On the 30th of August, the 88th marched forth into the Inter-regional Copper Division. As one of the teams representing the newly opened Realms of Chaos region, they sought to do terrible violence to all parties involved.

Death or Glory!

Game 1 Est Nostromo Infectae, 0-1 Defeat. Despite the efforts of the Legion to remove their gross seafaring opponents from the pitch with very passible results, the game was ultimately lost to two points. The inability of the worthless Cultists to pick up the ball when it was needed, and the failure of Zherrol to block a single Nurgling carrying the ball in the first half. All guilty parties were sentenced to 88 Lashes after the match.

Game 2 Mordheim Reign, 0-2 Defeat. Akhastrayl has made his displeasure loud and clear through his intermediary, The Thrower of Skulls. And many skulls were thrown that game, especially in the 2nd half. The ball was knocked loose by the Worthless Cultists, and yet Bloodletters repeatedly and consistently failed to roll any successful blocks and giving turn after turn to the Sisters to walk through their lines. All Bloodletters had the 8 skulls that symbolized this failure branded onto their backs, for every skull rolled.

Game 3 Cursed Marsh Bog Fiends, 0-2 Defeat The passage seems to be blank except for what appears to be a long and sustained scream of rage and eye-watering profanity written on paper.

Game 4 Monestary of the Burning Fist, 1-2 Defeat There isn't even a passage here, just what appears to be marks left by someone's face being hammered into the book over and over again. A receipt for one Bloodweiser Babe is attached, the amount is circled in red.

"YOU USED THE RITUAL MONEY TO SUMMON ME INTO REAL SPACE TO PURCHASE WHAT!?"

Game 5 Perverse Perfection, 2-0 Victory

"Alright you worthless curs, listen up! Your incompetence lost us the game versus the servants of the Lord of Flies"
"Your blistering arrogance failed you versus the minions of the corpse god."
"Your sheer ineptitude was on display for all to see against the lesser servants of the Fimir"
"And you couldn't even muster the merest fraction of skill versus unarmed Cathay monks! You disgust me!"

"Khorne weeps bloody tears of despair that you would sully his banner with such weakness! But no amount of crushing shame and unimaginable torture I have inflicted on you, will compare to what the Great Lord of Dis will do to you personally if you lose this day to the wretched servants of Slaanesh. Should you even versus the greatest enemy of the Blood God on this most holy ground still fail to even so much as deliver a touch down, Akhastryl will sup the marrow from your bones, and soul from your body, the torture that will be inflicted on you will be unimaginable and you will be broken again, and again, and again."

"I deliver to you this order, and if you do not follow it to the word no prayer on the old world or the warp will save you. For the sake of your wretched hides and your immortal souls."

"Crush them utterly. Break their spirits. Sunder their bones and rend their flesh. Skin them, hang them, foul them, dismember them, kill KILL, KILL THEM ALL FOR KHORNE."

"DEATH OR GLORY! DEATH OR GLORY!!!"

Game 6 Labyrinth of Paradoxes, 0-2 Defeat Triumphant in the knowledge that his team could get the results to please his dark master, The Thrower of Skulls was very quickly disappointed when they began to make the exact same mistakes and the exact same show of utter bloody incompetence that they were exhibiting for the first four games. And when they had received their paltry winnings for this embarrassment the money mysteriously vanished soon afterwards in a puff of pink smoke.

Akhastryl's already finite patience continues to wear thin.

Game 7 Globadiers of Skavenblight, 0-1 Defea-

And then the record was subsequently thrown into the ceremonial fire, alongside the flattened and mangled corpse of Muck. The nebulous form of the Th'Ena'Bst'Er turns it's malign gaze to the cowering ranks of the cultists, fewer in number then when they started. The Bloodletters were busy fighting among-est themselves in a bloodbath to join this dressing down.

"Gods eyes and gods teeth I was told I was sent some of the strongest Bloodletters of Khorne and their most worthy servants to bring glory to this pitch! They sent me glass jaw incompetents instead! I do not know what makes my blood boil worse, the fact that once again your utter ineptitude to do something as simple as picking up the ball lost us the damned game AGAIN, or the fact that you were thoroughly out-blocked by rodents."

"RODENTS!"

"I am not going back to Dis to tell my lord that his team is the laughing stock of this 'Blood Bowl' game. The Lord Akhastryl demanded his tribute of skulls, plunder and glory, and your efforts have amounted to brass pennies and a single Keeper skull!"

"Winter approaches and continuous failures will very literally and extensively be the death of all of us if we go back to the Fist of Khorne empty handed, I do not care if you have to wash wagons and scour the streets for every dropped penny, our last hope to ensure that we aren't flayed alive is to bring our lord into this realm and have him compete with us!"

"YOUR LORD HAS NAMED HIS PRICE, YOUR COACH DEMANDS YOUR SERVICE, BEGONE FROM MY SIGHT UNTIL YOU ARE READY."

Winter goes here

Spring goes here

Summer goes here

Autumn goes here