Alexander Manger sat in the corner of the run-down Horned Dragon Tavern and Inn. The scene around him was unusually quiet for an evening in one of the hot spots of Altdorf. Still, there was plenty going on at the tavern. Nearest to Manger was a table which hosted three tough looking wanderers, all sporting tattoos on their large forearms and rings on their scrubby faces. Manger kept his head down and drank his juice quietly.

“Would you like some company tonight, dear?” asked a pretty lady with blonde hair as she approached Manger’s table. “You look lonely.” She was wearing a fine blue blouse that was a little too tight for her. Manger waved her off and, disappointed, she left him for the table of rouges. They approved of her company and roared with laughter.

Manger caught eyes with the bartender. “You sure all you want is juice? I have the best beer from Araby to the Mountains of Mourn,” he had said when Manger first walked downstairs. But Manger had refused and ordered a small juice made from crushed fruits as he had the done past three nights.

Two nights ago, the bartender had seen Manger with two burly, but young looking Orcs. Apparently they had been making a deal because just before the Orcs left, they all shook hands. Manger must have made them happy because afterwards, the Orcs jumped and cried with glee.

The bartender gave Manger an uneasy look as if he didn’t know what to make of the odd stranger.

Manger looked like he clearly had money, although he was not lavish with it. His bright green and yellow eyes looked as if they were on fire at times. His face was filled with the passion of youth and the desire for a bigger lot in the world. He was not handsome, and he was average height if not a little lighter, but there was something in his look that made his presence larger than he was. Yet now he remained in his corner silently starring at his glass, indifferent to the world around him.

Three men walked into the tavern in rapid succession. Manger motioned them all over to his table. They all complied and sat around him. They looked at each other for a minute, seizing each other up. Manger motioned to the waitress for beers for his companions and then clasped hands with each of them.

“Mr. Leonard Jorkins,” he said as he shook the first hand. Jorkins was a very tall and wide man and had the look in his eye that dared people to mess with him and to see what would happen. He had a shaved head and thick arms. His large nose was slightly flattened presumably in a brawl when he was younger. But his most defining feature was the daemonic looking creature tattooed onto his forehead. It was snakelike, but had limbs that ended in sharp claws. The whole thing was obviously evil and even the eyes of the tattooed creature seemed to glow red amongst the dark color of the drawing.

“Mr. Jason Dark,” Manger said as he shook the second hand. Dark was clearly the richest one there and was not afraid to show it, although by the envious and criminal looks he was getting from the other patrons of the tavern, he ought to have been. He was taller than Manger, but not as tall as Jorkins. But physical abilities did not seem to be his strong point. Dark was clearly an intellectual, which made an odd comparison with Jorkins.

“Mr. Gregory Summers,” Manger said as he shook the last man’s hand. Although Summers was the same age as Manger, he appeared to be a lot older. He had a weary and rugged look about him suggesting he had encountered all the wonders of the world and was bored of them. He had scars along his arms and face to match.

“You can drop the pretense Alex, we’re all friends here,” said Summers.

“I’m afraid I called you here on business, and so I would like to remain professional about this,” Manger said quickly. Without skipping a beat, he continued. “As you may know Mr. Summers, I am quite restless with my position on my father’s lands. You can image my thirst for adventure that you yourself have slacked. I have enough of my father’s money to live quite comfortably at home, but that would be the sensible thing to do, and as I have learned, the sensible thing to do only gets you nowhere.” The others looked at Summers. “I therefore wish to cut to the chase and make you three a proposition.”

The waitress delivered them three beers from the bar. Dark took a small swig, looked quizzically at the mug, and then set it lightly down. Jorkins took two big gulps and set his mug down, unphased by the drink. Summers was the last to finish, and slammed his mug down harder than he had anticipated.

There was a pause and suddenly Manger’s guests were paying keen attention to Manger. Manger seemed to enjoy their interest and held his words for a few moments before he unleashed them upon his intent listeners. “I wish to start a Blood Bowl team,” he said simply. Jorkins betrayed no emotion from his stone face. Dark gave an eye-bulging look at Manger. Summers just leaned back and smiled knowingly.

“You can’t just decide you are going to start a Blood Bowl team,” said Dark. “It takes money, knowledge, resources –”

“Spare me the lecture Jason,” cut off Manger, loosing his pretense of professionalism. “I know how risky this sort of thing can be. That is why I have not decided to go it alone and have asked for your presences here tonight.” Dark relaxed.

“I have thought this through,” he continued. “We won’t need cheerleaders or assistant coaches because we are playing in a semi-pro league. I have some money allotted for galvanizing fans, so we’ll have a decent cheering section. And there is already a reliable team lined up to play for me. I just need you,” he said looking at Dark, “to help me with uniforms, travel, water and oranges, and general financial management.

“To tell you the truth, I may have watched a few games on Cabalvision, but I don’t really know what goes on in a Blood Bowl camp off the pitch, or any of the complexities of an actual game. That is why I have asked you here, Greg, my friend.” Summers just kept on smiling knowingly. “You played in Albion for two seasons with the Hallytown Half-Backs and then acted as an assistant coach for them when they got to the finals of the Far Albion Tournament. You have the professional experience I need to help me launch a new team.

“You, Jason, are here because I want you to help me plan for this financially. I know you love this stuff, and I can see you’re good at it. Will you do it?”

“What exactly am I agreeing to do here, Alex?” asked Dark. “I’ve already got a decent job at the First Empirical Bank.”

“Just to help me around the specifics of managing a Blood Bowl team or two.”

“Two? You’ll have your hands full with one!” protested Dark.

“Relax! I’m going to try it out before I take on more teams,” said Manger reassuringly. Dark still gave him a shocked look of reprisal, so Manger turned back to Summers.

“You will help me no doubt,” he said to Summers. Still smiling, he nodded enthusiastically.

“Anything to help an old friend,” he said, clapping Manger on the arm with his scarred hand.

Manger then looked at Jorkins, who chillingly had remained silent and stone faced until then. Suddenly, he looked at Manger with a curious interest.

Manger took a different tone with Jorkins. He resumed his professional demeanor and talked a tone like a businessman. “Managing a Blood Bowl team is quite dangerous, as you may presume. I can think of a lot of ways that this whole experiment could spell bad news quickly. I need muscle, not only on the pitch, but off it.” He caught the look in Jorkins’ eye. “No, I am not asking you to play for my team.” Jorkins sat up straighter. “I am merely asking you and your band of bodyguards to be, well, bodyguards for me and my team. I would pay you and your friends well,” he said hopefully.

Jorkins just gave him a look that seemed to ask, ‘why?’

Manger read this look and replied neatly, “Do it as a favor to my father.”

For the first time that night, Jorkins spoke. “I consent. We’ll work out the details tomorrow. Meet me here in the morning.” And with that, he got up and briskly walked out of the tavern.

Dark, who was still looking at Manger as if he had sprouted another head, sat in shocked silence. Summers just gave a chuckle.

“‘As a favor to my father.’ How lame can you get, Alex?” he said merrily.

“It worked didn’t it? He obviously still has some loyalty to my father, which I was counting on,” replied Manger.

“He is more likely to have guilt rather than loyalty. Be careful around him. From what you told me, he isn’t the kind of guy to find yourself with in a dark alley,” said Summers, as he took another long swig from his mug.

“He’ll be good enough for the job I’m asking of him. That’s all that matters,” retorted Manger.

After a pause during which Summers finished his beer, he said, “In Blood Bowl, you always have to know where the bigger guys are, and then be ready for them if they decide to come your way.”

“Right, right.” Manger waved him off.

After another pause, Dark finally looked at Manger with a straight face and said, “You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you?” more as a statement than a question.

Manger looked him straight in the eye and said, “Yes.”

“And I bet since we were friends from long ago that you expect me to help you,” replied Dark.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything. But I know you and you probably can’t stand working for a bunch of ninnies at the First Empirical Bank. I guarantee that this job will be more exciting that the one you have now.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of…” responded Dark wearily. He thought for a few moments as Summers downed a second mug which he had gotten from the waitress. “Well, if there’s no stopping you from doing this, I might as well help out and keep you out of trouble. I would hate to see my old friend lose everything he has to a dumb investment.”

“This is Blood Bowl! Nothing is as certain as money in this sport!” exclaimed Summers between gulps.

“Well then,” said Manger as he cleared his throat. He resumed his professional manner. “Since we have all agreed to do this, then I suggest we nail down some specifics before we go to bed.”