“Allan Quartemain stared glumly into his brandy, swirling the amber liquid absently. The liquor had no effect on his wretched body now but somehow the act comforted him. Old habits die hardest.

The game had not gone well. Even now Quartemain had but to close his eyes to see the Zen Adept bull centaurs blitzing through the Gentlemen's line, scattering the team's players and slamming that opening touchdown. After that it had been all that Quartemain could do to keep the angry beasts back. Gray managed to equalise in the second half but by that stage too many of the League's players had fallen into the knockout box. Even the dark magicks of the League took time to revive the fallen players and nothing at all seemed to be affecting the stout Chaos Dwarves as they resolutely surged forward. But still victory seemed attainable, or at the least an honourable draw as the last minutes of the half ticked down. Quartemain comforted himself with the knowledge that even a draw would secure the Gentlemen's position within the Southern Waste League when suddenly disaster struck.

Mina Harker, rushing towards the ball handlers, hoping to place a tackle zone on the dwarven advance in the final turn, tried to duck past Disciple Shariputra, the hulking troll of the Zen Adept team.

He proved faster than expected. Harker never even had time to scream. Her death would not last long - none of them seemed able to free themself from this curse, but her experience, her skills and her abilities would all be lost with her. They would lose countless months retrainin-

"And so we see victory torn from our hands once more, under your illustrious leadership, Mr. Quartemain."

Quartemain looked up sharply. He had not seen Dorian Gray enter the room. Gray had taken Harker's death as an almost personal insult - on the pitch he had been so enraged that Quartemain had been almost glad the final whistle blew so soon after - Gray was clearly out of control.

Obviously he had managed to reign himself in. This new fire seemed to smoulder within his eyes but his face betrayed none of the anger and emotion that had been so clear bare minutes ago. If anything he was smirking.

"You would lay the blame for this at my feet, Gray? I'd expect a little more understanding from one such as yourself. Surely by now you recognise a lost cause."

The heat in Gray's eyes intensified, the sneer on his face grew wider.

"Oh believe me, Allan I do. But I don't think that lost cause is this League. It seems the team is performing quite admirably, all things considered. We hold our place near the highest of rankings."

Gray turned abruptly towards the drink cabinet. Glad that those eyes were no longer upon him, Quartemain slumped and took a sip from his brandy glass. He didn't like the way this was going.

"No Allan, as far as I see it. The only lost cause here is you."

Before Quartemain could even reach for his weapon, Gray had spun around and pinned his hand to the ivory siding of the sofa in which he was reclining. Suddenly Gray was leaning toward him, so close that their faces almost touch. A look of insane malevolence danced across his face.

"I've been talking to the team Allan. All are in agreement. Your time as captain is over. I command the league now and you will play for me. If you ever remember how to play at all."

Before Quartemain could think of a response, Gray had risen. Instantly the look on his face vanished, his posture relaxed and he once more possessed the casual, easy beauty for which he was so reknowned. The fire in his eyes still smouldered, however.

"And so a new chapter in the League's history opens. An exciting time for us all. Harker will be reawakening in a few minutes. I expect I shall have to fill her in on everything that's been happening. We shall talk on this later."

And as quickly as that, Gray left the room, leaving Allan Quartemain alone with his brandy in the dark.
”