“The Travelogue of Lord Catatonia on his Gloomy Trudge Through the Infernal....
"And when it did start to snow upon the blighted lands, and horned helmetted bearded men did emerge through the freezing miasma, we did gird ourselves for combat, as these were Norse warriors, and there are few fiercer. And our Beastmen did mewl and baaa, considering themselves not mountain-goatmen and thusly unused to the inclement weather. And battle was waged, hoof and claw, rending this way and that way and soon the sidelines were filled with wallowing goatmen, as the norsemen strode victoriously to score a touchdown. And those that thought that the match was all but lost would have cause to eat their words as the next half began. And when one of the norsemen sought foolishly to milk Moom, mistaking him for a cow, he did get the shock of his life, literally, and now he moves no more. And the beastmen, smelling blood on the air - *human blood* - with their keen goat noses, did gyre and gimmbal, and when one norse fell as another plucky goatman galloped off to score, another beastman did gore him with his horns and leave him for dead in the spreading pink snow. And so the match closed with nothing to seperate the teams save 2 burning pyres set with horn and helm. But the score, in its *even*ness, repulses me, avert your eyes chaos gods, from this unspeakable order. "”