Certainly not the Sons of Brutus! Get a grip boy!"
"And you lot, since you're up I'll have you working!" it was time to get some order to the Sons. "Fifteen laps before anyone gets breakfast!"
"And somebody find me my pants!"
Comments
Posted by Endzone on 2014-11-05 23:55:09
...later that evening...
A seasoned pro, John Linebreaker, is sat near the bar quaffing his fifteenth ale when he sees a shrivelled old man with a wispy white beard hobble over.
"You'll be taking part in the Fumbbl Cup no doubt."
The pro raises his mug and sinks half of it. "What do you want?"
"Buy me an ale and I'll tell you your fortune."
"Ha! Be gone you old fool!"
"If you don't know who kills you next week, how are you going to duck the blow?"
"Die do I?"
"Just so, and I know who your killer is...for an ale."
"Think me stupid? Huh. Really?! Huh. Barkeep! Another round, and one for the old man!" "This had better be good, or I'll be telling the story of who kills you - ha-hah!"
The old man gives a knowing smile. "Let me tell you a story."
"Two years ago Jeremiah Kool, captain of the Darkside Cowboys, brought his best eleven to win the Fumbbl Cup, but he was killed in their first match by a Halfling."
"Huh! What rubbish!"
"Not so. (http://fumbbl.com/p/team?op=view&team_id=668893) Now after their failed campaign, the Cowboys disappeared and have not been seen since."
"Fascinating story old man, but if you're telling me a dead elf is going to me I'll have that ale off you now and introduce you to this!" (The drunken brute gestures with his fist spike.)
"No, no, no, you need not fear their ex-captain, he is quite dead, at least they said he was... no fear their new one."
"What?"
"Hubris Rakarth. He is quite a different sort. Whilst Kool played quarterback, Rakarth is just a killer. They say he can leap clean over a man and break his neck from behind before he even knows he's there."
"Huh, he's just an elf, right?"
"A Daaark Elf. Very nasty, very cold, very deadly. Now they say a dark elf team with a vicious captain beat some orcs and then some goblins in just the last week, they are coming here."
"Do you hear this old fool! He is an idiot - hey everyone do you hear him?"
Barkeeper: I think you've had enough Johnny - there's nobody there.
A seasoned pro, John Linebreaker, is sat near the bar quaffing his fifteenth ale when he sees a shrivelled old man with a wispy white beard hobble over.
"You'll be taking part in the Fumbbl Cup no doubt."
The pro raises his mug and sinks half of it. "What do you want?"
"Buy me an ale and I'll tell you your fortune."
"Ha! Be gone you old fool!"
"If you don't know who kills you next week, how are you going to duck the blow?"
"Die do I?"
"Just so, and I know who your killer is...for an ale."
"Think me stupid? Huh. Really?! Huh. Barkeep! Another round, and one for the old man!" "This had better be good, or I'll be telling the story of who kills you - ha-hah!"
The old man gives a knowing smile. "Let me tell you a story."
"Two years ago Jeremiah Kool, captain of the Darkside Cowboys, brought his best eleven to win the Fumbbl Cup, but he was killed in their first match by a Halfling."
"Huh! What rubbish!"
"Not so. (http://fumbbl.com/p/team?op=view&team_id=668893) Now after their failed campaign, the Cowboys disappeared and have not been seen since."
"Fascinating story old man, but if you're telling me a dead elf is going to me I'll have that ale off you now and introduce you to this!" (The drunken brute gestures with his fist spike.)
"No, no, no, you need not fear their ex-captain, he is quite dead, at least they said he was... no fear their new one."
"What?"
"Hubris Rakarth. He is quite a different sort. Whilst Kool played quarterback, Rakarth is just a killer. They say he can leap clean over a man and break his neck from behind before he even knows he's there."
"Huh, he's just an elf, right?"
"A Daaark Elf. Very nasty, very cold, very deadly. Now they say a dark elf team with a vicious captain beat some orcs and then some goblins in just the last week, they are coming here."
"Do you hear this old fool! He is an idiot - hey everyone do you hear him?"
Barkeeper: I think you've had enough Johnny - there's nobody there.
Posted by Endzone on 2014-11-06 00:02:55
I meant this http://fumbbl.com/p/match?op=view&id=3353704