The elf sat slumped against the almost derelict building on the corner of Teclis Square, the fading gems around the doorway not fit to adorn a crazy old spinster and the golden door barely reflecting enough to allow a self-respecting elf to redo his hair in it. A couple walked nearby.
"Spare some change?" he coughed. But they sped away into the dusk.
Dusk... the shelter would be open soon, and he could finally get some more food. While he waited the last hour he drifted away to his glory days, during the 80′s when he and his team-mates were legends on the astrogranite, before the richer elves had taken over the sport and consigned the likes of him to the scrapheap...

The White Lightning Shelter, in the high elf city of Lothern, had been set up to give former bloodbowl players somewhere to stay and eat – mostly to keep them off the streets away from proper civilized elves. Run from a few spare coins donated by several local business-elves, the 5 storey former palace was still run-down compared to its surrounding buildings, but it was a place to stay.

He was sat in a dark corner apart from the others – such was always the way for a thrower. The door opened and one of the volunteers – an enormous apron covering his fine clothes against food stains and lower class elves – walked through, followed by a dishevelled bearded human. The volunteer started speaking to the homeless elves as the man began eyeing up a mouldy crust of bread that a cleaner had missed.
"This human arrived on our shores this morning, claiming to be a renowned bloodbowl coach. And wanting a job." He paused, watching the elves around him suddenly take an interest. "Of course, the high elf teams around here don’t need coaching – and certainly not from a human." He practically sneered the last part. "We looked into his claims, and found that he had been a coach, running several teams of lesser races... though not particularly well. But then we thought, why not start a team from the vagrant elves down at the shelter?"

There was a mad scramble as the homeless elves rushed forwards, trying to get themselves to the front of the room. A melee ensued as they starting blocking each other off, chunks of bread were thrown around – and caught particularly well – and a couple of elves even resorted to stamping on their prone fellows.

The human smiled as he mopped up some spilt soup with the mouldy bread, before picking crumbs from his beard and slipping them between his teeth. This was good - these guys were virtually practising in front of him. The next season was going to be easy. If he could keep them all in one piece, he added to himself, watching an elf trip over his ragged shoes and break his arm on the hard floor.