““We gather together today to hang the portrait of Iondil Isilielenion on the Wall of the Fallen Archers.” Began Ortalion.

The high elf team, coaches, apothecary, and most illustrious fans of the Archers of Avelon united at the Tarnished Crown Tavern.

Meldalf’s mind wandered to the previous match. It was one he would rather forget. The pounding of centaur hooves and hobgoblin boots would haunt his memories in the days to come. The Archers of Avelon had been dismantled by Serenade of Sorrow’s chaos dwarf team. Not only did injuries abound, but through the game the elves just could not catch the break they needed. Passes went awry, and too many times the normally agile Archers were tripped up as they tried to dodge away from assailants.

Ortalion continued. “She had cheated death many times and played through a niggling injury. However, on this night, the hoof of the centaur Lord Luc would be her demise.”

On the back row of the solemn assembly, Kondor grinned as he thought of the previous night’s match. It had been many games since elven blood had flown. This time, early in the second half, Lord Luc’s thunderous charge knocked Iondil to the turf then he stomped on her over and over with a quarter ton of bovine rage. Iondil covered as well as she could but kick after kick and hoof after hoof did their damage. The medics dragged her from the pitch in obvious agony. The internal injuries must have been immense. Corbis and Jorin did what they could to ease her pain but the end did not come quickly.

Ortalion’s voice brought Kondor back to the present. “A founding member of the Archers of Avelon, Iondil enjoyed a 55 game career, scoring thrice, throwing 160 blocks, and causing five casualties. Five times her contributions were sufficient that she was named the Archer of the match. It is with heavy hearts that we bid her adieu, but we take heart in the fact that she leaves the pitch of life not in prolonged retirement but as an active Blood Bowl Star.”

Corbis watched as the velvet drape was pulled from the painting revealing the portrait that would hang on the wall as long as the Tarnished Crown endured. The image took him to her final moments on the sideline at Avelon Stadium.



The grounds crew had just dropped Iondil in the dugout and Corbis began to assess the injuries. They were severe. The elf was in the fetal position clutching her abdomen and groaning. Still, as he poked around he had hopes that the injuries were not fatal. He could not be certain if she was losing blood internally but her complexion indicated that most likely the damage was just severe and extreme bruising. The only thing that he could do was give her a pain elixir and wait. At best, she would likely be out of action for several weeks.

But the Assistant Coach Jorin had different plans. He stood at the entrance of dugout and dictated that Corbis guard the door. Then the gloomy one in the dark hat stooped over his victim and a few moments later the groaning stopped as did the life of Iondil Isilielenion.

The vampire then gently laid the corpse on the gurney and pulled a small claw from his boot. Raking the claw over the neck of his victim several times, he disguised the wound and covered the evidence of a vampire attack. With the deed complete, Jorin handed Corbis a bag of gold, and the pair returned to the Archer bench.

In the tavern Nienna raised a goblet in a toast to her friend and teammate only hesitating to fire a glare at the vampire in the back row.
In the match Nienna had pushed Lord Luc away from her downed friend and signaled for the medical crew. She had the nearest view of the injury causing event and it did not look to be a fatal one from her perspective. Iondil had lived through far worse.

After the match she and the other members of the team had delivered the body to the morgue in preparation for cremation rights. While there she inspected the body and though the death looked legitimate, the neck abrasion seemed out of place. Acting on a hunch she pulled a blade and cut deeply into the bicep of the cadaver. Only a few drops of blood came from the wound and everyone in the room immediately realized that the death was not due to normal injuries.

The commemoration at the Tarnished Crown went late into the evening and then into the morning hours. At last Jorin decided to leave and see if he could find an indigent to feed on for an after-hours snack. Instinctually, he wandered to the poorest district and down lanes dotted with run down bars and crumbling shacks that served as temporary housing.

As he approached his favorite type of dark corner the odor of malt liquor mixed with sweet blood caught his attention. About twenty yards down the alley a hunched woman limped along with a mostly empty bottle in her left hand and her right hand clutching her mid-section. Smiling silently he turned and followed her walking just quickly enough to close the gap.

He reached to put a hand on her shoulder but the victim unexpectedly turned to face her assassin. The hunched “victim” dropped the bottle and straightened her back and then pushed the cloak from her shoulders. Rather than a hapless drunk, Jorin faced the Archer Team Captain. In her dominant right hand she carried a sharpened oak table leg.

“Your work is sloppy.” Frankly stated Revwe. “How much was the pay out?”
“500 gold crowns. But my payday for you will be four times that.” He responded confidently and unsheathed a saber that had been sheathed below his full length coat. With his offhand he took a moment to toss his oversized hat to the side.

Revwe looked at her enemy. He would be easy to underestimate. This vampire had been turned very late in life, probably at near eighty years of age. His very thin hair had been dyed black but gaunt face and frail looking limbs could not be masked. But, this was not Revwe’s first confrontation with a vampire. She would not be a naïve victim.

She raised her make shift stake and stood in a battle stance. Jorin prepare to strike when surprisingly, he was struck. Simultaneously six arrows skewered his torso coming from various directions and angles. He now realized that he was surrounded and outnumbered. Several more arrows implanted as he struggled to find his assailants.

The battle was over in moments. Revwe swept the feet of the disoriented creature and in one fluid motion pounced driving the stake deep into the chest. Jorin growled in displeasure and clutched the shard jammed in his body then quietly fell limp.

Nienna stepped up next to Revwe and plucked Jorin’s discarded sabre from the ground. Without a word she chopped of its head then looked to the other Archers.

“Burn the body and bury the head on the other side of town. Iondil is avenged.”
”