"Fur Hasslehoff!"

"Wut you talkin bout? I here," Flex Hasslehoff said as he clotheslined the crazed female orc. Her neck snapped sharply against his bulky arm and she went somersaulting through the back of the hut. For good measure, he seized the axe she had dropped and buried it in her abdomen. A hulking male orc smoking a few paces off observed this with slow realization. He bit off his pipe and roared the same thing:

"Fur Hasslehoff!"

"I here!" Flex roared back, annoyed. He lowered his slightly larger bulk and tackled the orc, sending him howling down the sheer side of the mountain. He stood staring after him for a few minutes, working through the rest of his adrenaline. He remembered that moments ago he had been about to enjoy a game of eating cards and getting loot when he had suddenly been in that hut, under attack.

"Where boyz?" He wondered aloud as he retrieved the axe. Only in his calm state did he notice that the weapon looked exactly like the Hasslehoff Clan Axe that his grandparents had bequeathed him in honor of his first Blood Bowl game.

"Dat strange. Where boyz?"