“From the journal of Lord Catatonia on his peramubulation through the infernal realms

It has been a long time. We have spent countless months finding and training a new minotaur following the death of Moom. We found Clover chained to a post in the centre of a maize maze. Judging by the quantities of barbour jackets and wellington boots he was subsisting on local gentry. We branded him and he capitulated.

The match which marked our return to the field of sickly destruction was against a bunch of tiny goblins. A giggling, shivering swell of flesh at the feet of their two Trolls. Clover licked his lips with a rough ruminant tongue.

After our kick, the first action of the Trolls was to toss a hapless green-skin carrying the ball right into the heart of our ranks. Predictably it was carried off the pitch while my beastmen surrounded the ball. I accompanied them to one wing of the playing domain and they surrounded the beastman Lametop. Moving with them, and feeling like Peter the goat-herd (but not having him to hand) we pressed our attack down the pitch, leaving Clover charging headlong at a Troll.

Sure-footed though the goatmen may be, Flametop soon slipped in his haste and the ball spilled free. Faster than snapping bone a goblin had collected the ball and dashed to a Troll who had obligingly picked the stunted creature up bodily and hefted it down pitch. Though I had made it clear that the ball was a secondary concern, and our first calling was to mayhem and destruction, Clover is, it must be realised, a wild-animal. Galloping after the lone goblin with sharpened horns lowered. The ball spilled, but the goblin was off the ground where it had fallen in a trice, and had collected the ball again. Caught in the excitement, a beastmen now charged him down, but the goblin squirmed to the touchline. Despite desperate defence from the goat, it slipped through to score.

For the second half I was determined to make no mistake. Goatling abomination Wyrm took the ball from the dirt on the kick, and carried it under heavy guard all the way down pitch.

We ended as we had begun, with nothing to seperate the teams. Deliciously pointless. Although one goblin was eaten by a troll. Pleasing.
”