“A twisted smile lingered on the Necromancer's thin lips. His bloodshot eyes glanced at the opposing team and he chuckled.

The three trolls looked scary but his spies told him they were immensely stupid. The pump wagons lacked skill and evenif they tried making up for it with enthusiasm they still lacked it.

The rest were snotlings.

Grunting in disgust over this insult of an opponent he sent forth his minions.

His team received the first half. His brilliant and cunning plan was flawlessly executed. A thrust down his left flank while sacrificial zombies pinned the opposing trolls. Easy score.

Then th eopposing drive faltered in a pleasing ineptitude of blocking and bal-handling. Once mor ethe ghouls and wights were sent forth to secure it. Once again they did not fail under his stern gaze and firm control.

The second half saw more of the same. Inept, weedy snotlings were no match for his expertly raised minions. 3-0 without breaking a sweat.

His mind drifted. Exhliarating blissful dreams of fame and glory entered his mind. When he came back to himself it was too late; without his mental guidance his minions were as inept as th snotlings.

Furious he tried twisting things around but it was too late. The snotlings scored 3-1.

The magnitude of this humiliation slowly dripped in his mind.

Snotlings.... Scored....

The shame...


PS; good game man. Well; as far as unlucky snotties go that is. ;-)
”