The bottle rolled from the table, smashing on the floor and waking him with a start. He paid it no mind, the liquor bottle was empty, long since drunk...

Despite paying that shifty looking halfling builder a handsome amount of gold, the runes of good luck added into the stadium had not seemed to work. The practice facility resembled a Temple of Shallya with all the injured former players and the Garden of Morr had welcomed Franchise player Lamar Miller into its peaceful embrace.

It had cost him an arm and a leg to pay the Master Dwarf Engineer to correct the halfling's work (well Lamar's arm and leg, but that was between him and the necromancer), however so far so good, a maiden victory was the Classics!

It had been a hell of few days celebrating with the High Elf Cheerleaders in the Dwarven quarter, well what he could remember of it anyway. His head hurt, he wiped the sleep from his eyes and felt the rough stubble on his face. Life was good right now as a victor.

The pounding on the door shook him from his revery. "MANLING.... MANLING, get up, there's work to do"

The door flew open and the spiky orange haired Dwarf Master Engineer stood there.

"why?... what?.... why? ......" The words would not come through the fog of the hangover, but a sense of foreboding began to settle upon him.

"Trust a human, cant handle your ale, well never mind, no time to waste if we are going to sort out the mess you made of this Franchise"

"But, but, it wasn't me..."; the pleas fell on deaf ears as hazy recall began to filter into his brain.

The curse, the damn curse..... The necromancer had split town along with the body parts and the payment. The angry dwarf had found him during the post game celebrations and demanded payment, but between the casks of Bugmans, grudges had been avoided by the hiring of the Dwarf as Assistant GM.

What had he done....

"Like all shoddy manling work there is only one solution, tear it down and build it like a dwarf".

"We looked into that after the first game, my former assistant got enough explosives and matches, but we couldn't arrange the insurance!".

The dwarf shook his head, irritation writ large. "The draft manling, the draft. Get the messangers out, no-one is untouchable, stock up on draft picks and then we rebuild from the top, down."

"Don't you mean bottom up?"

"Idiot" the Dwarf muttered, continuing to talk to himself in Khazalid as he walked out. "Just get it done Manling".

Today was going to be a long day...