Gerald allowed himself a small smile as the bodies from the shattered Chaos team were carried off the pitch. He wiped the gore from his claw and before waving it, in a friendly manner, to the opposition coach, whose furrowed brow demonstrates his evident distress and confusion at having seen his glorious team out bashed by a motley gang of mutated goblins and skaven.

La'ra – who made both kills in the game – was being carried off the pitch to the rarely heard sounds of cheering Underdogs' fans. Ber'anx was emerging from the injury tent, once more unhurt, and the shy Star'guard was bashfully signing autographs. Head goblin Green-goo was organising other greenskins in gathering all the faeces left by local stray dogs, and by the Underdogs' fan, undoubtedly to hurl at the retreating Chaos players. A sensation of contentment suffused Gerald as he looked around the ground – this is what he had formed the Underdogs for in the first place – that and the possibilities for highly profitable betting practices of dubious legality.

Suddenly veteran goblin Gob-God runs up squeaking excitedly “Boss, boss – dat last cas ya got – der'r sayin' it waz one ov da classics - it got yer in th' 'all ov fame – yer a Legend boss!”
“Oh my word” chuckles Gerald, his smile breaking into a grin “who would have thought this day could get any better?”

But Gob-God had already run off to tell the rest of the team and in a few moments the entirety of the Underdogs were converging on Gerald's location chanting his name.
“Well done boss – look we 'az got yer summut t' celebrate – iz a dog!”
The goblins push something that was once a canine towards the increasingly overwhelmed warpstone troll.
“I found it in de plague pit wen I wuz lookin for stuff t' nick – I think itz got da Nurgee Rot”

Gerald looks at the sorry excuse for an animal presented in front of him – one ear missing, part of its brain showing, the bones on one foreleg exposed where the demented animal appeared to have been gnawing on its self, its ribs poking through on its chest and gaping wounds in its abdomen. A more pathetic creature it would be hard to imagine, a beast that had suffered cruelly at the hand of fickle fate, rejected by its once loving owners and thrown into the plague pit like garbage only to be dragged savagely back from the brink of death by the foul gobbo.

The animal lifts its forlorn eyes up to Gerald where the marquis reads only the expectation of more pain and the hope for a quick end to its suffering. He sees in the face of the hound everything that each and every member of his team had experienced that had led them to join up with him and seek brief glory or a squishy end on the Blood Bowl pitch.

“Its perfect my dear goblins -just perfect, I shall call it Lem and he shall be our mascot” He bends down picking a severed finger out of the mud and offers it to the pathetic animal who happily wolfs it down before nuzzling the trolls hand and whining its thanks.

So it was that the Six Feet Underdogs gained a new Legend and a new member of their dysfunctional clan.