“Sebastian cackled to himself as surveyed the field at the end of the game. The dwarves didn't know what had hit them. As predicted by the masssster, the team had performed poorly but that didn't matter. We are all cogs grinding towards perfection he would say and Sebastian believed him.

The master had spent the days before the match scouring the fertile land around the mines of Karak Kadrin. The land was fertile with bodies, not crops. Generations of dorfs ripe for reanimation. Sebastian was glad that the master would not be disappointed.

Confusion reigned throughout the match, not least of all among the ref who was so terrified he often lost track of the turn. The Nomads rose as the master had foretold but still require plenty of fine tuning. It's fine, thought Sebastian, time is immaterial to us. The basics of play were intact and that was what mattered - blocks and boots to build the bodies of the future.

Sebastian stumbled towards the sideline, dragging the remains of Grom Ironside by the arm. This one looks suitable, he thought, still warm from the reanimation, certainly promising”